Chapter 2 - The Ring on a Frozen Hand
The ICU wing of St. Catherine Medical Center didn't smell like the mahogany and expensive perfume of the Aster Crown Hotel. It smelled of ozone, antiseptic, and fresh blood.
Outside room 402, four armed men in charcoal suits stood like stone statues, their hands resting inside their jackets. Inside, the only light came from the blue heartbeat monitor and the faint glow of the Manhattan skyline through bulletproof glass.
Dominic Rossi stood beside the high-tech hospital bed, his dark eyes fixed on the pale, motionless girl lying beneath the white sheets. A ventilator hummed rhythmic breaths into her lungs. Seven entry wounds had been stitched, clamped, and bandaged across her chest, stomach, and side. The surgeon had told Dominic three times that her survival was a statistical impossible anomaly.
"The priest is here, Dominic," Isabella whispered from the corner armchair. She was still wearing her tear-stained silk gown, her rosary wrapped tightly around her knuckles.
Enzo, Dominic’s right-hand lieutenant, stepped into the quiet room. His face was shadowed with urgency. "Boss, Victor Costa’s street captains are already asking questions. Word leaked from the catering union that the girl survived. Costa knows she took the bullets meant for your mother. He knows she’s a nobody from Queens with no family in the city. If he thinks she can identify his hitman, she won't live to see sunrise."
Dominic didn't turn around. He reached out with calloused, steady fingers and picked up her hand. It felt tiny in his grip, icy cold and swollen from IV lines.
"Then we change who she is," Dominic said. His voice was a low, velvet gravel that commanded absolute silence.
Father Callahan, an old family priest who had buried Dominic’s father, stepped forward with a small velvet box. He looked nervous, his eyes darting between the armed guards outside and the dying girl on the bed.
"Dominic," Father Callahan murmured gently. "She is comatose. She cannot speak her vows. Canon law—"
"Canon law won't stop Victor Costa from putting a bullet through her forehead," Dominic interrupted coldly. He took the thin band of heavy, unpolished gold from the velvet box. "My word is law in this city. Do the ceremony, Father."
The priest swallowed hard, opened his worn leather prayer book, and began to speak the ancient Latin rites into the quiet, clinical air. The steady beep of the cardiac monitor provided the rhythm.
When it came time for the exchange, Dominic took her limp left hand. He slid the solid gold band past her swollen knuckle until it sat firmly against her pale skin. He bent his tall frame over the railing, pressing his lips to her ear, letting his warm breath brush her skin.
"Now anybody who comes for you comes through me," he whispered.
Enzo pulled Dominic aside as the priest hastily closed his book. "Dominic... if you marry her, her name goes into the state registry. When Costa’s lawyers pull her records, they’ll dig into her background. What happens when they look at her mother, Ellen? What happens when Costa realizes who this girl actually is?"
May you like
Dominic’s jaw set into an iron line. His eyes darkened with a secret he had guarded since the moment he saw her face on the catering manager’s employment manifest six hours before the party.
"Costa won't touch her," Dominic swore softly, his thumb tracing the gold ring on her hand. "Because before he ever gets close enough to read her birth certificate, I will tear his empire to ashes."
