Chapter 2 - The Sound of Seclusion
The medical wing of the Black estate was located beneath the west conservatory, a fully operational, sterile three-bed surgical suite disguised behind a wall of mahogany bookshelves. It smelled of isopropyl alcohol, ozone, and the distinct, metallic tang of cold steel.
Ava sat in a stainless-steel chair in the corner of the recovery room, her hands clean now, though the skin around her cuticles was still stained pink from where the blood had dried. She had been given a grey cotton sweat suit to replace her ruined clothes, but her apron—with its three piles of crumpled money—lay on a counter across the room, under the watchful eye of a guard named Leo.
On the central bed, Roman Black was hooked to a three-line central venous catheter, a mechanical ventilator humming rhythmically by his pillow. The knife had been successfully extracted by a private surgeon who had arrived via helicopter forty minutes after the attack.
Ava watched the monitor. Heart rate 64, sinus rhythm regular, oxygen saturation ninety-eight percent on twenty-one percent FiO2. He was stable, but the internal damage had been extensive.
The door clicked open, and Dante Vance walked in, carrying a thin manila folder. He didn't look at Roman; he walked straight to Ava and dropped the folder onto her lap.
"Ava Monroe," Dante said, reading from a mental script. "Twenty-four years old. Six semesters at the Cook County School of Nursing. Disenrolled last January due to non-payment of tuition. Works forty hours a week at the Blue Star Diner, thirty hours a week for Imperial Cleaning Services. Total current debt: forty-two thousand dollars to Chicago General for the terminal care of one Lily Monroe."
Ava felt a cold sweat break out along her hairline. "How did you get that? Those are private records."
"There is no such thing as a private record when it comes to the safety of Roman Black," Dante said, leaning his hip against the metal counter. "Your background is clean. No connection to the Moretti outfit, no communications with the internal factions in Cicero. You really are just a girl who answers phones in the middle of the night."
"I told you that," Ava said, her voice rising with a spark of anger that surprised even herself. "I want to go home, Mr. Vance. My shift starts at five this evening, and if I’m late, my boss will fire me."
"You don't have a boss anymore, Ava," Dante said flatly. "I bought the Blue Star Diner twenty minutes ago. The owner was happy to retire to Florida on our dime. Your debt to Chicago General? Paid in full as of six a.m."
Ava stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the linoleum. "You did what? You can't just buy my life!"
"I can buy anything that keeps Roman Black alive," Dante countered, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "The woman who stabbed him was Victoria Moretti. The daughter of the West Side boss. She came here under the pretense of a truce negotiation and left him for dead. She’s currently running for the state line, and our people are hunting her. If the rest of the Chicago families find out Roman is incapacitated, this city becomes a slaughterhouse by nightfall."
He stepped closer, his shadow completely blocking the light from the hallway. "You are the only outsider who knows he’s alive and vulnerable. You are also the only person Sophie has spoken to since it happened. For the next month, you are the private medical nurse for the Black family. You will live here. You will care for him. And if you speak a single word to anyone outside these walls, the debt I paid for you will be the least of your concerns."
Ava looked past him to the bed. Roman Black’s face was sharp, his jawline covered in dark stubble, a long, silver scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his earlobe—a reminder of a life spent in the trenches of a hidden war. He looked like a creature made of iron and shadow, a man who could destroy her with a single phone call.
But then she looked at the doorway, where Sophie was standing with her thumb in her mouth, her small eyes fixed on Ava with a desperate, silent plea.
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"I need my books," Ava said, her voice shaking but resolute. "If I’m going to monitor his post-operative recovery, I need my advanced pharmacology texts from my apartment."
Dante’s face didn't change, but his eyes softened by a fraction of a millimeter. "Marcus is already bringing them. Welcome to the family, Nurse Monroe."
