I HELD A SCREAMING MAFIA HEIR AGAINST MY BARE CHEST TO SAVE HIS LIFE — THEN HIS FATHER HEARD MY LAST NAME AND LOCKED THE DOOR

The Russo compound in Barrington was less of a residence and more of an impenetrable stone fortress nestled deep within fifty acres of private forest.

High concrete walls topped with razor wire surrounded the perimeter, patrolled by armed guards and thermal surveillance drones.

When our battered, bullet-riddled SUV finally rolled through the massive iron gates at 5:45 PM, a full medical team—hired privately by Daniel—was waiting on the front steps of the sprawling Tudor-style mansion.

"Get them inside!" Matteo ordered, stepping out of the front seat with his arm in a sling.

Daniel refused to let the medical team touch him. Despite the bullet wound bleeding through his shirt, he walked right beside me as we rushed through the grand marble foyer and up a sweeping staircase to the master wing of the estate.

The room prepared for Leo was not a cold hospital suite. It was a massive, sunlit nursery equipped with top-tier medical infrastructure hidden discreetly behind elegant oak cabinetry. Warm dimmable lighting, soft carpet, and a custom state-of-the-art crib filled the room.

I sat down on a soft velvet sofa, keeping Leo wrapped against my bare skin under my shirt. His vitals had fully stabilized, his heart rate settling back down into a healthy rhythm.

A private physician—an elderly man named Dr. Mercer who had served the Russo family for thirty years—stepped into the room holding a medical bag.

"Mr. Russo, you need stitches immediately," Dr. Mercer urged, looking at Daniel’s bloody shoulder.

"Treat the baby first," Daniel commanded flatly, standing guard by the door like an iron statue.

"I've already examined the baby's remote telemetry, Mr. Russo," Dr. Mercer said gently, turning his gaze toward me. "Nurse Jenkins has performed a miracle. The child's autonomic nervous system is stable. But you are going to bleed out on my rug if you don't sit down."

I looked at Daniel, my brow furrowing. "Sit down, Daniel. Let him clean the wound."

Daniel looked at me, then at the doctor. For the first time all day, he obeyed without an argument. He stripped off his ruined shirt and sat down on a wooden chair near the fireplace, allowing Dr. Mercer to cut away the torn fabric around his shoulder.

I watched silently as the doctor cleaned the deep graze left by the bullet. Daniel didn't flinch once as the needle pierced his skin, his amber eyes fixed entirely on me and his son.

"Where is my brother?" I asked softly, breaking the quiet.

Daniel didn't take his eyes off me. "Matteo brought him here twenty minutes ago. He is in the guest house near the eastern gate."

My heart jumped. "Is he safe?"

"He has a clean room, a warm meal, and a doctor looking at his bruises," Daniel said flatly. "He will stay there until I decide what to do with his debt."

"I told you I would pay it," I insisted, leaning forward slightly.

"You're already paying it, Clara," Daniel said, using my first name for the very first time. His voice was thick, soft, and resonant. "Every hour you stay in this house holding my son, ten thousand dollars is erased from his ledger."

I blinked, calculating the math in my head. "That means... five hours?"

"Five hours clears the money," Daniel said softly, a dark, mysterious flicker appearing in his eyes. "But if you want your brother to walk out of those gates a free man, with his debt wiped clean and his life protected from Antonio's men... you stay until Leo turns one year old."

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. "A whole year?"

"A whole year," Daniel repeated, stepping away from Dr. Mercer as the final knot was tied on his stitches. He walked over to the sofa, looking down at me with an unshakeable, possessive intensity. "Living here. As Leo’s personal nurse... and as the protected guest of this house."

I looked down at the tiny, fragile child sleeping so peacefully against my chest, feeling the quiet rhythm of his heart beating against mine. Then I looked up into the eyes of the most dangerous man in Chicago—a man who had taken a bullet to protect us.

"And if I say yes?" I whispered. "What happens to Don Antonio?"