Chapter 5 - The Gift and the Warning
Two days later, a delivery arrived at my modest apartment in South Boston. It wasn't a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates. It was a massive, elegant wooden crate delivered by two men who looked like they belonged on a security detail for a prime minister.
Inside the crate was my blue Honda.
Except it wasn't my blue Honda anymore. The dent on the passenger side had been flawlessly repaired, the faded blue paint replaced with a deep, glittering midnight-blue finish that looked like liquid silk. When I opened the door, the scent of brand-new leather hit me. The check engine light was gone, replaced by a completely new, high-performance engine that purred like a tiger when I turned the key.
On the passenger seat sat a small, black velvet envelope. Inside was a short note written in a precise, elegant hand:
A reliable surgeon deserves a reliable instrument. The check engine light will not bother you again. — A.G.
I laughed, a breathless, nervous sound, as I sat in the pristine leather seat. It was a gesture of immense wealth, but there was a terrifying thoughtfulness to it that made my heart do a dangerous little flip. He had noticed the dent. He had noticed the light. He had been looking at me much closer than I realized.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an unknown number.
"Dr. Collins," the voice said when I answered. It wasn't Anthony. It was a woman’s voice—sharp, older, and laced with a cold, aristocratic Boston accent. "My name is Eleanor Grimaldi. I am Anthony and Julian's aunt. We need to speak."
An hour later, I was sitting in the quiet, sunlit conservatory of a historic mansion in Beacon Hill. Eleanor Grimaldi was a woman of seventy, dressed in a sharp Chanel suit, her silver hair styled into an immovable bob. She looked like a queen mother who had spent fifty years managing the optics of a criminal dynasty.
"You did a wonderful thing saving Julian, Dr. Collins," Eleanor said, sipping her tea from a delicate porcelain cup. "The family is grateful. Anthony is... particularly impressed. But I am here to give you a piece of practical advice from an older woman."
She leaned forward, her blue eyes turning as sharp as surgical steel.
"Anthony is the head of this family. That means his life is not his own. He is currently negotiating a marriage alliance with the Moretti family in New York—a merger that will secure our shipping lanes for the next generation. A man in his position cannot afford distractions. Especially not a beautiful, middle-class surgeon who spends her nights crying over old graves."
May you like
She set her cup down with a soft, definitive click.
"Accept the car, Doctor. Accept the professional advancement that will undoubtedly come your way. But do not look into his eyes again. Anthony Grimaldi’s world is filled with fire, and a woman like you will burn into ash before you even know you've been touched."
