Chapter 3 - THE DEBT OF BLOOD
By 10:30 PM, the atmosphere in the ICU private suite was suffocatingly tense.
The tPA infusion was complete. Nora sat on a swivel chair by Claire's bedside, her eyes glued to the arterial monitor and the neurological checklist in her hands. Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the rainy Chicago skyline, phone pressed to his ear, issuing low, rapid commands in Italian to his lieutenants.
"...I don't care about the shipping manifest right now, Marco," Julian hissed quietly. "Secure the perimeter at the hospital. Nobody comes up to the ninth floor without my personal clearance."
He hung up and turned around.
On the bed, Claire’s eyes fluttered open.
Nora immediately stood up, leaning over her. "Claire? Can you hear me?"
Claire swallowed hard. Her right cheek was still slightly weak, but the profound sag had visually diminished.
"N... Nora?" Claire rasped, her voice thick and gravelly, but clear.
A sharp gasp escaped Julian’s lips. He took two long strides across the room, dropping to one knee beside his sister’s bed. He grabbed her left hand, pressing his forehead against her knuckles.
"Claire..." Julian breathed, his usual icy facade completely shattering for a fraction of a second.
"Julian..." Claire whispered, her right hand feebly moving across the bedsheets to touch her brother's wrist. "My... my hand moves."
"It moves, sweetheart. It moves," Julian murmured, kissing her hand before looking up at Nora.
Nora conducted a rapid neurological exam. "Raise your right arm for me, Claire."
Claire lifted her right arm three inches off the mattress. It trembled, but the motor pathway was re-establishing itself.
"The clot is dissolving," Nora declared, letting out a long, exhausted breath. "Speech is intact. Motor function is recovering. With aggressive physical therapy starting tomorrow, she should make a ninety-five percent recovery."
Julian stood up slowly. He looked down at Nora. The cold, dangerous mob boss was back, but beneath his posture lay a profound, heavy debt.
"Dr. Vance tried to have you removed by hospital security twenty minutes ago," Julian said softly.
Nora wiped a strand of loose hair from her tired eyes. "I know. I saw the guards outside."
"I had my men escort Dr. Vance off the premises," Julian continued. "He has been placed on administrative leave by the board of trustees as of five minutes ago. The Mercer family holds a significant endowment at this hospital."
Nora sighed, leaning against the wall. "That won't fix my license, Mr. Mercer. Vance was on the state disciplinary board. He'll use this incident to claim I practiced medicine without a license while under suspension."
Julian walked up to her, stopping mere inches away. He was tall, intimidating, smelling faintly of expensive tobacco and rain.
"No one is touching your license, Nora," Julian said, his voice deep and velvet smooth. "You saved my sister’s life tonight. In my world, a debt like that is paid in blood, loyalty, or absolute protection."
"I don't want your blood or your loyalty, Mr. Mercer," Nora said bravely, looking right into his dark eyes. "I just want to go home to my brother."
"I’ll have my driver take you home," Julian said. "But don't go back to L’Etoile. You don't work there anymore."
"I need that job to pay rent!" Nora protested.
"You are no longer a waitress, Dr. Bennett," Julian said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a heavy, silver-embossed card. "Starting tomorrow, you are Claire’s private attending physician. I will pay you fifty thousand dollars a month to manage her full recovery."
May you like
Nora stared at the card in shock. "Fifty thousand... a month?"
"That is a baseline," Julian said, his eyes burning into hers. "And while you are in my employ, anyone who tries to hurt you—whether it's corrupt medical boards or rival families—will have to answer to me."
