Part Three: The Truth
Emma must have dozed off.
She jerked awake sometime later to find Russo watching her.
Eyes glittering in the dim light.
The room was dark except for a single lamp burning low on the nightstand. Outside the windows, the sky was velvet black. Stars scattered like diamonds across its expanse.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Her voice was rough with fatigue.
“So are you.”
He gestured weakly to the bed.
“This mattress is large enough for both of us. Without either knowing the other is there.”
Heat rushed to her face.
“I’m fine here.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“You’re a terrible liar, Emma Shaw.”
She straightened in the chair, checking her watch.
“It’s time for your next dose of antibiotics anyway.”
As she prepared the medication, she could feel his eyes tracking her every movement.
His gaze had a physical weight to it. Like a touch against her skin.
“You have questions.”
He observed.
She connected the antibiotic to his IV line.
“None that I want answered.”
“Ignorance won’t protect you.”
“Neither will knowledge.”
She finished administering the medication and checked his temperature with a digital thermometer.
One hundred one point two.
Better. But still concerning.
He caught her hand as she withdrew.
“Ask.”
Emma stared down at his fingers encircling hers.
Strong despite his illness. Nails perfectly manicured. A heavy gold signet ring on his little finger.
Dangerous hands.
She should pull away. But something held her still.
“Who are you?”
The question emerged as barely more than a whisper.
His thumb traced small circles on her palm. Sending unwelcome shivers up her arm.
“You know who I am.”
“I know your name is Salvatore Russo. I know you’re wealthy. I know you have men who follow your every command.”
She pulled her hand free.
“I know you’re dangerous.”
“Yes.”
No denial. No qualification.
Just simple confirmation of what they both already knew.
“Why me? There must be doctors on your payroll.”
His eyes never left hers.
“There are. But they lack your particular qualities.”
He paused.
“Integrity. Compassion.”
His gaze drifted over her face.
“Beauty.”
She flushed. Turning away to busy herself with checking his bandage.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to— whatever this is. I’m your nurse. Not your entertainment while you’re bedridden.”
A soft chuckle. Ending in a wince as the movement pulled at his wound.
“You’re refreshingly direct, Emma Shaw. Most people are too afraid to speak to me as you do.”
“They probably have better survival instincts than I do.”
This time, his laugh was fuller. Despite the pain it clearly caused him.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps they simply have more to lose.”
The words struck a chord.
What did she have to lose?
A cramped apartment. A job that barely covered her bills. A life that had been slowly shrinking since the day James died and took all her carefully laid plans with him.
As if reading her thoughts, Russo said softly.
“Tell me about your fiancé.”
She stiffened.
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’ve made it my business.”
No apology in his tone.
“James Harrington. Twenty-nine. Fourth-year surgical resident. Killed in a convenience store robbery three years ago. Wrong place. Wrong time.”
Anger flared hot and sudden.
“Stop it.”
“You were there. Witnessed the whole thing. Tried to save him despite a gunshot wound to your own shoulder.”
His eyes flicked to her left shoulder where the scar was hidden beneath her sweater.
“The police never caught the shooter.”
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to understand you.”
He shifted, pushing himself up straighter against the pillows.
“You walked away from everything. Your career. Your future. After his death. Why?”
“Because none of it mattered anymore.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Raw and honest in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be with anyone since the funeral.
“Because I couldn’t save him. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw his blood on my hands.”
Russo was silent for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was different. Softer. Almost gentle.
“Yet here you are. Saving me.”
Their eyes met in the dim light.
Something passed between them. A current of understanding that made her breath catch.
For one suspended moment, he wasn’t a dangerous criminal.
And she wasn’t his reluctant caretaker.
They were just two people who recognized something in each other.
Something broken. Something surviving.
The moment shattered when a sharp knock came at the door.
One of Russo’s men entered without waiting for permission. His expression urgent.
He crossed to the bed. Bending to whisper in Russo’s ear.
Emma couldn’t hear the words. But she saw the change in Russo’s face.
A hardening. A coldness seeping into those pale eyes.
He responded in that same foreign language. His tone clipped and precise.
The man nodded once and left as abruptly as he’d appeared.
