No Nurse Lasted a Week with the Ruthless Mafia Boss — Until the Poor Nurse Broke the Rules
Under Siege
Violet left the room feeling a strange mix of relief and confusion. She didn’t know that as soon as the door clicked shut, Dante picked up his phone.
“Vance,”
he said into the receiver.
“Find out everything about Tobias Sterling. And find out who holds his debt.”
The long day Dante predicted turned out to be an understatement. Thursday brought chaos.
The meeting Dante had missed was interpreted exactly as he feared: weakness. The rival faction, led by a man named Silas Thorne, began making moves.
Phones in the penthouse rang nonstop. Men with earpieces ran through the hallways.
The calm, sterile atmosphere of the Obsidian Tower was replaced by the buzz of a command center under siege. Violet tried to keep Dante calm, but it was impossible.
He was managing a war from his bed. He had three laptops open, barking orders at captains across the city.
“They hit the warehouse in the South Loop?”
Dante shouted into a headset.
“Then burn it! If I can’t have it, Silas doesn’t get it either!”
Violet watched from the doorway, terrified. This wasn’t just business; this was organized violence.
She should have left. She should have taken her ethical code and run.
But the thought of Toby kept her rooted. Around 2:00 a.m., the penthouse finally went quiet.
The staff had retreated. Dante had finally succumbed to exhaustion and the painkillers Violet forced on him.
The Assassin in the Shadows
Violet was in the kitchen drinking water, unable to sleep. She heard a noise—click.
It was a soft metallic sound, like a lock disengaging. She frowned.
The elevator was locked down. The service stairs were alarmed.
She walked into the living room. The lights were dim.
At the far end of the room, near the balcony doors, a shadow moved. It wasn’t a guard.
The silhouette was too slender, the movement too skittish. Violet hid behind a marble pillar.
She watched as the figure moved toward the hallway, toward Dante’s bedroom. It was one of the housemaids, a quiet girl named Clara, who usually came in the mornings.
What was she doing here at 2:00 a.m.? Clara reached into her apron and pulled out a small translucent vial.
She wasn’t holding a duster; she was holding a syringe. Violet’s blood turned to ice.
Assassination. She didn’t think; she didn’t weigh the pros and cons.
She moved as Clara reached for the handle of Dante’s bedroom door. Violet sprinted across the marble floor.
She was in her socks, silent as a ghost. Just as Clara turned the knob, Violet tackled her.
They crashed into the wall, a vase shattering loudly.
“Let go!”
Clara hissed, her eyes wild. She slashed at Violet with the syringe.
“Help!”
Violet screamed.
“Security!”
Clara was small, but she was desperate. She kicked Violet hard in the shin and scrambled up.
She raised the needle, aiming for Violet’s neck. Bang! The bedroom door flew open.
Dante stood there, swaying, his gun raised. Clara froze.
“Drop it!”
Dante snarled. He looked like a demon rising from hell—pale, bandaged, and terrifying.
Clara dropped the syringe; it shattered on the floor. Seconds later, security guards swarmed the room.
Vance was there, looking disheveled. They grabbed Clara, dragging her away as she screamed.
“He promised! Silas promised he’d pay my debts! You’re a monster, Moretti!”
A Permanent Position
The room fell silent again. Violet sat on the floor, gasping for air, clutching her bruised shin.
She looked up. Dante was looking at her.
The gun was still in his hand, but it was lowered. He walked over to her.
He didn’t offer a hand; he just stared down, his expression unreadable.
“You didn’t have a weapon,”
he said.
“No,”
Violet panted.
“She had a needle full of likely potassium chloride. Stop the heart instantly. Untraceable.”
“I figured it wasn’t insulin,”
Violet managed to joke, though her voice cracked.
“You jumped a hired killer to save me,”
Dante said. He sounded puzzled, as if trying to solve a complex math problem.
“Why? You could have stayed in the kitchen. You could have let her do it. You would have been safe.”
Violet looked at him.
“I told you, Dante. I don’t let my patients die.”
Dante knelt down. This time the movement was fluid, ignoring his pain.
He reached out and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to the light. He looked for deception in her eyes.
He found none.
“You broke the rules,”
he whispered.
“The contract said you stay out of security matters. You stay invisible.”
“Fire me then,”
Violet challenged, though her heart was racing at his touch.
