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For three days, the Lake Shore Drive penthouse felt like an opulent tomb.

Salvatore had been moved to a heavily fortified compound in Wisconsin under round-the-clock medical care, recovering from the physical toll of the estate attack. That left me alone in the glass tower with Mateo and a rotation of eight silent guards who guarded every exit like stone gargoyles.

I was losing my mind.

“I have to go,” I told Mateo on Sunday evening.

He was sitting at the massive dark oak desk in his library, surrounded by four glowing computer monitors displaying financial ledgers, security camera feeds, and encrypted communications. He didn't look up from his documents.

“No.”

“Mateo, listen to me!” I walked into the room, planting my palms flat against the edge of his desk. I was wearing clothes his staff had brought for me—a pair of dark jeans and a soft gray wool sweater that actually fit my frame. “Tomorrow morning at seven o'clock, I have my final clinical rotation at Mercy Hospital. If I miss it, I fail the semester. If I fail the semester, I lose my nursing scholarship. Six years of working three jobs to pay my way through school will be flushed down the toilet!”

Mateo slowly set his gold fountain pen down. He leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. The ice in his gray eyes was absolute.

“A nursing scholarship is irrelevant, Tessa. You have an offshore trust established in your name as of yesterday morning. You never have to worry about tuition, rent, or money for the rest of your natural life.”

“I don't want your damn trust fund!” I shouted, my temper finally snapping. “Don't you understand? That scholarship is the only thing in my life that belongs to *me*! It wasn't handed to me by a Sicilian mafia boss, and it wasn't bought with blood money! I earned it. Every single sleepless night, every textbook I bought with tip money, every exam I passed while surviving on instant noodles—that was *me*!”

Mateo’s jaw ticked. For several long seconds, the only sound in the library was the hum of the computers and my ragged breathing.

He stood up.

He didn't rush. He moved with that deliberate, overwhelming predator presence that made my instinct scream to run. He walked around the massive desk until he was standing directly in front of me.

“You think I don't respect what you’ve built?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“I think you’re treating me like a piece of antique jewelry your father misplaced!” I fired back, refusing to back down an inch. “You locked me in a golden cage and expected me to be grateful!”

Mateo’s hand reached out, his long fingers cupping the side of my face. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone with shocking tenderness, catching a stray tear I hadn't realized had fallen. The warmth of his skin made my breath catch in my throat.

“I don't lock you in a cage because you’re jewelry, Tessa,” he whispered, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. “I lock you in here because the moment you step outside those steel doors, my heart stops beating until you’re back inside.”

The air vanished from the room.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. The raw, unfiltered confession hung between us like a charged wire.

“Mateo...” I breathed.

“You want your rotation?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth before rising back to my eyes. “Fine. You go to Mercy Hospital tomorrow morning. But you don't go alone. I will be in the vehicle outside. Four armed men will be stationed in the lobby, and two will walk the corridors in scrubs. If you take a single step outside the building without my clearance, I will drag you back by your hair. Do we have a deal?”

A mixture of exasperation and an electric thrill coursed through me. “You’re completely insane.”

“That isn't an answer, Tessa.”

“Deal,” I whispered.

His hand lingered on my jaw for a fraction of a second longer, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip, before he reluctantly pulled away. “Get some sleep. The car leaves at six.”

***

Monday morning arrived under a blanket of torrential Chicago rain.

The armored SUV cut through the downpour, tires hissing against the slick asphalt of Michigan Avenue. Mateo sat beside me in the rear seat, dressed in a tailored charcoal overcoat, reviewing security feeds on an encrypted tablet. He hadn't spoken since we left the penthouse, but the lethal tension radiating from his frame filled every inch of the vehicle.

We pulled up to the ambulance bay of Mercy Hospital at exactly six-forty-five.

“Eight hours,” Mateo said, his voice flat. “Enzo is stationed in the second-floor staff lounge. Marco is by the main entrance. You do your rounds, you stay on the medical floor, and you do not step out for lunch.”

I reached for the door handle. “Thank you, Mateo.”

Before my fingers could engage the latch, his hand closed over my wrist. He pulled me gently back toward him. In the dim, leather-scented interior of the SUV, his eyes were storm-dark and unreadable.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

A sudden, overwhelming impulse seized me. Before I could overthink it, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his rough, stubbled cheek.

Mateo went completely still. His grip on my wrist tightened for a heartbeat, his breath hitching in his chest.

I pulled away, my cheeks burning with heat, pushed the door open, and ran through the pouring rain into the hospital lobby.

***

The shift was grueling. For seven hours, I lost myself in the rhythm of medicine—checking vitals, changing surgical dressings, administering IV medications, and assisting the attending physician with triage. For seven blessed hours, I wasn't the lost heir of a Sicilian empire. I was just Tessa Miller, student nurse.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, the emergency pager on my hip shrieked.

*Code Blue - Triage Bay 3.*

I sprinted down the linoleum hallway toward the emergency department, tying my hair back into a frantic ponytail. The automatic doors to the bay slid open, revealing chaotic shouts, flashing monitors, and paramedics wheeling in a stretcher.

Then the lights went out.

The entire hospital wing plunged into pitch darkness.

A split second later, the emergency backup generators sputtered, humming to life with a sickly yellow glow.