Chapter 2 - The Bleeding Edge
What I didn’t know while I floated in the dark void of unconsciousness was that Dominic Rossi refused to wait three agonizing minutes for an ambulance.
While the police sirens were still wailing in the distance, Dominic bypassed protocol entirely. He ordered his chief enforcer, Enzo, to lift my broken, bleeding body and load it into the back of his armored town car, rushing me straight to St. Catherine Medical Center—a private facility where the Rossi family name carried more weight than any federal badge.
Six hours later, while I was strapped to an operating table with heart monitors screaming a frantic rhythm, Dominic’s intelligence network went to work.
Within hours, Enzo’s men tracked down the sniper. The hitman was connected to Victor Costa, the ruthless head of a rival syndicate who had been locked in a territorial war with the Rossi family for over a decade.
Then, the situation turned infinitely worse.
One of the hospital staff, bribed or compromised, leaked an anonymous tip to a local tabloid: The waitress who took the bullets meant for Isabella Rossi is still alive in St. Catherine’s.
Dominic stood in the private observation gallery above the ICU, watching through the reinforced glass as the heart-lung machine breathed for me. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying granite, but his knuckles were bleeding where he had driven them into the concrete wall.
Enzo stepped quietly beside him, holding a thick, manila leather folder.
“Boss,” Enzo said cautiously. “The leak is confirmed. Costa knows she survived. If he realizes she took the shots meant for your mother, he’ll know she’s the primary witness to the assassin’s face. Costa can’t afford to let her wake up and talk to the feds.”
Dominic didn't look away from my pale, motionless body on the bed. “Then double the guard on this floor. Shoot anyone who doesn't have the proper clearance.”
“It’s not just about security anymore,” Isabella said, walking slowly into the observation room with a cane, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She stepped up beside her son and looked down at me. “Then protect her properly, Dominic.”
Dominic turned his head slowly, his jaw tight. “For how long, Mother? Until Costa sends an army? Until she wakes up, realizes who we are, and tries to run?”
“As long as necessary,” Isabella said with absolute finality.
Dominic stared at her for a long moment, then turned his gaze back to the manila folder in Enzo’s hand. He reached out, his long fingers flipping open the brass clasp.
Inside were documents, photographs, and background checks. Information about me—my financial struggles, my mother’s failing heart in Cleveland, my employment history at the diner, my entire life neatly cataloged.
Information Dominic Rossi had apparently known before I was ever shot at the Aster Crown.
Information he had never shared with anyone.
Enzo noticed Dominic staring at the pages and frowned. “Boss... you already had her file? Before tonight?”
Dominic didn't answer. He closed the folder with a sharp snap. A dangerous, calculating light flickered in his slate-gray eyes—a decision made in a fraction of a second that would bind our fates together forever.
“Get me a priest,” Dominic ordered quietly.
Isabella stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. “Dominic... what on earth are you doing?”
His answer changed my life before I was even conscious enough to know I still had one.
“I’m marrying her.”
Enzo grabbed Dominic’s arm, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Boss! Have you lost your mind? If she survives and discovers why you already had a file on her—why you were watching her before the shooting—she’ll never forgive you! She’ll think you used her!”
Dominic stopped in the doorway, pulling his arm free with cold, impassive strength.
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“If she wakes up as Elena Scott, Costa will kill her within forty-eight hours,” Dominic said softly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “If she wakes up as Elena Rossi... nobody in this city will ever dare touch a hair on her head.”
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