“No,”
Dante said. His thumb brushed her lower lip, a gesture so intimate it made the room spin.
“I’m not going to fire you, Violet. But you just made a very dangerous mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“You made me trust you.”
He stood up and turned to Vance.
“Take the girl downstairs. Find out what she knows. And double the security on the perimeter. Silas is getting desperate.”
He looked back at Violet.
“Get up. You’re sleeping in my room tonight.”
“Excuse me?”
Violet sputtered, scrambling to her feet.
“On the couch,”
Dante clarified, his eyes darkening.
“If Silas can buy a maid, he can buy a guard. I don’t know who to trust out here. But I know you’re too stubborn to kill me.”
Violet followed him back into the master bedroom. The dynamic had shifted.
She wasn’t just the nurse anymore. She was the only person in the tower Dante Moretti felt safe closing his eyes around.
As she settled onto the chaise lounge in the corner, clutching a blanket, she watched him get back into bed. He placed the gun under his pillow.
“Violet,”
he said into the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
The words were so quiet she almost missed them. Violet closed her eyes, listening to the rain start up again outside.
She had saved the devil’s life. Now she had to wonder if she had just damned her own.
The Vanguard Foundation
Friday morning arrived with a deceptive calm. The storm had passed, leaving the Chicago skyline scrubbed clean and glistening under a pale winter sun.
Inside the penthouse, however, the air remained thick with unsaid words. Violet woke up on the chaise lounge with a stiff neck.
The first thing she saw was Dante. He was already awake, sitting up in bed, reviewing documents on a tablet.
The gun was back on the nightstand, sitting innocuously next to a glass of water.
“You snore,”
Dante said without looking up.
Violet sat up, rubbing her face.
“I do not.”
“You do. It’s tolerable.”
He swiped a finger across the screen.
“How is my incision? I haven’t looked at it yet.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
Violet stood up, stretching. Her body ached from the adrenaline crash of the previous night.
She walked over to the bed, her nurse mode clicking back into place.
“Shirt off.”
Dante complied. The bruising was turning a spectacular shade of purple and yellow, but the redness around the stitches had receded.
The antibiotics were working.
“You’re healing fast,”
she murmured, checking his temperature.
“Fever is broken. You’re lucky, Dante. Most men would be in the ICU.”
“I told you,”
Dante said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked at her.
“I’m hard to kill.”
The moment was interrupted by the vibration of Violet’s phone in her scrub pocket. She pulled it out.
It was a number she knew by heart: Chicago Children’s Hospital. Panic spiked in her chest.
They only called if something was wrong.
“Hello?”
she answered, her voice tight.
“Miss Sterling, this is Dr. Hayes from the pulmonary unit.”
“Is it Toby? Is he okay?”
Violet gripped the bed frame. Dante stopped reading and watched her, his eyes narrowing.
“Toby is fine, Violet. Better than fine. We’re prepping him for surgery. A set of lungs became available this morning. They’re a perfect match. It’s a miracle.”
Violet felt the blood drain from her face.
“Surgery? But Dr. Hayes, we’re on the waiting list. But I haven’t cleared the financial hold. The insurance cap… I can’t pay for the transplant yet.”
“It’s taken care of,”
Dr. Hayes said, sounding cheerful.
“The entire balance was cleared an hour ago. Plus the post-op care package, two years of physical therapy. It’s all paid in full.”
Violet stood frozen.
“Who? Who paid it?”
“It was an anonymous donation made through a private trust: the Vanguard Foundation. Look, the transport team is taking him to the O.R. in twenty minutes. You should be here.”
“I’m coming.”
She hung up, her hand shaking so hard she almost dropped the phone. She looked at Dante.
He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was studiously examining a clause in his contract.
“Vanguard Foundation,”
Violet whispered.
“Vance told me your holding company is Vanguard Enterprises.”
Dante didn’t look up.
“Is it?”
“You paid it.”
“I made an investment.”
“An investment?”
Violet’s voice rose, trembling with a mix of fury and overwhelming gratitude.
“You paid half a million dollars for a boy you’ve never met. Why?”
Dante finally looked at her. His face was devoid of the cruel mask he usually wore.
“Because his sister saved my life. And because I don’t like owing debts. Now we’re even.”
“Even?”
Violet choked out a laugh, tears finally spilling over.
“Dante, you just saved his life. That’s not… we’re not even.”
