Chapter 3
PART 3
By dawn, Dominic’s world had found him.
Three black SUVs pulled up outside the emergency entrance, engines idling in the rain. Men in dark suits entered the hospital in silence, spreading through the hallways with the disciplined menace of wolves entering a church.
Leo Vance arrived first.
Leo was Dominic’s oldest lieutenant, a heavy-shouldered white American man with silver at his temples and a scar cutting through his eyebrow. He had been beside Dominic since they were boys stealing cigarettes behind a Catholic school in Bridgeport. He knew when to speak, when to kill, and when to vanish.
He stopped in front of Dominic and lowered his voice.
“Boss.”
Dominic did not look away from the trauma doors. “Who told you?”
“Ambulance channel. One of ours heard the name.”
“Shut it down.”
“Already done.”
Nora, sitting two chairs away with her knees pulled up and her coffee untouched, opened one eye.
“Do hospitals usually come with henchmen?” she asked.
Leo turned his head slowly, taking in the stained uniform, wet hair, scuffed shoes, and unafraid stare.
“Who is she?”
“The woman who kept Ava alive,” Dominic said.
Leo’s expression changed. Not warmth. Men like Leo did not do warmth easily. But something like respect moved through his face.
“Then she’s under protection too.”
Nora sat up. “Absolutely not.”
Dominic finally looked at her. “You may have seen who she was with. Someone may come asking.”
“I saw a girl dying alone in a bathroom.”
“People will not know that.”
Nora laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Of course. Because in your world, saving a kid’s life becomes a liability.”
Before Dominic could answer, a doctor stepped through the trauma doors. He was middle-aged, tired, and careful with his eyes.
“Mr. Hale?”
Dominic stood.
“She’s stable,” the doctor said.
The words hit Dominic so hard he nearly reached for the wall.
The doctor continued. “Severe opioid overdose. Likely fentanyl contamination. The CPR was critical. Whoever started compressions bought your daughter the time she needed.”
Dominic looked at Nora.
She looked away first.
“She has two fractured ribs,” the doctor added. “She’ll be in pain when she wakes. We’re moving her to ICU for monitoring.”
“Can I see her?”
“Soon. Just family.”
Nora stood, grabbed her jacket from the chair, and winced when she straightened.
Dominic noticed.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re limping.”
“I spent my night kneeling on bathroom tile. It wasn’t a spa treatment.”
“I’ll have a doctor look at you.”
“No, you won’t.” Nora pulled her jacket tighter. “Your daughter’s alive. My part is done.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“Congratulations. You can read a clock.”
“You’re not taking the bus in this storm.”
Nora stared at him. “You don’t get to command me because you’re grateful.”
Dominic stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I am not trying to command you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He had no answer.
That bothered him.
Nora turned toward the exit. Dominic followed at a distance, ignoring Leo’s questioning look. Outside, rain struck the hospital awning in silver sheets. Nora stopped at the curb, realizing there were no taxis, no buses, and no shelter beyond the glow of the entrance.
Dominic unlocked his SUV.
She glanced at it, then at him. “Of course you drive a car that looks like it can survive a missile strike.”
“It probably can.”
“That was not an invitation to brag.”
“Let me take you home.”
Nora hesitated.
Pride warred with exhaustion on her face. She was the kind of person who had learned that help always came with strings tied tight enough to choke. Dominic recognized that look. He had used it against people for years.
“No blindfold?” she asked finally.
“No blindfold.”
“No goon in the back seat?”
“Just me.”
“That might be worse.”
But she got in.
The ride to her apartment cut across a Chicago most men like Dominic paid not to see. Pawn shops. Check-cashing stores. Laundromats glowing lonely in the rain. Apartment buildings with broken buzzers and dead porch lights.
Nora sat stiffly, leaving as little of herself as possible against the leather seat.
“Where did you learn CPR?” Dominic asked.
“Community college nursing program.”
“You were a nurse?”
“I was a student. For one year.”
“What happened?”
“Life.” She stared out the window. “My mom got sick. Bills got loud. Dreams got quiet.”
Dominic said nothing.
Nora looked over at him. “And before you say you’re sorry, don’t. Rich men always say sorry like it’s a tip.”
That landed.
He turned onto a cracked side street lined with leaning chain-link fences. Nora pointed to a brick building with half the windows dark.
“There.”
Dominic parked.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then he took a money clip from his coat and pulled out a stack of bills.
Nora’s expression closed instantly.
“No.”
“You said your landlord—”
“I said a lot of things when I was running on adrenaline and terrible coffee.”
“Take it.”
“If I take that, tonight becomes a transaction,” she said. “You pay. I disappear. Your conscience gets clean.”
“My conscience has not been clean in twenty years.”
“Then don’t start laundering it through me.”
Dominic lowered the money.
Nora opened the door, cold rain rushing in.
He pulled one bill free. “For your shoes. And the uniform.”
She stared at the single hundred-dollar bill.
This time, she took it.
“Your daughter asked for her mother,” Nora said quietly.
Dominic looked at her.
“I know,” he said.
Nora’s face softened for the first time. Only slightly. Only enough to make him feel the loss of it when she looked away.
“She needs more than guards,” Nora said. “Whatever you think safety is, she needs more than that.”
Then she stepped into the rain and ran toward the building.
May you like
Dominic watched until the stairwell light flickered on and she disappeared inside.
Only then did he drive back to the hospital.
