Chapter 1 - The Broken File
The penthouse bedroom turned deathly still after Marco broke the silence. Nora’s fingers froze against the fresh tape holding the dressing tight over Roman Vance’s bleeding abdomen. She kept her chin high, refusing to let the syndicate boss see her pupils widen, but her throat felt dry as desert sand. Roman didn’t blink. His gaze remained locked on her pale face, searching for the crack in her professional armor that six previous nurses had surrendered under his glare.
“Leave the room, Marco,” Roman growled without shifting his posture. The deep resonance of his voice rattled the heavy crystal lamps on the nightstand. His tattooed chest rose with shallow, restrained breaths, fighting the sharp agony of fresh stitches.
Marco took two hurried steps forward, tossing a thick manila folder onto the mahogany footstool beside Roman’s bed. “Boss, you need to read this first. She didn’t apply through the agency registry. The agency director was bypassed entirely. It came through the Petrov ledger.”
Nora pulled her hand away, stepping back toward her steel medical tray. Her fingers closed tightly around the sterile scissors resting beside the betadine bottle. She knew the name. Everyone in the city’s underbelly knew Viktor Petrov, Roman’s bitterest rival—a ruthless cartel boss currently controlling the docks.
Roman reached down, his scarred fingers flipping open the file with calculated calm. A single photograph slid loose: a pediatric oncology ward, bathed in soft afternoon light, showing a five-year-old girl with curly auburn hair hooked to a ventilator. Beside the photograph sat a stamped hospital ledger showing an unpaid surgical deposit amounting to half a million dollars.
Roman’s dark eyes lifted slowly from the child's image to Nora’s rigid stance. The initial fury in his face vanished, replaced by an unsettling, icy clarity. “A girl. Leukemia stage three. Scheduled for a bone marrow transplant in seventy-two hours at St. Jude’s.” He tapped the paper against his knee, the paper rustling like dead leaves. “Tell me, Nurse Nora... whose blood paid Petrov to put your name on my private door?”
Nora did not look down. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs, but her tone was steady, devoid of apology. “No one’s. He gave me the entry code. In exchange, I keep you alive long enough for him to collect what you owe him. If you die on my watch, my daughter loses her donor slot.”
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Roman sneered, leaning forward despite the tear in his side. A fresh bloom of scarlet stained the clean white pad beneath her handiwork. “Petrov lied to you. He doesn't hold the transplant registry in this city.” He rose slowly, dwarfing her slender frame as blood trickled over his belt buckle. “I do.”
A muffled explosion shook the lower floor, rattling the bulletproof glass behind the sheer curtains.
