Chapter 10 - Forty-Eight Hours to Stay Alive
By morning, Dominic's infection returned.
Not dramatically.
Not at first.
A slight fever.
Increased pain.
Fatigue.
Then chills.
I called Evelyn.
She arrived within an hour.
“Blood cultures,” she said.
“I already drew them.”
“Good.”
Dominic was asleep.
Or pretending.
Evelyn glanced toward him.
“You care about him.”
I kept labeling tubes.
“He's my patient.”
“That wasn't what I said.”
“Don't.”
“Nora.”
“I know.”
She softened.
“Be careful.”
“Because he's dangerous?”
“Because you're exhausted, frightened, and spending twenty-four hours a day beside someone whose life depends on you.”
“That sounds clinical.”
“It is.”
I understood what she meant.
Crisis created intimacy.
Dependency could imitate love.
I knew that.
I also knew the way Dominic looked at me had changed before either of us admitted it.
And mine had too.
Evelyn examined him.
Two hours later the first lab results returned.
His white-cell count had risen.
The infection was spreading.
“We need imaging,” Evelyn said.
“No hospital,” Dominic murmured.
I lost patience.
“Enough.”
His eyes opened.
“Nora—”
“No. You nearly died once because you didn't trust anyone. Now you have me, Evelyn, Daniel, and apparently half the police department. You are going.”
“No.”
“If you refuse, I will call an ambulance and tell every paramedic exactly how unreasonable you are.”
“I can have imaging brought here.”
“You need surgery if there's an abscess.”
Silence.
He knew I was right.
“Private facility,” he finally said.
Evelyn nodded.
“I can arrange one.”
The procedure revealed a pocket of infection deep near the shoulder wound.
It had to be drained.
Dominic hated anesthesia.
“What if I don't wake up?”
It was the first time he had ever asked me a question sounding genuinely afraid.
“You will.”
“You can't promise that.”
“No.”
I moved closer.
“But I'll be here when you do.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“Promise?”
The word broke something inside me.
“I promise.”
He woke three hours later.
The first thing he said was my name.
“Nora.”
I leaned over him.
“I’m here.”
His fingers found mine.
He closed his eyes again.
“Good.”
For the next forty-eight hours, I barely left his bedside.
His fever slowly fell.
His infection markers improved.
He slept.
I monitored.
Daniel visited with updates.
Pierce had agreed to cooperate.
Anthony was in protective custody.
Vincent remained missing.
But the flash drive contained enough financial evidence for multiple investigations.
On the second night, Dominic woke near midnight.
I sat beside the window reading.
“You're still here.”
“You seem surprised every time.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“People leave.”
The words were quiet.
“Maybe you make it difficult to stay.”
“I know.”
“At least you're self-aware.”
He watched me.
“Come here.”
I hesitated.
Then walked closer.
“What?”
He looked toward the chair.
“Sit.”
I did.
“My mother used to sit there.”
I waited.
“When I was sick.”
The feared Dominic Rossi had once been a sick little boy whose mother stayed beside his bed.
I smiled faintly.
“Was she as bossy as me?”
“Worse.”
“Impossible.”
“She once threatened to pour soup over my head.”
“I like her.”
“You would have.”
That sentence hurt.
Because I wished I could have met her.
Dominic seemed to read my expression.
“What was your mother like?”
I told him.
Rebecca danced while cooking.
Sang terribly.
Collected coffee mugs.
Had an irrational hatred of raisins.
Dominic laughed.
Actually laughed.
It changed his entire face.
For a moment he looked younger.
Lighter.
Then he became quiet.
“I’m sorry Vincent took her from you.”
“We don't know that he did.”
“I know enough.”
“I need proof.”
“You want justice.”
“Yes.”
“I used to think justice and revenge were the same.”
“And now?”
He looked at me.
“I'm beginning to think revenge only gives the person who hurt you one more piece of your life.”
That answer surprised me.
“What changed?”
His eyes remained on mine.
“You.”
I stopped breathing.
“Dominic.”
“I know.”
“You're recovering.”
“I know.”
“This is exactly when people confuse emotions.”
“I know.”
“You're my patient.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
A faint smile.
“What would you prefer?”
“I don't know.”
“I do.”
His hand moved toward mine.
He didn't touch me.
He stopped inches away.
Waiting.
Giving me the choice.
That mattered more than anything.
I placed my hand in his.
No kiss.
No declaration.
Just two people sitting in the dark, holding hands while rain touched the windows.
Then Dominic’s phone rang.
Leo.
Dominic answered.
“What?”
Leo's voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“Sir, Vincent contacted us.”
Dominic sat straighter.
“Where?”
“He didn't say.”
“What does he want?”
A pause.
Then Leo answered:
“Nora.”
Dominic’s hand tightened around mine.
“What exactly did he say?”
Leo repeated the message.
“Forty-eight hours. Bring Elena Rossi’s files to Pier 17. Come alone.”
“And if I don't?”
Leo hesitated.
“He said he'll release evidence connecting Nora’s mother to the Rossi organization and make it look like she was part of the operation.”
My stomach dropped.
Dominic’s expression turned cold.
Vincent wasn't merely threatening my life now.
He was threatening my mother’s memory.
May you like
And he had given us forty-eight hours.
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