Chapter 3 - THE MAN OUTSIDE HER HOSPITAL ROOM
Grace woke to the sound of a heart monitor.
For three seconds, she didn't know where she was.
Then pain spread through her ribs.
The hotel.
The explosion.
The gun.
Dominic.
She opened her eyes.
A hospital room.
Night beyond the windows.
A nurse adjusted the IV beside her bed.
“Easy.”
“What happened?”
“You have two cracked ribs, several cuts, and a concussion.”
“My mother.”
The nurse hesitated.
Grace's panic exploded.
“Where is my mother?”
“She's fine.”
Grace stared.
“She was already a patient here?”
“Yes. Oncology floor.”
Grace exhaled.
Then another memory surfaced.
“Dominic.”
The nurse became strangely careful.
“Mr. DeLuca is fine.”
“Was he shot?”
“No.”
“The man behind him—”
“Security handled it.”
Grace tried sitting.
Pain forced her down.
The nurse adjusted her pillow.
“You need rest.”
Grace looked toward the closed door.
Two men in black suits stood behind its narrow window.
She frowned.
“Who are they?”
The nurse followed her gaze.
“They've been there since you arrived.”
Grace didn't need to ask who sent them.
Twenty minutes later, Dominic entered.
He had changed from the tuxedo into a charcoal suit.
A small bandage covered his temple.
Grace noticed his hands first.
No blood.
No shaking.
Nothing about him suggested he'd survived an explosion hours earlier.
“You're alive,” she said.
“So are you.”
“That was going to be my second observation.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Grace pointed weakly toward the hallway.
“You put guards outside my room.”
“Yes.”
“Remove them.”
“No.”
“I don't need guards.”
“The man who tried to shoot me escaped.”
Grace stopped.
“I thought security handled it.”
“One shooter died. The man you identified did not.”
Her stomach tightened.
“So he knows who I am?”
“Yes.”
Dominic didn't soften it.
Grace appreciated that.
She hated being lied to.
“What about your mother?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
He ignored the question.
Grace folded her arms.
Immediately regretted it because of her ribs.
Dominic noticed.
“Stop trying to prove you're tougher than cracked bones.”
“I've worked doubles with pneumonia.”
“That isn't impressive.”
“It kept rent paid.”
Dominic went quiet.
Then placed an envelope on the bedside table.
Grace looked at it.
“What is that?”
“Money.”
“No.”
“You haven't opened it.”
“I don't need to.”
“You'll miss work.”
“No.”
“Your medical expenses—”
“No.”
“Your mother's treatment—”
“Absolutely not.”
Dominic stared at her.
Most people probably didn't say no to him.
Grace had the strange feeling he was curious what would happen if she did it repeatedly.
“I don't take money from strangers.”
“You saved my mother's life.”
“I stopped a slap.”
“You moved her away from gunfire.”
“So did you.”
“You warned me before I was shot.”
“Anyone would.”
“No.”
His voice changed.
“Most people don't.”
Grace looked away.
Outside, Chicago's lights burned across the dark skyline.
“I don't want to owe you.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Men like you don't give people things for free.”
Silence.
When she looked back, his expression had hardened.
“Men like me?”
Grace immediately knew she'd crossed a line.
But she didn't retreat.
“People are afraid of you.”
“They have reasons.”
“I figured.”
Dominic took the envelope.
For a moment Grace thought he'd leave.
Instead, he ripped it in half.
Then again.
He dropped the pieces into the trash.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He headed toward the door.
Grace almost felt guilty.
Almost.
“Dominic.”
He stopped.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Keeping your mother between me and whoever was shooting at us.”
He turned.
“That sentence makes no sense.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did.
His gaze stayed on her a second too long.
Then he left.
Grace slept badly.
At 4:17 a.m., she woke to a sound near the door.
Not the hallway.
Inside.
A soft click.
Grace opened her eyes.
Someone stood beside the medication cart.
Blue scrubs.
Mask.
Male.
She couldn't see his face.
“Who are you?”
The man froze.
Then turned.
“Night nurse.”
Grace stared at his shoes.
Black leather.
Hospital nurses wore sneakers or clogs.
Her pulse accelerated.
“What are you giving me?”
“Pain medication.”
“I didn't ask for any.”
“Doctor's orders.”
He lifted a syringe.
Grace's blood went cold.
She reached toward the call button.
The man grabbed her wrist.
Grace screamed.
He covered her mouth.
She bit him.
Hard.
He cursed.
The door exploded inward.
One of Dominic's guards rushed inside.
The fake nurse shoved Grace away and pulled something from his waistband.
The guard tackled him.
Grace rolled from the bed.
Pain tore through her ribs.
She crawled toward the bathroom.
A gunshot cracked.
Then another.
The room went silent.
Grace looked back.
The fake nurse lay on the floor.
The guard stood over him.
Dominic entered seconds later.
He wasn't wearing a suit now.
Black shirt.
No jacket.
His hair slightly disordered.
For the first time, Grace saw the man beneath the carefully controlled exterior.
And he was furious.
“What happened?”
“He came in with medication.”
The guard lifted the syringe from the floor.
Dominic's gaze fell on it.
“Call toxicology.”
Grace sat against the bathroom wall.
