A Poor Nurse Protected a Stranger From Gunmen—Hours Later, She Learned Who He Really Was

The master suite on the second floor was as large as Clara’s entire apartment. Luca sat on the edge of a mahogany king-sized bed while Clara knelt beside him, scissors in hand, cutting away the blood-stained dress shirt.

The sutures she had placed twenty-four hours ago were holding, but the surrounding tissue was inflamed and pulled tight from his sudden movements.

"You need to stay off your feet," Clara instructed, cleaning the wound with fresh antiseptic from the medical kit Dante had brought up. "You suffered a major traumatic injury. You lost almost two liters of blood. Your body is running on adrenaline and pride, neither of which heals skin."

"I don't have time to rest," Luca said, staring down at her as she expertly applied fresh sterile dressing. "Vane pulled off that ambush because someone on my inner council leaked my movements. I have a traitor in my ranks, Clara. If I go quiet, my men will think I'm weak, and the entire city will collapse into open warfare."

"Let it collapse," Clara muttered, taping the edges of the bandage down firm. "It’s not worth dying over."

Luca reached down, his fingers catching her chin gently, forcing her to look up at him. His touch was warm, sending a strange, electric shiver through her spine.

"It is to me," he said softly. "This city was a warzone of petty thugs and drug pushers before my family took control. We maintain order. Vane brings chaos. If he takes over, places like St. Jude’s won't just be dirty—they’ll be burned to the ground."

Clara stared at him, caught in the intensity of his gaze. She saw the sheer weight of responsibility sitting on his shoulders, the brutal burden of a king holding together a crumbling empire.

A heavy knock at the door shattered the moment. Dante stepped into the room, his face grim.

"Boss," Dante said, glancing briefly at Clara before returning his focus to Luca. "We pulled the phone records from the night of the hit. The signal that tipped off Vane’s shooters came from inside the West Ward perimeter. It was an encrypted broadcast from an internal syndicate radio."

Luca’s expression hardened into ice. He let go of Clara’s chin and sat up straight, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain in his ribs. "Who had access to those frequencies?"

"Only the captains," Dante replied. "Gabriel, Lorenzo, and Marcus."

Luca closed his eyes for a brief second, processing the news. "Gabriel has been with my father for twenty years. Lorenzo controls the docks. Marcus handles the logistics."

"One of them took Vane’s money," Dante said flatly.

Clara stood up, packing away her medical supplies. "If you have a rat in your house, keeping me here makes me a target for them, too."

Luca looked up at her, his eyes cold and determined. "No one in this house knows who you are, Clara. To my men, you are simply a private doctor hired to treat my recovery. But you're right about one thing—we need to move fast before the traitor realizes I know they failed."

Luca looked at Dante. "Call a meeting of the captains for tomorrow night. Tell them I am heavily injured, bedridden, and unable to lead. Let them think the throne is empty."