Chapter 1 - Red Marble and Rain
The blood was warm beneath Evangeline’s knees, soaking rapidly through the thin fabric of her uniform. The copper stench filled the grand living room, sharp and overwhelming, but her hands moved with a mechanical, learned precision.
"Sophie, listen to me," Evangeline commanded quietly, kneeling beside Roman Blackwell’s massive frame. "Go into the kitchen. Get me clean hand towels, plastic wrap if you can find it, and a clean bowl of hot water. Can you do that for me?"
Sophie wiped her wet eyes with the back of her blood-stained sleeve and nodded frantically. "I can do it! I’m brave!"
"You're very brave, sweetie. Go."
As the little girl scampered across the polished floorboards toward the kitchen, Evangeline turned back to the dying man. Up close, Roman Blackwell looked less like a corporate titan and more like a myth laid low. Even in hypovolemic shock, his dark brows were drawn in pain, his jaw set in a hard line. His shirt was ruined, ruined by a black-handled utility knife buried three inches into his left upper quadrant.
Don't pull the blade out, her voice echoed from her nursing textbooks. The blade is acting as a plug. Pulling it out will tear the mesenteric artery completely.
She leaned close to his face, listening for breath. It was shallow, irregular—Cheyne-Stokes respiration. His skin was cold and clammy, his lips turning a terrifying shade of blue.
"Stay with me," Evangeline muttered under her breath, placing two fingers on his carotid artery. "You don't get to die tonight. Your daughter called me, and I don't fail children."
Sophie returned, stumbling under the weight of a stack of fluffy white bath towels and a roll of clear plastic wrap. "I found these!"
"Perfect. Good job, Sophie." Evangeline took a towel, folded it into a thick pad, and pressed it firmly around the base of the knife blade, applying direct pressure to stabilize the steel while keeping the wound occluded. With the other hand, she tore a long strip of plastic wrap, wrapping it tightly around his torso over the towel to create an airtight seal against tension pneumothorax.
Roman groaned—a deep, guttural sound from the back of his throat. His heavy eyelashes flickered, then parted slightly.
For a fraction of a second, two storm-gray eyes locked onto hers. They were clouded with agony, yet fierce enough to make her heart stutter.
"Who..." he rasped, blood flecking his lips. "Who... are... you..."
"I'm Evangeline," she said firmly, maintaining hard pressure on his abdomen. "I'm a waitress. Your daughter called the diner. Stop talking. Save your strength."
Roman’s large, calloused hand moved with agonizing slowness, his fingers wrapping around Evangeline’s wrist with a grip that was surprisingly firm for a man on the threshold of death. His gaze shifted past her to Sophie, who was huddled near the sofa, crying silently.
"Sophie..." he choked out. "Safe?"
"She's safe," Evangeline assured him, her voice softening. "She’s right here. She saved your life by calling me. Now keep your eyes open, Roman. Look at me."
His gray eyes clung to hers as if she were the only anchor keeping him from slipping into the dark abyss. "Why... didn't... you call..."
Before she could answer, heavy, hurried footsteps thundered through the front foyer.
The double doors burst open.
Three men in tailored dark suits rushed into the room, pulling suppressed handguns from their holsters. Leading them was a tall, silver-haired man with an eye patch and a scar running down his cheek.
"Get away from him!" the silver-haired man roared, aiming his weapon directly at Evangeline’s chest.
"Don't shoot!" Sophie screamed, throwing her small body over Evangeline’s legs. "She’s the doctor lady! She’s helping Daddy!"
The silver-haired man froze. His eye darted from the crying child to the crude, expert dressing on Roman’s wound, and then to Evangeline, who stood her ground despite the gun pointed at her head.
"Stand down, Silas," Roman’s raspy voice cut through the air, barely above a whisper, but carrying the unquestioned weight of an emperor. "She... saved... me."
Silas lowered his gun instantly, his face pale as he dropped to his knees beside his leader. "Boss... Jesus, Boss. The security team at the gate was taken out. We thought—"
"The knife is still inside," Evangeline interrupted briskly, stepping into her natural role despite the terrifying men surrounding her. "He’s lost at least two liters of blood. He’s in severe hemorrhagic shock. You need a trauma surgeon right now, or he will be dead in ten minutes."
Silas looked up at Evangeline, his cold, hardened expression shifting into one of profound shock and respect. He pulled a radio from his coat. "Dr. Vance, get the underground surgical bay prepped immediately. The Capo is hit. We’re bringing him down now."
Two large guards carefully lifted Roman onto a portable stretcher they had rushed in from the hallway. As they lifted him, Roman’s fingers tightened around Evangeline’s wrist, refusing to let go.
"Come... with..." Roman choked out, his eyes locked onto hers with desperate intensity.
"Mr. Blackwell, I'm just a waitress—"
"Silas," Roman commanded weakly. "Bring her. Bring... my daughter."
Silas looked at Evangeline, his posture surprisingly respectful. "Miss, if the Boss wants you there, you come. Nobody will hurt you. I give you my word as the Consigliere of the Blackwell Syndicate."
May you like
Evangeline looked at her blood-soaked hands, then at Sophie, who was clutching her apron like a lifeline. The diner, her landlord, her tip money—none of it mattered anymore.
"Alright," Evangeline breathed. "I'm coming."
