Chapter 4 - The King’s Recovery
The morning light streamed through the reinforced, bulletproof glass windows of apartment 3B, casting bright golden geometric shapes across the hardwood floor.
The air smelled heavily of rubbing alcohol, iron, and fresh coffee.
Hannah sat slumped in a high-backed leather chair beside the bed in the master bedroom, her eyes rimmed with red, her hands clean but sore. For five straight hours, she had operated on Dominic Moretti using the rudimentary surgical knowledge she remembered from her nursing days and the instructions printed on the back of the military field-medic kits.
She had extracted the flattened lead slug from his side, disinfected the deep wound, stitched the torn muscle tissue with heavy suture thread, and administered a double dose of broad-spectrum antibiotics via an IV drip suspended from a coat rack.
Beside her, on a soft nest of silk pillows, little Leo was fast asleep, his stomach full of high-grade infant formula Jade had found in the pantry. He looked serene, his tiny chest rising and falling softly, blissfully unaware of the war that had raged around his existence just hours prior.
In the living room, Jade was asleep on the massive leather sofa, wrapped in a plush cashmere blanket, safe and warm for the first time in years.
A deep, gravelly groan broke the silence of the room.
Hannah instantly sat upright, her hand flying to the small, suppressed pistol she had found on the nightstand and loaded—just in case.
Dominic Moretti slowly opened his eyes. The cloudiness of fever had cleared, replaced by a sharp, lethal intelligence that swept across the unfamiliar room in a fraction of a second. He noticed the IV line in his arm, the thick white bandages wrapped snugly around his torso, and finally, the young woman sitting beside his bed holding a gun.
His gaze dropped to the weapon in her hand. A faint, dry smirk touched his pale lips.
"Safety's on," Dominic rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper.
Hannah flushed slightly, looking down at the side arm. She quickly clicked the safety off with a sharp clack, aiming it directly at his chest. "I know how to use it, Mr. Moretti."
Dominic didn't look threatened. In fact, he looked mildly amused, though moving even an inch caused a sharp wince of pain to pass over his features. He turned his head slightly, his eyes softening as they landed on his sleeping son.
"He's safe," Dominic murmured, a profound, heavy relief washing over his tense frame. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "He's alive."
"He was hungry and cold, but he's uninjured," Hannah said, her voice steadying. She set the gun down on her lap. "You, on the other hand, lost half your blood. If I hadn't stitched that artery, you’d be dead."
Dominic turned his focus back to her. He looked at her worn clothes, her messy hair, her tired eyes, and the fierce, protective stance she maintained despite clearly being terrified out of her mind.
"You read my card," he stated, not as a question, but as a fact.
"Yes," Hannah replied bluntly. "I know who you are. Dominic Moretti. The mafia boss every news outlet in Chicago warns people about."
"And yet you saved me," Dominic said, his hazel eyes locking onto hers with uncomfortable intensity. "Most people would have taken my wallet, dropped the baby at a fire station, and run as far away as possible. Why did you drag a monster into your life, Hannah?"
Hannah blinked, surprised he knew her name, before realizing her old work badge from the diner was still clipped to her pocket.
"I didn't save a monster," Hannah said firmly, standing up and walking over to check his IV drip. "I saved a father holding his baby in the rain. And despite what the news says, a man who uses his last breath to protect his child isn't entirely a monster."
Dominic stared at her in complete silence. For a man who had spent his entire adult life surrounded by cold-blooded killers, corrupt politicians, and treacherous allies, Hannah's sheer, unadulterated honesty hit him like a physical blow.
Before he could answer, the secure satellite phone on the nightstand began to buzz violently, its red light flashing in the dim room.
Dominic’s expression instantly turned to stone. "Answer it. Put it on speaker."
Hannah hesitated, then picked up the phone and swiped the green icon, holding it between them.
A frantic, high-pitched voice echoed through the speaker. "Dominic! Is that you?! Please tell me you're alive! The docks were hit—Julian has declared himself Regent! He's telling the Board you and the boy are dead!"
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Dominic’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure, terrifying frost.
"Julian made a mistake, Leo," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave, so cold it seemed to lower the temperature in the room. "He left me breathing."
