The Plus-Size Paramedic Took a Bullet for His Father—By Morning, Chicago’s Mafia King Had Put Her Under His Protection

The dinner in Oak Brook had established Beatrice's untouchable status within the family, but peace in Dominic Rossi's world was always an illusion.

Two days later, Beatrice was seated in the sunroom of the Gold Coast mansion, reading through medical journals while Dr. Vance inspected her healing shoulder.

"The incision is knitting beautifully, Miss Gallagher," the doctor noted, applying a fresh sterile bandage. "Your tissue regeneration is remarkable. Another two weeks, and you’ll have ninety percent mobility back."

"Good," Beatrice said. "Because if I have to spend another day doing nothing, I’m going to start suturing the furniture."

As Dr. Vance packed his leather medical bag, Carmela entered the room carrying a silver tray with Salvatore’s afternoon medication. The patriarch had spent the last two days resting at Dominic’s estate to undergo routine cardiac monitoring.

"Is Don Salvatore awake?" Dr. Vance asked.

"Yes, Doctor. He is in the library reading his papers," Carmela replied. "He complained of a slight headache, so I prepared his standard blood thinner along with the herbal infusion his nephew Matteo brought from Italy yesterday."

Beatrice froze. Her paramedic instincts, sharpened by a decade of emergency room vigilance, flared like a siren.

"Wait," Beatrice said, standing up from her chair. "What herbal infusion?"

Carmela looked surprised. "A special mountain tea Matteo said helps with hypertension. He brought three sealed tins from Sicily."

"Let me see that," Beatrice said, striding over to the silver tray.

Beside the white porcelain teacup lay a small glass vial containing a dark, viscous liquid that Carmela was preparing to stir into the steaming tea. Beatrice picked up the vial, uncapped it, and took a cautious, shallow sniff.

A faint, bitter almond scent brushed her nostrils, overlaid with the heavy aroma of dried elderberry.

Her stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless pit.

"Dr. Vance," Beatrice said, her voice dropping into the flat, razor-sharp cadence of a first responder on an active code. "Smell this. Tell me I’m wrong."

The physician stepped forward, leaning over the vial. His eyes widened behind his gold-rimmed glasses, all color draining from his face. "Digitalis. Mixed with an anti-coagulant potentiator."

"If Salvatore drinks this with his daily blood thinners," Beatrice said, the adrenaline surging through her veins, "his heart rate will drop below thirty within twenty minutes. Complete atrioventricular block. And because he already has a cardiac history, every coroner in the state will rule it a natural myocardial infarction."

Carmela dropped the silver tray with a deafening clatter, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. "Madre de Dios! Matteo gave that to me this morning!"

"Where is Matteo?" Beatrice demanded, turning toward the doorway.

"He... he left twenty minutes ago," Carmela stammered, tears springing to her eyes. "He said he had business at the shipping docks near the Calumet River."

Before Beatrice could take another step, Dominic entered the corridor, alerted by the crash of the dropped tray. His gaze took in the shattered porcelain, Dr. Vance’s pale face, and Beatrice holding the dark vial.

"What happened?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping into that chilling, lethal quiet that signaled impending violence.

"Your cousin Matteo didn't come to Oak Brook to pay his respects," Beatrice said, walking straight up to him and holding out the vial. "He came to finish what the Marcone shooters failed to do in the ballroom. He tried to poison your father's tea with a concentrated digitalis blend."

Dominic looked at the vial. He didn't speak. He didn't curse.

He simply closed his eyes for three long seconds. When he opened them, the man who had looked at Beatrice with soft wonder over dinner was completely gone. In his place stood the ruthless executioner of the Chicago syndicate.

He reached for his phone, punching a single speed-dial button.

"Leo," Dominic commanded. "Lock down the city. Close the exits on the I-94 south corridor. Matteo is a dead man walking. Find him."

He ended the call, slipping the phone into his pocket, and turned his gaze upon Beatrice. For a brief second, the iron mask cracked, revealing the raw, bottomless depths of his gratitude.

"You saved him again," Dominic whispered, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek, his fingers trembling slightly. "Twice. You saved my entire world twice."

"Dominic, listen to me," Beatrice said urgently, gripping his wrist. "Matteo left twenty minutes ago. If he was planning on Salvatore dying this afternoon, he knows you'll figure it out the second the toxicology comes back. He isn't running to Sicily. He’s running to his allies. The Marcones."

"I know," Dominic said darkly. "And that is where I am going to end them."

"You need to stay with your father—"

"No," Dominic cut her off, stepping closer and framing her face with both hands, his thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones with desperate intensity. "My father has Dr. Vance and twelve heavily armed men guarding this house. But you... you are staying here. In the reinforced panic room on the lower level. Do you hear me, Beatrice? You do not leave this house."

"Dominic—"

He cut her off by crashing his lips onto hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was hard, desperate, and filled with the terrifying hunger of a man who knew he might be walking into a slaughter. Beatrice gasped against his mouth, her good arm wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as the world spun around them. He tasted of mint and raw fire, his broad hands gripping her waist, anchoring her to him with crushing intensity.

When he finally pulled away, both of them were breathing hard, their eyes locked in fierce, wordless communion.

"Wait for me," Dominic breathed against her lips. "Wait for me, Beatrice. When I come back, you and I are going to build something they can never tear down."

He turned and strode down the hall, shouting orders to his men as the mansion erupted into a fortress at war.