Chapter 6 - Blood on the Satin
My brain dropped into pure trauma-response mode.
There was no room for fear. No room for panic. Only the primal, ferocious urge to protect the tiny life sleeping against my heart.
"Step back," I said, my voice eerily calm.
The gunman laughed. "Or what, nurse? You gonna throw a diaper at me?"
He took a step forward, raising his gun to target Leo's head.
I didn't hesitate. I reached out with my left hand, grabbing a heavy glass bottle of sterile saline solution off the medical cart, and hurled it with all my strength straight at his face.
The heavy glass smashed squarely against his balaclava-covered nose.
The gunman grunted in shock, his head snapping back as blood erupted from his nostrils. His weapon drifted an inch to the left.
That inch saved my life.
A deafening roar split the room.
The steel nursery door didn't just open—it blew inward off its hinges, crashing onto the carpet.
Daniel Russo stood in the doorway like an angry god.
He didn't fire his gun. He sprinted across the room faster than humanly possible, grabbing the intruder by the throat and slamming him violently into the mahogany bookshelf. Wood shattered. Books rained down like falling leaves.
Daniel hit the man three times—brutal, bone-crushing blows that echoed through the small room. The gunman fell limp, dropping to the floor like a sack of wet flour.
Daniel dropped to his knees beside him, unmasking the intruder, then standing up, his breathing heavy and ragged.
His face was splattered with blood. His bare chest was covered in red smears, and a deep, jagged slice ran across his left shoulder, dripping dark crimson blood down his arm and onto his slacks.
He ignored his own wound. He marched straight over to me, his dark eyes wide with frantic, unadulterated terror.
"Are you hit?" Daniel demanded, his hands flying to my shoulders, checking my body, checking Leo, inspecting every inch of us with frantic speed. "Clara! Did he touch you?!"
"We're okay! We're okay!" I cried out, grabbing his blood-soaked wrists to stop his shaking hands. "Daniel, stop! We're fine! Leo is okay!"
Daniel froze. His dark eyes locked onto mine.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest heaving against my grip. Slowly, he looked down at Leo, who was staring up at his father with wide, curious brown eyes, blissfully unaware of the dead man lying five feet away.
"You defended him," Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with an emotion he couldn't control. "You stood in front of a gun... for my son."
"I told you," I rasped, tears filling my eyes as I looked at the dark blood pouring from Daniel's shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to him. Now sit down before you bleed out on my clean carpet."
Daniel let out a breathless, dark laugh—a sound so full of relief it made my throat tight.
He sat down on the leather ottoman.
I set Leo safely inside the portable bassinet beside the chair, grabbed a surgical suture kit and alcohol from the emergency cart, and dropped to my knees between Daniel’s broad thighs.
"This is going to burn," I warned, pouring rubbing alcohol directly over his shoulder wound.
Daniel didn't even flinch. He didn't take his eyes off my face as I threaded the curved needle with practiced, rapid surgical precision.
"You're very bossy for a nurse whose brother is in my basement," Daniel murmured, his thumb reaching out to wipe a streak of dust off my jawline.
"I'm the only nurse in Chicago who can fix your shoulder and keep your son alive at the same time," I retorted, pulling the first suture tight. "You need me, Daniel Russo."
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Daniel leaned down, his face stopping a millimeter from mine. The scent of gunpowder, blood, and his intoxicating cologne wrapped around me like a velvet shroud.
"I do," Daniel whispered, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke the word. "God help me, Clara... I do."