“Problem?”
She tried to sound casual.
Russo’s gaze returned to her. But the softness was gone. Replaced by something calculating.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
But she could see it in the set of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders.
Whatever news he’d received had disturbed him deeply.
“You should rest.”
She suddenly desperate to escape the intensity of his scrutiny.
“The antibiotics work better when the body is relaxed.”
He settled back against the pillows. Eyes still fixed on her face.
“Will you stay?”
There was something vulnerable in the question.
It caught her off guard.
She nodded before she could overthink it.
“I’ll be right here.”
As he drifted back to sleep, she curled up in the oversized chair.
Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Outside the windows, she could see men moving across the grounds. Their forms dark shadows against the moonlit landscape.
More than before. Many more.
Something was happening. Something that had Salvatore Russo calling in reinforcements even as he lay fighting infection in his bed.
And somehow she knew with bone-deep certainty it had something to do with her.
Emma woke to sunlight streaming through the windows.
The disorienting sensation of unfamiliar surroundings.
For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was.
The chair beneath her was butter-soft leather. Not the threadbare fabric of her apartment furniture. The ceiling above was coffered with dark wood. Not water-stained plaster.
Then it all came rushing back.
Salvatore Russo. The infection. The mansion surrounded by armed men.
She sat up quickly. Wincing at the stiffness in her neck.
The bed was empty.
Sheets rumpled. But no sign of her patient.
The IV stand remained. The bag nearly empty. But the line had been disconnected.
“Mr. Russo?”
No answer.
She rose, stretching out kinks from her uncomfortable night’s sleep. Moved to the adjoining bathroom.
The door was ajar. But the room beyond was empty. A palatial marble shrine to luxury with a shower large enough for five people and a soaking tub that looked like it had been carved from a single block of stone.
Returning to the bedroom, she noticed a folded piece of paper on the nightstand.
Her name written on it in a strong, slanting hand.
Emma,
Business required my attention. Help yourself to anything you need. Marco will see to your comfort. Do not leave the grounds.
SR
Business required his attention.
The man was running a fever of one hundred one and fighting a serious infection.
What kind of business was so urgent it couldn’t wait until he wasn’t at risk of sepsis?
She gathered her medical bag. Intending to find someone who could tell her where her patient had disappeared to.
The bedroom door opened.
A young woman entered. Carrying a tray laden with food.
She was perhaps a few years younger than Emma. Dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Eyes that assessed her quickly.
“Good morning, Miss Shaw. I’ve brought you breakfast.”
Her English was perfect. But held the same faint accent as Russo’s.
She set the tray on a small table near the windows.
“Mr. Russo asked that I provide you with anything you might need.”
“Where is he?”
Emma moved toward the table. Suddenly aware of how hungry she was.
The tray held a carafe of coffee. Fresh fruit. Pastries. What appeared to be a frittata, still steaming.
“Mr. Russo had matters to attend to. He will return this evening.”
She poured coffee into a delicate china cup.
“My name is Sophia. I am Mr. Russo’s housekeeper.”
Emma accepted the cup gratefully. Inhaling the rich aroma.
“He shouldn’t be out of bed. His infection—”
“Mr. Russo does as he pleases.”
There was something in her tone. Not quite disapproval, but close.
“Dr. Vega is with him.”
“Dr. Vega?”
Sophia’s expression remained neutral.
“Dr. Vega arrived early this morning to examine Mr. Russo. He administered additional antibiotics and cleared him for limited activity.”
Irritation flared.
“Why bring me here if he had a doctor on call?”
“I see.”
Sophia paused.
“Mr. Russo was most insistent that you remain comfortable during his absence. There are clothes in the guest room that should fit you. You’re welcome to use any of the facilities. The pool. The library. The gardens. Marco will accompany you if you wish to walk the grounds.”
In other words, she was free to roam the gilded cage.
But not to leave it.
“When will I be allowed to go home?”
Sophia’s eyes flickered momentarily.
“Mr. Russo will discuss that with you upon his return.”
After she left, Emma ate mechanically.
Her mind racing.
She needed to call the hospital. Let them know she wouldn’t make her shift.
She patted her pockets. Then remembered her phone was still in her apartment.
