Chicago’s Most Feared Crime Boss Had Not Been Touched in Eleven Years Until the Nurse Everyone Ignored Put Her Hand on His Heart

When the sun finally rose over Lake Michigan, casting a pale, pink glow across the private suite, Roman Calder opened his eyes.

The pain was the first thing he felt—a deep, burning ache in his shoulder and a sharp, tearing sensation in his side every time he breathed. But the second thing he felt was a strange, unfamiliar warmth.

He looked down.

Maggie Bennett was still sitting on the plastic stool beside his bed. Her head had fallen forward, her chin resting against her chest as she slept, her breathing slow and heavy. Her hand, soft and bare, was resting on the mattress, just inches from his gloved left hand.

Roman lay still, his gray eyes studying her.

She was not the kind of woman he usually allowed in his presence. The women who sought his attention were thin, elegant, and wore perfume that smelled of money and desperation. They were women who looked at his scars with hidden disgust and his bank account with open hunger.

Maggie Bennett looked like she had never spent a dollar on herself in her life. Her nurse’s uniform was faded, her skin was pale from too many night shifts, and her hands were rough from sterile soap.

Yet, she was the only person in eleven years who had touched him without causing his nervous system to scream in agony.

Slowly, Roman pulled the leather glove from his left hand. The skin beneath was pale, untouched by the sun, the palm scarred with faint, silver lines from the fire that had almost taken his life.

He hesitated.

His entire life had been defined by the rule of distance. To let someone touch him was to give them a weapon. His fiancée, Victoria, had taught him that lesson in fire and blood.

But as he looked at Maggie’s sleeping face, the memory of her warm, steady hand on his chest returned. It hadn't felt like acid. It had felt like... peace.

With a slow, trembling movement, Roman reached out and touched the tip of his bare finger to the back of Maggie’s hand.

His nervous system braced for the familiar, burning jolt of pain.

It didn't come.

There was only the soft, cool texture of her skin, and a strange, comforting warmth that seemed to flow up his arm, settling deep into his chest.

Maggie stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, her brown gaze immediately shifting to his face, then down to where his bare finger was touching her hand.

She didn't pull away. She didn't gasp or make a scene. She simply smiled, a slow, sleepy curve of her lips.

"Good morning, Roman," she said, her voice soft in the quiet room. "How is the pain?"

Roman pulled his hand back, his face turning rigid as his old defenses reasserted themselves. "It’s gone."

"It’s not gone," Maggie said, her smile widening slightly as she checked his monitor. "Your heart rate is ninety. That means you’re in pain, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. I’m going to adjust your medication through the IV. It won't make you sleepy, I promise."

"I don't want drugs," Roman growled, his voice rough. "I need my head clear. Declan!"

The door opened instantly, and Declan Shaw stepped in, his eyes darting to Roman, then to Maggie. "You're awake, Boss. Thank God."

"Who did this?" Roman asked, his voice cold as ice.

Declan’s face hardened. "The Moretti family. They set up an ambush outside the warehouse in Cicero. They had to have known you were going to be there, Roman. Someone on the inside leaked the schedule."

Roman’s eyes darkened, the gray turning into the color of a winter storm. "We have a rat."

"We're looking into it," Declan said. "But right now, we have a bigger problem. Lorenzo Moretti has called a meeting of the Five Families for tonight at the Drake Hotel. He’s going to announce that you’re dead or incapacitated, and he’s going to claim your West Side territory."

"He’s welcome to try," Roman said, trying to sit up.

A sharp, agonizing pain ripped through his side, and he let out a choked gasp, his hand flying to his ribs.

Before he could fall back, Maggie’s hand was on his shoulder, her weight steadying him, her touch firm but incredibly gentle.

"Don't," she said, her voice no longer soft, but commanding. "I told you, Roman. You have a bullet near your ribs. If you try to stand up, you will tear the subclavian artery and you will die before Declan can get you to the elevator. You are not going to any meeting tonight."

"You don't tell me what to do, nurse," Roman snarled, his eyes flashing with fury as he looked at her.

"I am the only person keeping you alive," Maggie said, looking right back at him without a single trace of fear. "If you want to go to the Drake Hotel and die in your expensive suit to satisfy your pride, go ahead. I will pack my bags and go home. But if you want to live to find the person who betrayed you, you will lie down and let me do my job."

Roman stared at her.

In the eleven years since the fire, no one had ever spoken to him like this. His men feared him; his enemies hated him; his associates placated him.

But this three-hundred-pound nurse was standing in his way like an unmovable mountain, her brown eyes filled with nothing but a fierce, protective determination.

Slowly, Roman leaned back against the pillows.

"You have a big mouth, Margaret," he muttered, though the anger had gone from his voice.

"So my mother used to tell me," Maggie said, adjusting his blanket. "Now, lie still. I’m going to bring you some broth. And Declan... if you bring any of his associates into this room without my permission, I will have the hospital security escort you out."

Declan looked at Roman, expecting his boss to order the nurse’s execution.