Chapter 3 - The Iron Tower
By three o'clock in the morning, the Bellaro convoy pulled into the underground subterranean garage of the Bellaro Tower—a ninety-story black glass skyscraper standing proudly in the heart of downtown Chicago.
The skyscraper was an impenetrable fortress, equipped with independent power generators, state-of-the-art surveillance networks, and a private medical ward located on the top floor.
Two dozen heavily armed security operatives swarmed the garage the moment Mateo’s Maybach came to a smooth stop beside the private elevator bay.
Mara helped Mateo onto a motorized wheelchair, despite his grunted protests that he could walk.
"Sit down, Mateo," Mara snapped softly, placing a firm hand on his uninjured shoulder. "You lost three pints of blood. If you faint on this concrete floor, I am not carrying your six-foot-four body to the elevator."
Dominic suppressed a smirk, turning his head away quickly as Mateo grumbled but surrendered, sitting down in the chair while holding little Leo tightly on his lap.
They rode the high-speed elevator directly to the penthouse suite on the ninetieth floor.
The suite was breathtaking—expansive floor-to-ceiling windows framing the snow-covered skyline of Chicago and Lake Michigan, warm Italian marble floors, velvet furniture, and priceless oil paintings adorning the high walls.
A team of four private nurses and a senior surgeon rushed out from the private medical suite to meet them.
"Don Mateo!" the lead surgeon stammered, stepping forward with a tray of sterile tools. "We received the telemetry from Nurse Ellis. We are ready to move you to the operating table—"
"No," Mateo cut in firmly, holding up his hand.
The surgeon froze. "Sir?"
Mateo turned his head toward Mara. "Mara stays in charge of my care. You answer to her."
The lead surgeon looked bewildered, staring at Mara, who was wearing a simple fleece jacket and jeans, her hair tied in a messy bun. "Sir, with all due respect, she is a rural clinic nurse—"
"She saved my life in a log cabin with a pair of fishing tweezers and a bottle of bourbon," Mateo stated coldly, his dark eyes flashing with lethal danger. "If she tells you to jump off this balcony, you jump. Is that clear?"
The surgeon bowed his head instantly, sweating beneath his collar. "Yes, Don Mateo. Absolutely."
Mara stepped forward, taking charge of the medical room without a second of hesitation. She issued crisp, precise instructions, ordering new blood transfusions, secondary wound dressing, and high-dosage antibiotics to prevent peritonitis from setting in.
For the next four hours, Mara worked tirelessly alongside the surgical team, ensuring Mateo’s condition stabilized completely.
As the first golden rays of dawn began to break over Lake Michigan, Mara stepped out of the medical room, rubbing her exhausted eyes.
She walked into the grand living room, where little Leo was sitting on a plush sofa, eating a bowl of warm oatmeal prepared by the executive chef, while Dominic stood nearby updating tactical maps on a glass tablet.
Leo looked up, his face lighting up the moment he saw Mara.
"Mara!" the little boy cried out, slipping off the sofa and running across the marble floor to throw his arms around her waist. "Is Daddy okay?"
Mara smiled warmly, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms gently around the little boy. "Your daddy is out of danger, Leo. He’s sleeping right now, but he’s going to be just fine."
Leo buried his face in her neck, letting out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. "I knew you were an angel. I told Daddy when we were in the snow that an angel lived in that cabin."
Mara felt a sudden, powerful warmth bloom in her chest, tears pricking her eyes as she stroked the boy’s soft hair.
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Standing by the panoramic glass window, Dominic watched the interaction with a deep, knowing smile.
"He hasn't hugged anyone since his mother passed four years ago, Miss Ellis," Dominic revealed softly. "You didn't just save our Don last night. You saved that little boy's heart."
