Chapter 7 - The Recovery Suite
Two weeks later, the private VIP recovery wing on the seventh floor of Northwestern Memorial Hospital felt miles away from the damp, decaying tenement on Ashcombe Street.
Sunlight poured through expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a room filled with fresh white lilies, colorful get-well cards, and a state-of-the-art television mounted on the wall.
Leo sat propped up in a motorized bed, wearing a bright red superhero t-shirt that Silas had somehow tracked down and purchased. Color had finally returned to his cheeks, and though he still tired easily, the dark, sunken hollows beneath his eyes were gone. He was currently deeply engrossed in building an elaborate Lego spaceship with the help of a very reluctant, deeply confused enforcer named Sal, who was awkwardly snapping tiny plastic bricks together under the boy's strict supervision.
"No, Sal, the thruster goes on the back, not the top!" Leo giggled, pointing a thin finger at the spaceship.
Sal sighed dramatically, scratching his scarred chin. "Listen here, kid boss, back in my day, starships had vertical thrusters for atmospheric reentry."
"You're making that up!" Leo laughed, his bright, musical voice filling the sterile hospital room with a warmth that felt entirely foreign to the cold walls of the medical center.
Standing near the doorway, Wren watched the scene with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She wore a clean, professional beige sweater and dark trousers—clothes bought with the legitimate, generous salary Weston had officially established for her new position as the estate’s head household administrator.
Weston stepped quietly into the room, leaning against the doorframe. He crossed his arms, watching the boy smile.
Wren turned her head, noticing him. She walked over quietly, her footsteps soft against the polished linoleum floor.
"You didn't have to do all this, Mr. Kade," Wren murmured, her voice carrying a deep, reverent gratitude that she no longer tried to hide. "The hospital care, the private doctors, the security detail outside the door... the Marchetti threat being neutralized overnight. The city is practically whispering that you're an entirely different man."
"The city doesn't know what it's talking about," Weston replied smoothly, his eyes fixed on Leo. "I haven't changed. I've simply redirected my violence toward things that actually deserve to be destroyed."
Wren smiled softly, a genuine, radiant expression that completely transformed her tired face. "He asked about you yesterday, you know."
Weston raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze toward her. "Me? What did he say?"
"He asked if the tall man with the scary face and the nice coat was a superhero," Wren chuckled softly. "I told him you were closer to a dragon. But a good dragon. One who guards the hoard."
Weston let out a low, rumbling chuckle—a rare, genuine sound that vibrationally resonated in his chest. "A dragon, huh? I suppose that fits."
"Wren! Look what Sal built!" Leo called out excitedly, holding up a lopsided, gloriously misassembled plastic spaceship. "Can Mr. Kade play with us?"
May you like
Weston looked at the little boy, then down at Wren. The invisible maid who had once scrubbed blood from his floors now stood beside him as an equal—a survivor who had stared down the darkest corners of the Chicago underworld and refused to break.
"Yeah, kid," Weston said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward the bed. "Deal me in."
