Chapter 1 - The Six-Week Sentence
“Six weeks,” Dominic repeated, his gaze burning into hers as the gray morning light filtered through the blinds of Room 304. “That is how long the surgeon said it will take for the deep muscle tissue to fully knit. Six weeks of specialized, private trauma care. Away from this hospital. Away from anyone who can be bought by my enemies.”
Isla froze, her hand still resting lightly on his broad, bandaged shoulder. The heat radiating from his skin felt intense, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of the room. She slowly drew her hand back, curling her fingers into her palms.
“Mr. Ashford, I am a staff nurse at St. Mercy,” she said, her voice matching her professional posture. “I have a shift rotation. I have a supervisor. I can’t just disappear into a private contract because you don’t trust your own security details.”
Dominic reached to the bedside table, picking up a heavy, matte-black smartphone. He tapped the screen once and held it out to her.
Isla looked down. Her breath caught. It was a digital receipt from St. Mercy’s administrative office. A corporate donation of five hundred thousand dollars had been processed at 5:15 AM under the name of Ashford Holdings. Attached to the digital file was an approved sabbatical form bearing her name, signed directly by the Chief of Medicine.
“Your supervisor has already been notified,” Dominic said, his low voice completely flat, devoid of arrogance but heavy with absolute certainty. “Your sabbatical is approved. Your position will be held with full seniority when you return. You are no longer on the clock for St. Mercy, Nurse Monroe. For the next six weeks, your only patient is me.”
“You didn't even ask me,” Isla whispered, a spark of real anger flaring in her chest. She had spent years fighting to keep control over her life after her parents died, protecting her brother Marco from the chaotic whims of landlords and debt collectors. Now, this man had rearranged her professional career with a single wire transfer before breakfast. “You think because you have a bottomless bank account, you can just buy my time? Buy my choices?”
“I didn't buy your choices, Isla. I bought your security,” Dominic said. He leaned forward, ignoring the visible spasm of pain that crossed his jaw as his chest muscles strained against the white gauze. He reached into the pocket of the black jacket on the chair and pulled out a thick, legal-sized manila envelope. He set it heavily on the rolling tray table between them. “The fifty thousand for last night is already in your checking account. That envelope contains the contract for the next six weeks. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Half now, half upon completion.”
Isla stared at the envelope. That amount of money didn't just clear her debts—it bought a house. It secured Marco’s college fund. It meant she could stop looking at the price tags on groceries and counting the days until the electric bill was due.
“Why me?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly under the weight of the temptation. “There are hundreds of private nurses in Chicago who have military training, who know how to handle high-risk clients. I’m just a night-shift worker from the trauma ward.”
“Because when the alarms went off three nights ago, and my men pulled guns on the trauma team, the other nurses ran for the security doors,” Dominic said, his gray eyes locking onto hers with a frightening intensity. “You stayed. You pinned my shoulder down, looked my lead bodyguard in the eye, and told him if he didn't lower his weapon, I would bleed to death while he was trying to look tough. You don't scare easily, Isla. And right now, I need someone who fears the grave less than they fear failure.”
Before Isla could answer, the frosted glass door opened. Carter, the large, silent guard who had spent the night in the hallway, stepped into the room. His face was grim, his eyes darting toward the window before settling on Dominic.
“Boss,” Carter said, his voice a low gravel. “The transport is out back. The underground garage is clear, but the street team spotted a scout from the Moretti syndicate two blocks north. We need to move now.”
Dominic nodded once, his expression instantly shifting into that of a king preparing for a siege. He looked back at Isla, his hand hovering over the manila envelope.
“The choice is yours, Nurse Monroe,” he said softly. “Walk out that door and go home to your apartment, or pick up the envelope and get into the car. But know this: if you walk away, the Morettis will eventually find out who changed my bandages this week. In my world, even the shadows have eyes.”
Isla looked at the envelope, then thought of Marco sleeping safely in their small apartment. She knew the rules of the South Side—once you are seen with a king, the wolves assume you belong to his court. She had already crossed the line the moment she accepted the fifty thousand dollars.
May you like
With a steady hand, Isla reached out, picked up the envelope, and slid it into her bag.
“Let’s go,” she said.
