Six nurses had quit in five days before I walked into Dominic Rossi’s bedroom and found blood soaking through Egyptian cotton sheets. Everyone warned me the wounded mafia boss was determined to bleed himself to death, but with rent due Monday and almost nothing left in my bank account, fear had become a luxury I could no longer afford.

I sat in a velvet armchair in the corner of the bedroom, a cup of lukewarm black coffee in my hand, keeping a close eye on the heart monitor Leo had hastily had installed in the hallway and wired into the room. Dominic was finally sleeping, though it was a restless, tortured sleep punctuated by muttered Italian curses and sudden twitches of his uninjured shoulder.

The storm outside had intensified, lashing heavy sheets of rain against the reinforced glass windows of the mansion. Every few minutes, lightning illuminated the sprawling, austere room, casting long, skeletal shadows across the stone fireplace and the heavy mahogany bookshelves.

I pulled out my phone. Zero bars. Of course. The Rossi estate was a literal Faraday cage designed to block cellular signals and police wiretaps.

As I set the phone down on the small side table, a soft knock rattled the double doors.

I stood up quietly, slipping out into the dimly lit hallway. Leo was standing there, holding a fresh tray of surgical supplies and a secure satellite phone. His face was carved from granite under the harsh overhead sconces.

“How is he?” Leo asked in a low whisper.

“Stab-wound infection is stabilizing, but he lost too much blood,” I whispered back, crossing my arms against the chill of the corridor. “If he pulls another stunt like ripping off his bandages while sleeping, he won't make it to the weekend. Who shot him, Leo?”

Leo’s eyes narrowed into hard slits. “Rule one, Nurse Hayes. You do not ask questions.”

“I’m his nurse, not a blind servant,” I shot back, keeping my voice down so as not to wake the sleeping monster inside. “If I don't know what kind of toxin or trauma caused this infection, I can't treat him properly. Was it a rival family? Federal agents?”

Leo stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, weighing whether to throw me out into the storm or keep me around. Apparently, Dominic’s deteriorating vital signs tipped the scale.

“It wasn't a rival family,” Leo said finally, leaning closer. “It was an internal coup. Dominic’s own caporegime, Marcus Vance—the man who controlled our East Coast shipping ports—tried to assassinate him three nights ago to take over the syndicate. Dominic survived, but Marcus is still out there, gathering the remaining loyalists, and he knows Dominic is incapacitated.”

My blood ran cold. I wasn't just nursing a wounded criminal; I was sitting in the epicenter of an active mafia civil war.

“Does Marcus know where he is?” I asked, my voice dropping to a breathless whisper.

“Not yet,” Leo repliedgrimly. “This estate is off the grid. But moles move fast in our world. We have less than forty-eight hours before Marcus finds out about this location. That’s why you’re locked in here, Nora. Nobody leaves until Mr. Rossi is back on his feet.”

Before I could process the terrifying implications of being trapped inside a besieged fortress, a low, gravelly voice echoed from behind the open bedroom door.

“Let her go, Leo.”

We both turned. Dominic stood in the doorway of the master suite. He had pulled a black silk robe over his bare chest, the right side secured loosely to accommodate the thick bandages underneath. He looked pale, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support, but his eyes were wide awake and blazing with cold authority.

“Mr. Rossi, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” I said instinctively, stepping forward to catch his arm if he collapsed.

Dominic waved me off with his left hand, his gaze locked entirely on his head of security. “She asked a question. Give her an answer. If she’s going to be caught in the crossfire, she has a right to know what bullet has her name on it.”

Leo gave a stiff nod, turned on his heel, and retreated down the dark hallway without another word.

Dominic turned his heavy, piercing gaze toward me. The silence between us stretched for a long, heavy beat, broken only by the sound of thunder rumbling over the mountains.

“Are you terrified yet, Nora?” he asked softly, stepping slightly closer, the scent of cedar and antiseptic washing over me.

“I told you,” I said, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “I have rent due Monday. A mafia civil war is just a minor inconvenience compared to eviction.”