Six nurses had quit in five days before I walked into Dominic Rossi’s bedroom and found blood soaking through Egyptian cotton sheets. Everyone warned me the wounded mafia boss was determined to bleed himself to death, but with rent due Monday and almost nothing left in my bank account, fear had become a luxury I could no longer afford.

For forty-five minutes, I paced the floor of Dominic’s study like a caged animal.

Downstairs, the mansion was eerie in its silence. No raised voices, no gunshots, no clinking of glasses. Just an suffocating, heavy stillness that weighed on my chest.

I couldn't just sit there.

Ignoring my promise, I crept out of the study and slipped down the dark, carpeted hallway toward the grand staircase overlooking the main parlor. I crouched behind the thick marble balustrades, peering down through the iron spindles.

In the center of the parlor stood Don Antonio Moretti—a fat, graying man in a velvet-trimmed suit, surrounded by four heavily armed bodyguards. Across from him sat Dominic, lounging comfortably in a leather armchair, a crystal glass of bourbon in his left hand, looking entirely untroubled.

Marco stood behind Dominic’s chair, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.

“I must admit, Dominic,” Don Moretti said, his voice greasy and overly friendly, “I was deeply concerned. Rumors fly quickly in this city. They said a sniper took you down at the docks. They said you were rotting in your bed.”

Dominic took a slow sip of his bourbon. “As you can see, Antonio, rumors are cheap. I had a mild scratch. Nothing that required more than a day of rest.”

“A scratch?” Moretti chuckled, though his eyes remained sharp as needles. “That’s good to hear. Because if you were weak, Dominic... well, the Commission might have had to reassign the harbor contracts to someone who could protect them.”

Dominic set his glass down on the glass table with a heavy thud.

“The harbor is mine, Antonio,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register that sent shivers down my spine. “It was my father’s, and it will be mine until I am in the ground. If any of your men set foot on Pier 4 again, I won't send them back in cars. I’ll send them back in wooden crates.”

Moretti’s smile vanished completely. The tension in the parlor snapped like a wire. For three terrifying seconds, men on both sides reached for their holsters.

Then, Moretti let out a short, cold laugh. “Always a hothead, Dominic. Just like your father.” He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “I’m glad to see you’re alive. Enjoy your health... while it lasts.”

Moretti and his men turned and marched out the front doors, escorted by Leo.

I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, leaning my forehead against the cool marble of the balustrade.

Down in the parlor, Marco leaned down toward Dominic’s ear. “You should have let us take them out right here, Dominic. We had the high ground.”

“And start a war in my own living room?” Dominic replied coldly, standing up from his chair. “No. Moretti didn't come here to check on my health. He came to confirm if I was fit to fight.”

Dominic stopped, his eyes drifting slowly upward—straight toward the dark balcony where I was hiding behind the marble pillars.

My heart leaped into my throat. He knew I was there.

“Marco, leave us,” Dominic ordered flatly.

Marco frowned, looking up at the balcony, then back at Dominic, before turning and striding out toward the kitchen wing.

Dominic walked slowly toward the base of the grand staircase, looking up at me through the shadows.

“You broke your promise, Nora,” he said, his voice echoing softly through the cavernous foyer.

I slowly stood up from behind the balustrade, walking down the carpeted stairs until I stood three steps above him.

“I’m your nurse,” I said defensively. “If you got shot again, I’d be the one who had to clean up the mess.”

Dominic stepped closer, standing on the floor right beneath me, bringing our eyes to the exact same level. Up close, I could see the faint tension in his jaw, the raw adrenaline still surging through his veins from the confrontation with Moretti.

“You shouldn't have been down here,” Dominic whispered, reaching out and wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me gently toward him. His breath smelled of bourbon and rich tobacco. “If Moretti’s men had seen you...”

“They didn't,” I murmured, my hands coming up to rest instinctively against his chest. I could feel the rapid, powerful thunder of his heart beneath the black silk of his shirt.

“You’re a distraction, Nora,” Dominic breathed, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my knees weak. “I haven't thought about business for three days because I can't stop thinking about you in my house.”