Russo’s men had provided the burner phone yesterday. But she’d left it in the car.
Finishing her coffee, she decided to explore.
If nothing else, it would give her a better understanding of whose home she was essentially imprisoned in.
The guest room Sophia had mentioned was across the hall.
A space almost as large as the master suite. Decorated in soft creams and blues.
The closet contained an assortment of women’s clothing in approximately her size. All with designer labels. Many still bearing tags.
She selected jeans and a simple sweater.
Then took a long shower in the ensuite bathroom. Letting the hot water ease the tension from her muscles.
Dressed and feeling marginally more human, she ventured into the hallway.
The house was eerily quiet. Though she occasionally glimpsed staff moving efficiently through distant rooms.
She wandered through a series of elegantly appointed spaces.
A formal dining room that could seat twenty.
A library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
A conservatory filled with exotic plants.
In each room, priceless art adorned the walls. She recognized some of the names. Monet. Picasso. Rothko.
Others were unfamiliar. Though clearly valuable.
It was like walking through a private museum. Curated with impeccable taste.
She found Marco in what appeared to be a study.
Seated behind a massive desk. Speaking rapid-fire Italian into a phone.
He looked up when she entered. His expression unreadable as he ended his call.
“Miss Shaw. I trust you slept well.”
“As well as one can in a chair.”
She moved further into the room. Taking in the rich leather furnishings and another wall of books.
“Where is Mr. Russo?”
Marco’s face gave nothing away.
“Attending to business.”
“What kind of business requires a man with a severe infection to leave his sick bed?”
“The kind that cannot wait.”
He gestured to a chair opposite the desk.
“Please sit.”
She remained standing.
“I need to call the hospital. Tell them I won’t be in tonight.”
“Already taken care of. Your supervisor believes you have contracted influenza and will be out for at least three days.”
The casual way he said it. As if forging a sick call for her was nothing.
Sent a chill down her spine.
“You had no right.”
“Mr. Russo thought it prudent to handle the details.”
Marco leaned back in his chair. Studying her.
“He also arranged for your rent to be paid for the next six months. And your grandmother’s care facility has received an anonymous donation covering her expenses for the year.”
Emma stared at him.
Speechless for a moment.
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“Salvatore Russo pays his debts.”
“I don’t want his money.”
A ghost of a smile touched Marco’s lips.
“Few refuse Salvatore’s generosity. Fewer still get the opportunity to do so twice.”
The implication was clear.
The money wasn’t really payment.
It was insurance. A way to keep her quiet. To make her complicit.
She changed tactics.
“How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“That depends on Salvatore.”
Marco’s expression softened slightly.
“He values your medical expertise. And your discretion.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”
“We always have choices, Miss Shaw. You could have refused to treat him. Called the police. You didn’t.”
The echo of Russo’s words from the night before made her skin prickle.
“So I’m a prisoner because I helped him.”
“Not a prisoner. A guest.”
Marco rose from his chair.
“Would you like to see the grounds? The gardens are quite beautiful. Even in autumn.”
She recognized the deflection.
But decided to accept it.
Perhaps outside she’d have a better chance of understanding her situation.
Or finding a way out of it.
The estate was even more impressive in daylight.
Manicured lawns stretched in all directions. Giving way to woodlands at the property’s edge.
The lake she’d glimpsed from Russo’s window was larger than she’d realized. Its surface glittering in the morning sun.
A boathouse nestled on the far shore. She could see a dock extending into the water.
But what struck her most was the security.
Men patrolled the perimeter in pairs. All wearing earpieces. Cameras were discreetly mounted at strategic points. Their lenses swiveling to track movement.
The wrought iron fence surrounding the property had to be at least ten feet high. With what looked suspiciously like electrified wiring along the top.
“How many men does Mr. Russo employ?”
She asked as Marco led her along a stone path through a formal rose garden.
“That changes depending on circumstances.”
Marco’s tone was carefully neutral.
“Currently, there are more than usual.”
“I noticed.”
“Why?”
Marco glanced at her. Considering.
“There was an incident. A rival organization attempted to breach our security last night.”
Her steps faltered.
“Here? At the house?”
