I lost the job that could have saved my life because I stopped to help a stranger collapse on a Chicago sidewalk. Three days later, I learned she was the mother of the city’s most feared Mafia boss—and her son had already decided my life was about to change.

In the forty-eight hours following the attack on the estate, the Hargrove empire went into total lockdown.

The Valenti syndicate had declared open war, but Adrian didn't react with reckless violence. Instead, he worked with a terrifying, calculated coldness. From his bedside in the master suite—where I strictly ordered him to remain while his shoulder healed—he coordinated a complete economic freeze on every Valenti-owned business in the state.

I sat at a small table near his bed, reviewing the medical records of Hargrove Health Group's supply chain. My shoulder hurt, my hands were tired, but I refused to leave. Margaret was safe in a secure wing, and Adrian... Adrian refused to let me out of his sight.

"Drink your tea, Nora," Adrian said softly from his bed. He was propped up against silk pillows, his chest bare except for the neat, white medical dressing I had applied to his shoulder.

"I'm busy," I replied without looking up from my laptop. "I'm cross-referencing the chemical batch numbers from the hospital's central warehouse. The antagonist used on your mother wasn't imported from overseas. It was manufactured right here in Chicago."

Adrian set his papers down, watching me with a dark, fascinated gaze. "You haven't slept more than four hours since yesterday."

"Paramedics live on cold coffee and spite, Mr. Hargrove," I answered, finally looking up.

"Adrian," he corrected softly, his gray eyes softening as he looked at me. "When a woman saves my life twice and stitches my skin back together, she earns the right to call me by my name."

I felt a warm flush creep up my neck. I looked back at the screen to hide my reaction, but my breath caught as a specific name appeared on the internal procurement logs.

"Found it," I whispered.

Adrian sat up straight, ignoring the sharp pull on his stitches. "What did you find?"

"The chemical orders for the synthetic compound were signed off using a master override code," I explained, turning the laptop toward him. "A code belonging to the Vice President of Hargrove Health Group—Richard Thorne."

Richard Thorne was a high-society billionaire, a darling of Chicago’s political elite, and one of Adrian’s most trusted corporate board members.

"Thorne," Adrian spat, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "He was the one who pushed for the merger with the European pharmaceutical group last year. The Valentis must have offered him full control of the health group once my mother and I were eliminated."

"He's attending the annual Chicago Healthcare Gala tonight at the Drake Hotel," I noted, checking the corporate calendar. "He thinks he succeeded in hiding his paper trail."

Adrian slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up to his full, commanding height. Despite his injury, he looked like an unstoppable force of nature.

"Then we shall attend the gala," Adrian declared smoothly, walking over to his walk-in closet. "And you, my brilliant medic, will be walking in on my arm."

"I don't have a gown for a high-society gala, Adrian," I pointed out. "I own two pairs of scrubs and a sensible winter coat."