At the center of the ruined music room, Vittorio Bellandi lay bleeding into a pale rug while a massive black Cane Corso stood over him. Paramedics couldn’t get close. Neither could the surgeon. Someone had already suggested shooting the dog.

By the end of the week, Vittorio was sitting upright in a leather armchair inside his master suite at the Bellandi estate, a heavy silk robe thrown over his shoulder dress bandages.

The room was filled with heavy mahogany, dark leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty mountains of the North Ridge. Standing near the fireplace was Lucian Bellandi—Vittorio’s younger half-brother and the Underboss of the syndicate.

Lucian was slick, tailored in a three-piece Italian suit, but his eyes were restless.

“Vittorio, the captains are getting impatient,” Lucian said, pacing near the marble hearth. “The Valenti family is pushing into the waterfront territory because they think you’re weak. We need to show force. And this... this nurse you brought into the house. She’s an outsider. She knows too much about Crane, too much about your injuries. Let me handle her.”

Sitting on the rug at Vittorio’s feet, Baron lifted his head and let out a dangerous warning growl.

Vittorio didn't look up from the leather-bound tablet he was holding. “Handle her how, Lucian?”

“A quiet payout,” Lucian said quickly. “A non-disclosure agreement. Or... a permanent relocation out of the country.”

The double oak doors opened.

Mara walked into the room carrying a silver tray with a sterile dressing kit, fresh saline solution, and a dose of oral antibiotics. She was dressed in dark navy scrubs, her dark hair pinned back in a neat bun, highlighting the soft curve of her neck and the determined cut of her chin.

She didn't glance at Lucian. She walked straight to Vittorio’s chair.

“Time for your dressing change, Don Bellandi,” she said briskly.

Lucian stepped into her path, blocking her way to the chair. “Nurse Donnelly. I was just telling my brother that your services are no longer required at the estate. We have hired a full private medical team from New York to take over.”

Mara stopped. She looked up at Lucian, her hazel eyes completely unbothered.

“With all due respect, Mr. Bellandi,” Mara said smoothly, “your private medical team didn't notice that your family doctor was pumping your brother full of slow-acting potassium suppressants for three months prior to his shooting.”

The room fell into an icy, suffocating silence.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What did you say?”

Vittorio slowly set his tablet down on the side table. His gaze snapped to Mara, sharp as a diamond blade. “Explain, Mara.”

Mara set the silver tray on the desk. She pulled a printed lab sheet from her pocket and laid it before Vittorio.

“I had a colleague at Saint Jude’s run a deep toxicity panel on the blood samples I pulled from you the night you were admitted,” Mara explained, her voice clear and precise. “Your blood contained trace levels of digitalis—a heart toxin. It wasn't enough to kill you outright. It was meant to make your heart weak, so that when an 'unexpected' bullet or a dose of Midazolam hit you, your death would look like natural heart failure due to trauma.”

Vittorio read the lab report. The signature at the bottom belonged to the head of toxicology at the state university.

His dark eyes flickered toward Lucian.

Lucian backed up half a step, his hands flying up defensively. “Vittorio—you can’t believe this hospital girl! She’s trying to sow discord in the family! Crane was our father’s doctor!”

“Crane was your personal doctor, Lucian,” Vittorio said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “You recommended him to me three years ago.”

“I didn't know!” Lucian stammered, sweat breaking out along his hairline. “I swear on our mother’s grave, Vittorio!”

Vittorio stood up slowly from his chair. Despite the thick bandages around his chest, his presence dominated the entire room. He stepped toward Lucian, stopping inches from his brother’s face.

“Nurse Donnelly stays,” Vittorio declared, his voice echoing off the high wood-beamed ceiling like thunder. “She stays in this room. She eats at my table. She rides in my car. And if so much as a hair on her head is harmed, Lucian... I will not care who our mother was. I will skin you alive in the courtyard.”

Lucian swallowed hard, his skin pale. He bowed his head slightly. “Understood, Don Vittorio.”

Without another word, Lucian turned and hurried out of the room, slamming the heavy oak doors behind him.

Vittorio stood there for a moment, his chest heaving slightly from the sudden exertion.

Mara immediately stepped forward, placing her hands firmly on his broad shoulders to guide him back down into the chair. “You are going to rip your internal sutures if you keep threatening people like a barbarian.”

Vittorio allowed her to guide him back into the leather seat. As her hands rested against his shoulder to check his bandage, he reached up and covered her hand with his own. His skin was burning hot against hers.

“You are very bold for a night nurse, Mara Donnelly,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

Mara looked down into his dark obsidian eyes. Her heart did a strange, violent flip against her ribs.