“No. At another location. But Salvatore takes no chances when it comes to his home.”
Or his captives, she thought.
But didn’t say.
They continued walking. Marco pointing out features of the grounds with the pride of someone who had helped build something remarkable.
Despite her situation, Emma found herself admiring the beauty of the place. The thoughtful landscaping. The way the house seemed to rise organically from its surroundings.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Russo?”
She asked as they paused beside a small Japanese-inspired garden. Complete with a bubbling stream and miniature bridge.
“Since he was a boy.”
Marco’s expression softened with something like paternal affection.
“His father and I were associates. When Antonio was killed, I took Salvatore under my protection.”
“Killed.”
Marco’s face closed again.
“It was a difficult time.”
They walked in silence for a while. Circling back toward the house.
As they approached, Emma noticed increased activity.
More men moving with purpose. Vehicles arriving and departing through the security gate.
“What’s happening?”
She asked.
Marco’s expression gave nothing away.
“Mr. Russo is returning.”
As if on cue, a convoy of black SUVs swept up the drive.
Coming to a stop before the main entrance.
Men spilled out. Forming a protective cordon around one vehicle.
The rear door opened.
And Salvatore Russo emerged.
Even from a distance, Emma could see he was in pain. His movements stiff. His normally perfect posture compromised by the need to protect his injured side.
But there was nothing diminished about his presence.
The men around him moved with the careful deference of satellites orbiting a dangerous star.
His gaze swept the area.
Landing on her with palpable intensity.
Even across the expansive lawn, she felt the impact of those ice-blue eyes like a physical touch.
Marco murmured something beside her that she didn’t catch.
Already moving toward the assembled group, she followed more slowly.
Her medical training warring with her sense of self-preservation.
Russo clearly needed to be back in bed.
But approaching him in front of his men felt dangerous in ways she couldn’t articulate.
By the time Emma reached the house, Russo had disappeared inside.
Leaving a wake of tense energy behind him.
Marco intercepted her at the door.
“Mr. Russo will see you in his study in one hour. Sophia will show you to your room to refresh yourself.”
She wanted to protest. To insist on examining him immediately.
But something in Marco’s expression stopped her.
This wasn’t a normal patient-nurse dynamic. These weren’t normal circumstances.
She needed to tread carefully.
Sophia was waiting in the foyer. Her expression as unreadable as ever.
She led Emma back to the guest room without speaking. Closing the door softly behind her as she left.
Emma paced the room.
Anxiety building with each passing minute.
Something had happened. Something beyond a rival organization attempting to breach security.
The tension in the house was palpable. Like the air before a thunderstorm.
When Sophia returned to escort her to Russo’s study, she had worked herself into a state of nervous determination.
Whatever game was being played, she needed answers.
The study was different from Marco’s workspace.
Darker. More intimate.
Leather-bound books lining the walls. A massive fireplace dominating one end of the room.
Russo sat behind a desk that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of ancient wood.
His pale eyes tracking her entrance with predatory focus.
He looked worse than he had that morning. The fever flush high on his cheekbones. Lines of pain bracketing his mouth.
But he was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit. His dark hair combed back from his forehead.
His posture betraying none of the discomfort she knew he must be feeling.
“Emma.”
Her name in his accented voice sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
“I trust Marco showed you the grounds.”
“He did.”
She moved closer to the desk. Medical assessment automatic.
“You should be in bed.”
“The infection is being managed.”
He gestured to a chair across from him.
“Please sit.”
She remained standing.
“I’d like to examine your wound.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“So dedicated to your patient. Very well.”
He began unbuttoning his jacket.
Emma circled the desk. Medical bag in hand.
He shrugged out of his jacket with careful movements. Then loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
The bandage beneath was pristine. Recently changed.
But when she peeled it back, she could see the wound was still angry and inflamed.
“The antibiotics are working. But slowly.”
She probed gently at the edges of the incision.
“You’ve been exerting yourself too much.”
“Unavoidable.”
She replaced the bandage with a fresh one from her bag.
“Nothing is unavoidable. You’re risking sepsis.”
“Some risks are worth taking.”
His eyes never left her face as she worked.
“There have been developments that required my personal attention.”
