Chapter 2 - The Tenth Floor
The tenth floor of Lakeview Metropolitan was reserved for the city’s elite—politicians, foreign dignitaries, and men like Roman Calder who paid for their privacy in cash and political favors. The walls were covered in soft, wood-paneled wallpaper, the floors were carpeted to muffle footsteps, and the air smelled of lavender instead of bleach.
Maggie pushed the gurney herself, her heavy legs moving with a steady, tireless rhythm. Behind her, Declan and three of his men kept watch, their eyes scanning every doorway and security camera.
Once they reached Room 1004, a massive corner suite with a view of the dark, shimmering expanse of Lake Michigan, the transfer team helped lift Roman onto the specialized bariatric-support bed. Throughout the entire process, Maggie remained at his right side, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder over the sterile gown. Every time a male nurse tried to adjust his leads or change his IV bag, Roman’s body would stiffen, his heart rate spiking on the monitor until Maggie placed her hand back down.
"Keep them out," Roman whispered, his eyes closed as he lay back against the pillows. His voice was barely a breath. "Only you."
"I'm here," Maggie said. She pulled a rolling stool over to the side of the bed and sat down. Her hips pinched against the narrow plastic seat, but she ignored the familiar discomfort. She had spent her entire career ignoring her own body to care for others; tonight was no different.
Declan walked into the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him. He looked at Maggie, then at his boss, who had finally fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep.
"I've seen him kill men for stepping within three feet of him," Declan said quietly, crossing his arms. "I've seen him burn down a restaurant because a waitress spilled water on his bare wrist. What did you do down there, nurse?"
Maggie didn't look up from her assessment sheet. "I didn't treat him like a monster, and I didn't treat him like a victim. I treated him like a patient who was suffocating. When you can't breathe, Mr. Shaw, you don't care about who is holding the oxygen mask—you just want the air."
Declan let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "You've got balls, lady. I’ll give you that."
"I have a nursing degree and eight years of working the night shift with people who try to bite my fingers off," Maggie replied, her fingers tapping a rhythm on her clipboard. "Your boss isn't the first angry man I've had to calm down. He’s just the richest."
Declan’s smile faded. He walked over to the window, looking out at the city below. "He’s not just rich. He’s the only thing keeping this city from turning into a butcher shop. There are four different factions on the South Side waiting for him to die so they can start a turf war. If he doesn't sit up and sign some papers by tomorrow afternoon, the streets will run red."
"Then he needs to rest," Maggie said, her tone brook no argument. "The bullet near his ribs missed his liver by three millimeters. He’s lost nearly a third of his blood volume. If he tries to do business tomorrow, his blood pressure will drop, his sutures will tear, and he will bleed out on his expensive sheets."
"He doesn't have a choice," Declan said. "And neither do we."
The door to the suite opened slowly, and Celeste Burke stepped inside. She had replaced her scrub top with a crisp white lab coat, her hair perfectly smoothed back into its professional bob.
"Nurse Bennett," Celeste said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "The night supervisor has reviewed the schedule. Since you’ve been working for twelve hours straight, we’re sending you home. Nurse Davis from the day shift will take over Mr. Calder’s care."
Maggie didn't move. She looked at Roman, whose hand was still twitching toward the edge of the bed where her sleeve had been.
"I’m staying," Maggie said.
"This isn't a request, Margaret," Celeste said, her tone sharpening. "You are violating overtime protocols. The hospital cannot be held liable for—"
"I will pay her overtime," Declan interrupted, turning from the window. "I will pay her triple her hourly rate, in cash, out of my own pocket. And if Nurse Davis steps one foot into this room, I will have my men toss her out of the window. Does that clear up your scheduling issues, Celeste?"
Celeste’s face flushed red with humiliation. She looked at Maggie, her eyes filled with a deep, burning resentment. Maggie had always been the quiet one, the one who took the extra shifts without complaining, the one who cleaned up the mess when Celeste’s favorites made mistakes. To see Maggie sitting in the high-rent suite, protected by the most dangerous men in Chicago, was more than Celeste’s pride could bear.
"You think you’re special, Bennett?" Celeste whispered, stepping closer so Declan couldn't hear. "You think because this psycho let you touch him, you’re suddenly the star of this hospital? You’re a temp. You’re three hundred pounds of administrative dead weight. The moment he’s discharged, you’ll be back to cleaning bedpans in the overflow ward. Don't forget where you belong."
Maggie looked at her. For years, words like that had cut her, leaving silent, bleeding wounds she hid behind a polite smile and a quiet nod. But tonight, something had changed. She had looked into the eyes of a man who ruled a city through terror, and she had seen that he was just as fragile, just as frightened, as any other human being.
Celeste Burke’s petty cruelty didn't feel like a weapon anymore. It felt like the buzzing of a fly.
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"I belong right here," Maggie said, her voice completely calm. "Because right now, I’m the only person in this room who knows how to keep his heart beating. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check his IV line."
Celeste turned on her heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
