Chapter 3 - The Awakening
The rhythmic, electronic beep of the heart monitor was the first sound that broke through the heavy, suffocating darkness in Skyler’s mind.
Then came the pain—a burning, throbbing ache along her left cheekbone that radiated down into her neck, accompanied by a dry, raspy feeling in her throat that made every breath feel like swallowing glass.
She moved her fingers slightly, feeling smooth, high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets beneath her hands instead of the thin, coarse polyester blankets provided in the servants' quarters.
"Don't move."
A deep, gravelly voice echoed from the side of the bed.
Skyler slowly forced her swollen eyes open. The room was softly lit, filled with flowers—dozens of vases of white lilies and fresh roses—and high-tech medical machinery. Sitting in a leather armchair right beside her pillow was Dominic Rossi.
He had stripped off his suit jacket, his tie loosened, dark shadows underneath his amber eyes suggesting he hadn't slept in days. In his hand, he held a small, delicate glass of water with a straw.
Skyler tried to speak, but only a small, raspy cough escaped her lips.
"Drink," Dominic commanded gently, leaning forward and placing the straw against her dry lips.
She took three tiny sips, the cool water soothing her burning throat. She blinked, trying to clear her blurred vision, her hand trembling as she touched the heavy gauze bandage wrapped over her left cheek.
"Mrs... Mrs. Rossi..." Skyler managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. "Is... is Carmela safe?"
Dominic froze for a microsecond, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically human. He set the water glass down on the bedside table and leaned back, watching her intently.
"My mother is unhurt," Dominic said softly. "She hasn't left the chapel downstairs since you were brought out of surgery. She’s been praying for you for forty-eight hours."
"Forty-eight hours?" Skyler’s eyes widened. "I... I've been asleep for two days? The kitchen... the laundry... I need to get up, Mr. Rossi, the head housekeeper—"
"You are no longer a maid in this house, Skyler," Dominic interrupted firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Skyler’s heart sank into her stomach. The old, familiar shame crept back into her chest—the feeling that no matter how hard she tried, her size, her clumsiness, her mistakes would always result in her being discarded.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes and stinging the fresh stitches on her face. "I'm sorry I ruined the gala... I tried to catch her... I didn't mean to fall..."
Dominic stood up slowly, his towering six-foot-three frame casting a broad shadow over the bed. He stepped closer, reaching out with a hand that had ordered the deaths of dozens of men, and gently wiped a single tear from her right cheek with his thumb.
"You didn't fall, Skyler," Dominic said, looking directly into her eyes. "You threw yourself in front of a weapon to save my mother's life. The ring Bianca struck you with was laced with a lethal neurotoxin. You almost died."
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Skyler stared at him, stunned into absolute silence. "Poison...?"
"You saved Carmela Rossi," Dominic declared softly. "And in doing so, you placed a debt on the Rossi family that can never be fully repaid. You will never clean a floor, carry a tray, or apologize for taking up space ever again."