Emma stepped back. Returning to the other side of the desk.
“When can I go home?”
Russo studied her for a long moment. His expression unreadable.
“That’s complicated.”
“It’s really not. You have a doctor now. This Dr. Vega. You don’t need me anymore.”
“Dr. Vega is useful. But limited in his availability. And his discretion.”
Russo leaned back in his chair. Wincing slightly.
“You, on the other hand, have proven both skilled and discreet.”
“Not by choice.”
“Nevertheless.”
He steepled his fingers.
“There’s also the matter of your safety.”
That pulled her up short.
“My safety?”
“The men who attempted to breach our security last night were looking for something specific.”
His gaze was steady on hers.
“Someone specific.”
A chill ran down her spine.
“Me? Why would anyone be looking for me?”
“Because you treated me at Mercy General. Because you left with my men. Because certain interested parties have realized you might be valuable.”
The implication hit her like a physical blow.
“You’re saying I’m in danger because I helped you.”
“I’m saying the circumstances have become more complex than either of us anticipated.”
Anger flared. Hot and sudden.
“This is insane. I’m a nurse. I treated a patient. That’s all.”
“In your world, perhaps.”
Russo’s voice remained calm. Reasonable.
“But you’ve stepped into my world now, Emma. And in my world, connections to me come with certain complications.”
“So what? I’m supposed to stay here indefinitely? Become your personal nurse?”
“Your prisoner?”
He corrected softly.
“My guest.”
“Until the situation is resolved.”
“When will that be?”
“Soon.”
He rose from his chair with careful movements. Circling the desk to stand before her.
Even in his weakened state, his presence was overwhelming.
Tall. Powerful. Radiating a controlled danger that made her pulse quicken.
“I’ve put measures in place. The men looking for you will be dealt with.”
Emma took an involuntary step back.
“Dealt with?”
“You don’t want the details.”
His eyes held hers. Intense and unwavering.
“Know only that I protect what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
The words came out sharper than she intended.
Something flickered in his gaze. Amusement, maybe. Or appreciation.
“You saved my life, Emma Shaw. In my world, that creates a bond. A debt. One I intend to repay by ensuring your safety.”
Before she could respond, a sharp knock came at the door.
Marco entered without waiting for permission. His expression grave.
“They found it.”
He said in English, presumably for her benefit.
“The tracking device was in her medical bag. Activated shortly after she arrived yesterday. They’ve been monitoring her movements within the house.”
Russo’s face hardened to granite.
Emma’s legs suddenly felt weak.
Tracking device. In her bag.
Russo moved to her in two quick strides. Taking her arms in a gentle but firm grip.
“Did you speak to anyone unusual at the hospital before treating me? Anyone who might have had access to your belongings?”
She shook her head. Her mind racing.
“No. I— wait.”
A memory surfaced.
“There was a new security guard. He asked to check my bag when I arrived for my shift. Said it was a new protocol.”
Russo and Marco exchanged looks laden with meaning.
“They’ve been watching you since the beginning.”
Marco said softly.
“They knew she would lead them to you.”
“Who?”
Emma demanded. Her voice rising with panic.
“Who is ‘they’?”
“The Costello family.”
Russo replied. His accent thickening with what she now recognized as suppressed rage.
“A rival organization that has been attempting to encroach on my territory for the past year.”
“But why me? Why would they care about a nurse?”
“Because Salvatore never brings women to his home.”
Marco’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“Never allows outsiders this close. You represented an unprecedented opportunity to locate him when he was vulnerable.”
The implications crashed over her in a sickening wave.
She wasn’t just in danger because she’d treated Russo.
She was being used as bait.
A tool to get to him when he was injured and weakened.
“Oh my god.”
She sank into the chair behind her.
Her legs no longer able to support her weight.
“This is a nightmare.”
“It’s business.”
Russo corrected. His voice cold.
“Brutal. But predictable.”
He turned to Marco.
“Double the perimeter security. Move forward the timetable on Costello. Tonight.”
Marco nodded once and left the room without another word.
Russo knelt before her. Ignoring what must have been significant pain from his wound.
His hands closed over hers where they twisted in her lap.
