Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage
By 5:00 AM, the private NICU suite had been entirely transformed under Daniel Russo’s orders.
The harsh fluorescent overhead bulbs were completely shut off, replaced by low, warm floor lamps that cast soft shadows against the cream-colored walls. The loud, blaring digital monitors were turned down to minimal volume, their alarm thresholds adjusted to allow for human contact without triggering shrill alarms every time the baby shifted.
I sat in a large, leather reclining armchair in the corner of the room, my scrub top pulled back over my shoulders, though Leo remained wrapped tightly against my chest inside a thin, warm cotton blanket. He had been asleep for two hours straight. His oxygen saturation had stabilized at 98 percent, and his heart rate—which had been spiking above 200 beats per minute for days—was resting at a healthy, rhythmic 130.
The two hospital doctors who had originally been in charge of the suite had been dismissed from the room. They weren't fired; they were standing out in the hallway under the watchful, terrifying gaze of two armed Russo guards, forbidden from entering unless I explicitly requested them.
Daniel sat on a sofa on the opposite side of the room, an open leather folder resting on his lap. A tablet glowed softly in his hand, but he wasn't reading it. Every few minutes, his eyes drifted over to where I sat holding his child.
The silence between us was razor-sharp.
"You need to eat," Daniel said suddenly.
I didn't look at him. "I'm fine."
"I wasn't asking." He set the tablet on the coffee table and stood up. "Matteo had a tray brought up from the kitchen downstairs. Broth, toast, fruit. You need calories if you’re going to stay awake."
"I've worked thirty-six-hour shifts in trauma units, Mr. Russo," I said, my voice flat. "I know how to manage my body."
"This isn't a shift, Nurse Jenkins," Daniel said, walking over until he was standing beside the leather chair. He reached down and opened a silver thermal container on the side table, the steam from hot chicken broth rising into the air. "This is your permanent assignment."
I looked up at him then. His jacket was off now, draped over the back of the sofa, leaving him in a dark vest and white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black ink stretched across his right wrist—a stylized crest of a weeping lion surrounding an anchor.
"I have other patients," I said. "I have an entire unit of premature infants who need specialized care."
"Not anymore," Daniel said smoothly. "As of twenty minutes ago, I purchased the deed to this entire building. I paid off the hospital board's mortgage, cleared their legal liabilities with the state, and signed a new contract. You are no longer an employee of Northwestern Memorial Hospital."
My heart gave a sickening thud. "What?"
"You belong to the pediatric unit of the Russo estate now," he said, taking a spoon and dipping it into the broth. He held it out toward me. "Eat."
I stared at the spoon, then at his cold, unyielding face. "You can't just buy a nurse."
"I can buy the hospital, the ground it sits on, and the board members who signed your license," he replied without a flicker of doubt. "Eating is a small requirement compared to what I could ask of you. Do not test my patience while my son is resting."
I swallowed my pride, opened my mouth, and let him feed me a spoonful of broth. It tasted like ash in my mouth, but I forced it down.
"Where is Tommy?" I asked after swallowing. "Is he hurt?"
"He's in a chair. He has a bottle of water and a security detail watching him," Daniel said, dipping the spoon back into the bowl. "He’s terrified. Which is precisely where he should be."
"He's an idiot," I whispered, tears pricking the back of my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them back. "He’s twenty-two. He doesn't think. He thinks he’s invincible because our parents died when he was twelve and I handled everything."
"Handling everything doesn't mean protecting a fool from his own consequences," Daniel said, feeding me another spoonful. His voice lacked spite; it was purely factual, like a man explaining the laws of gravity. "In my world, if you take money you cannot pay back, you pay with tissue. Your brother took fifty thousand dollars meant for a supply run in Cicero. He gambled it on an NFL game and lost."
"I will pay it back," I said fiercely, looking directly into his pale amber eyes. "Every cent. Take it out of whatever ridiculous salary you're paying me for this. Just don't kill him."
Daniel stopped with the spoon halfway between the bowl and my mouth. He looked at me for a long, silent moment, his eyes scanning every inch of my exhausted face—the dark circles under my eyes, the slight tremor in my lower lip, the fierce, protective grip I had around his tiny, sleeping son.
"You are very brave for a girl whose life can be ruined with a single phone call," he said quietly.
"I'm not brave," I whispered, the exhaustion finally breaking through my defenses. "I'm just his sister."
May you like
Daniel didn't answer. He set the spoon down, reached out his thumb, and gently wiped a stray drop of broth from the corner of my mouth. His skin was warm, his touch surprisingly light for a man whose hands carried so much blood.
"Rest, Nurse Jenkins," he murmured, stepping back toward the sofa. "You have a long night ahead of you."