Her hands shook.
Dominic crouched in front of her.
“Did he inject you?”
“No.”
“Did he cut you?”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“I said no.”
His eyes searched her anyway.
Then he noticed blood on her mouth.
“He grabbed me. I bit him.”
Dominic looked toward the dead attacker.
A strange expression crossed his face.
“You bit an assassin?”
“I panicked.”
“You bit him.”
“It worked.”
For the first time, Dominic DeLuca laughed.
One short, disbelieving sound.
Grace stared at him.
“You can laugh?”
“Apparently.”
Then Margaret appeared in the doorway.
Grace blinked.
Margaret wore a silk robe and sat in a wheelchair pushed by Marco.
“You're supposed to be somewhere safe.”
“So are you.”
Margaret looked at the body.
“Dominic.”
“I know.”
“What?”
Grace asked.
Nobody answered.
She looked at Margaret.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Dominic stood.
“Mom.”
“No.”
Margaret's voice was quiet but firm.
“She has nearly died twice because of us.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
Margaret continued.
“She deserves to understand what is happening.”
Grace felt her pulse accelerate.
Margaret wheeled closer.
“The wolf emblem you saw belongs to a group my husband destroyed thirty years ago.”
Grace frowned.
“Your husband?”
“Dominic's father.”
“I thought he died.”
“He did.”
Margaret looked toward Dominic.
“But before he died, he made enemies.”
Grace glanced at the dead man.
“This is revenge?”
“We believed those enemies were gone.”
“Apparently not.”
Margaret nodded.
“Apparently not.”
Dominic stepped toward the window.
“What we're dealing with now isn't random.”
Grace could feel the next words coming.
She didn't want them.
She got them anyway.
“The attacks started three weeks ago.”
“Three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“And you still went to a public gala?”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“I am seventy-three. If I allow every angry man in Chicago to keep me indoors, I'll die of boredom before a bullet gets me.”
Grace stared.
Then looked at Dominic.
“You knew someone might attack her?”
“We increased security.”
“Clearly not enough.”
Marco looked away, hiding something like approval.
Dominic didn't.
“You're very comfortable criticizing me.”
“You're very easy to criticize.”
Margaret laughed.
Dominic closed his eyes for one second.
Grace realized she had just spoken to Chicago's most feared man like he was an incompetent restaurant manager.
And somehow she was still alive.
Dominic looked at the syringe.
“This changes everything.”
Grace's humor vanished.
“What does?”
“The attacker knew where you were.”
“He followed me.”
“No.”
Dominic turned toward her.
“We transferred you under an alias.”
Grace stared at him.
Nobody had told her that.
“Only six people knew your room number.”
The air suddenly felt colder.
Margaret's face lost its smile.
Grace looked from Dominic to Marco.
“You mean…”
Dominic finished the thought.
“Someone on my security team gave them your location.”
Grace felt sick.
There was a traitor inside Dominic DeLuca's organization.
And that person wanted her dead.
“I want to go home.”
Dominic's expression immediately hardened.
“Impossible.”
“You don't decide where I live.”
“Tonight I do.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“My mother is upstairs.”
“She'll be protected.”
“I have a job.”
“Not anymore.”
Grace stared.
“What did you do?”
“The hotel terminated your employment.”
Her face went white.
“What?”
“Keller claims the attack created negative publicity.”
Grace looked away.
Of course.
Of course the billionaire guests would be protected.
The waitress would be blamed.
She laughed bitterly.
“My rent is due Friday.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“I offered—”
“I don't want your money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“My life back.”
The answer silenced the room.
Grace's voice shook now.
“I had problems before you. Big ones. My mother's sick. I'm behind on bills. I barely sleep. But they were my problems.”
She pointed toward the dead assassin.
“That wasn't.”
Dominic didn't argue.
Grace swallowed.
“I helped your mother because it was right. I don't regret it.”
Her eyes burned.
“But I don't want to become collateral damage in whatever war your family started thirty years ago.”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
Dominic remained still.
Then he said something Grace didn't expect.
“You're right.”
She looked up.
He walked toward the door.
“But until I find who gave them your room number, you cannot go home.”
Grace opened her mouth.
Dominic raised a hand.
“You don't have to live with me.”
She blinked.
“I wasn't going to.”
“Good.”
“Why does that sound insulting?”
“Because you're exhausted.”
He turned toward Marco.
“Prepare Lake Geneva.”
Grace frowned.
“What is Lake Geneva?”
Margaret smiled.
“One of our houses.”
“No.”
Dominic ignored her.
“Mom goes too.”
Margaret's smile disappeared.
“What?”
“You're both going.”
Grace stared at them.
Then the hospital lights flickered.
Dominic's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
A voice spoke rapidly.
Dominic turned toward Grace.
“Her apartment?”
Grace's stomach dropped.
“What about my apartment?”
Dominic listened another second.
Then lowered the phone.
For the first time since Grace had met him, he looked genuinely disturbed.
“Someone broke in.”
Grace's hand flew to her mouth.
“Did they steal anything?”
Dominic's expression turned even colder.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He looked directly at her.
“They left something.”
Grace couldn't breathe.
“What?”
May you like
Dominic answered softly.
“A photograph of your mother.”