“Listen to me, Emma. You are safe here. No one will harm you while you’re under my protection.”
“Your protection?”
She gave a slightly hysterical laugh.
“I wouldn’t need protection if I’d never met you.”
“Perhaps.”
His thumbs traced small circles on her wrists.
The touch oddly calming despite everything.
“But we cannot change the past. We can only move forward.”
She looked into his eyes. Searching for something.
Deceit. Manipulation. The cold calculation that should be there.
Instead, she found something that looked disturbingly like genuine concern.
“What happens now?”
She asked. Her voice steadier than she felt.
“Now you stay here. Where I can ensure your safety. My men will deal with the Costello threat. Once that’s resolved, you’ll be free to return to your life.”
“Just like that?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“More or less.”
“And if I don’t want to stay?”
His expression sobered.
“Then you place yourself in danger.”
He paused.
“And you leave me without my very capable nurse. While I’m still fighting an infection.”
The naked manipulation in the statement was so blatant, it was almost charming.
Almost.
“You’re impossible.”
She muttered.
“So I’ve been told.”
He rose with a barely concealed wince.
“Now, if you’re done questioning my decisions, I believe it’s time for another dose of antibiotics.”
For the rest of the day, Emma fell into an uneasy routine.
Checking Russo’s wound. Administering medication. Monitoring his temperature.
He worked from his bedroom. Receiving a stream of visitors who spoke to him in rapid Italian. Their conversation ceasing the moment she entered the room.
The sun had set when Marco appeared at the bedroom door.
His expression grim.
“It’s time.”
Russo nodded. Setting aside the laptop he’d been working on.
“Stay with Emma. Make sure she remains in the house.”
“Of course.”
Marco’s eyes flicked to her where she stood by the window. Pretending not to listen.
“Be careful, Salvatore. You’re not at full strength.”
“I don’t need to be.”
Russo’s voice held a deadly calm that sent chills down her spine.
“I just need to be present.”
After he left, Emma turned to Marco.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
But his gaze kept straying to the window. Out toward the darkness beyond the property.
“It concerns me if it involves people who are apparently using me to get to Mr. Russo.”
Marco was silent for a long moment.
“Salvatore is meeting with Victor Costello. Offering terms.”
“Terms?”
“A ceasefire. Territory agreements. Compensation for past disputes.”
The clinical phrasing didn’t fool her.
“You mean he’s threatening them?”
Marco’s lips curved in a humorless smile.
“In our world, negotiations and threats are often the same thing.”
Emma moved to the window. Peering out into the darkness.
Floodlights illuminated the grounds. Revealing more men than she’d seen earlier. All armed. All stationed with tactical precision around the property.
“How many men does Mr. Russo have here tonight?”
She asked quietly.
Marco came to stand beside her.
“Over two hundred.”
The number staggered her.
Two hundred armed men. All answering to Salvatore Russo. All prepared to protect him. And by extension, her.
“Victor will come with a similar show of force. It’s expected. A sign of respect.”
Emma wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room.
“What happens if the negotiations fail?”
Marco’s gaze was steady on hers.
“Pray that they don’t.”
Hours passed in tense silence.
Marco received periodic updates via his phone. But shared nothing with her.
Emma paced the bedroom. Anxiety building with each passing minute.
The scene outside remained unchanged. Armed men patrolling. Floodlights sweeping the grounds. The distant gleam of the lake reflecting the moon.
It was nearly midnight when the door opened.
Russo entered.
He looked exhausted. The lines around his mouth deeper than before.
But there was a satisfied gleam in his pale eyes.
“It’s done.”
He said to Marco. Loosening his tie with one hand.
“Costello accepted our terms.”
Relief washed over Marco’s features.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
Russo’s gaze found hers.
“Including the provision regarding Miss Shaw.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“What provision?”
“Your safety. Your return to your normal life. Your continued anonymity.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. Something in the careful way he chose his words.
“And in return?”
A slight smile curved his lips.
“You concern yourself with matters that don’t require your attention.”
“If it involves me, it absolutely requires my attention.”
Marco made a sound that might have been a hastily suppressed laugh.
Russo shot him a look. Then turned back to her.
“Victor Costello has agreed to withdraw his interest in you. In return, I’ve granted certain concessions regarding shipping routes that were under dispute.”
The clinical phrasing couldn’t disguise what he was really saying.
He’d sacrificed business interests to ensure her safety.
The knowledge should have been reassuring.
Instead, it left her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“So I can go home.”
Russo’s expression grew guarded.
“Soon. After we ensure Costello honors his part of the agreement.”
“How long is ‘soon’?”
“A day. Perhaps two.”
He moved to the bed. Lowering himself onto it with careful movements that betrayed his exhaustion and pain.
“Your wound needs checking.”
The abrupt change of subject wasn’t lost on her.
But she let it slide. Her medical training taking over as she approached him.
Marco slipped from the room. Leaving them alone.
Emma helped Russo remove his jacket and shirt. Noting the fresh beads of sweat on his brow.
Whether from pain or the exertion of the night’s activities, she couldn’t tell.
The bandage beneath was still clean. A good sign.
But when she removed it, she could see the wound was still angry and inflamed.
“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
She said, cleaning the area with antiseptic.
“The infection isn’t responding to the antibiotics as quickly as it should.”
“I’ve had worse.”
She glanced up at his face. Finding his eyes fixed on hers with that now familiar intensity.
“That doesn’t make it any less serious.”
His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face.
The touch lingering longer than necessary.
“Your concern is touching.”
Emma pulled back. Applying a fresh bandage with perhaps more force than needed.
“It’s professional. Not personal.”
“Are you certain about that?”
The question hung in the air between them.
Loaded with implications she wasn’t ready to examine.
She busied herself with packing away her supplies. Avoiding his gaze.
“You should rest. Your body needs time to heal.”
“Will you stay?”
The question echoed the one from the night before.
But this time it carried a different weight.
She looked up. Finding his expression more open. More vulnerable than she’d seen it yet.
“I’ll check on you through the night.”
She hedged.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His voice was soft. But insistent.
“Will you stay, Emma? Here. With me.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
Not of fear. But of something far more dangerous.
Something she wasn’t ready to name.
“I don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“I think you do.”
His gaze held hers. Unflinching.
“From the moment you pulled back that curtain in the ER, something changed. You felt it too.”
She shook her head. Taking another step back.
“You’re delirious. The fever.”
“I’ve never been more clear-headed.”
He rose from the bed. Moving toward her with the fluid grace of a predator. Despite his injury.
“You see me, Emma. Not the power. Not the money. Not the danger. You see me.”
He was too close now.
Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Smell the expensive cologne that clung to his skin beneath the antiseptic.
“I don’t know you.”
She whispered.
“You know enough.”
His hand came up to cup her cheek.
Gentle despite the strength she knew it possessed.
“Enough to be afraid. Yet here you stand. Enough to understand what I am. Yet you still treat me with compassion.”
She should pull away.
Should put distance between them.
Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch.
Her body betraying what her mind still fought against.
“This is insane.”
She breathed.
“Stockholm syndrome at its finest.”
“Is that your diagnosis, Nurse Shaw?”
“It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“Or perhaps it’s simpler than that.”
His thumb traced the outline of her lower lip.
“Perhaps it’s chemistry. Fate. The recognition of something in another that resonates with something in yourself.”
“Poetic for a man who commands an army of killers.”
His smile widened.
“We contain multitudes. You and I.”
Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them.
His lips capturing hers in a kiss that was surprisingly gentle for all the power it contained.
She should have pushed him away.
Should have slapped him.
Should have run.
Instead, her hands came up to grip the front of his undershirt. Pulling him closer as something inside her surrendered to the inevitable.
The kiss deepened.
His arms encircling her. Drawing her against the hard planes of his body.
She could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric separating them. The steady beat of his heart against her palm.
In that moment, he wasn’t Salvatore Russo. Feared mafia boss with an army at his command.
He was simply a man. Wounded and healing. Holding her like she was something precious.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t expected.
Vulnerability.
Laid bare for her to see.
It transformed his face. Softening the harsh lines. Revealing the man beneath the power.
“Stay.”
He whispered against her lips.
“Stay with me tonight.”
And God help her.
She did.
