Chapter 2 - THE DIAGNOSIS HE COULDN'T IGNORE
“What did he find?”
Aleandro Raldi looked at me for a moment before answering.
“Dehydration. Exhaustion. Low blood pressure. Signs of prolonged inadequate nutrition.”
I stared at the tea in my hands.
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It sounds medical.”
“I'm a nurse. I know the difference.”
“Then you know what happens when someone keeps working while their body is failing.”
I looked away.
The bedroom was larger than my entire apartment in Astoria. Sunlight stretched across the polished floor, touching furniture that probably cost more than I earned in a year.
Everything was beautiful.
Everything was unfamiliar.
And I had absolutely no idea how to leave.
“Where's my phone?”
Aleandro pointed toward the bedside table.
“Beside your bag.”
I reached for it.
Seventeen missed calls.
All from Ryan.
My stomach tightened.
Then I saw the messages.
WHERE ARE YOU?
ANSWER ME.
YOU THINK YOU CAN IGNORE ME?
The final message had arrived twenty minutes earlier.
WHEN YOU COME HOME, WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A VERY SERIOUS TALK.
I turned the screen facedown.
Aleandro noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He seemed like the kind of man who could detect a lie from the way someone breathed.
“Is that the person who hurt you?”
I pulled my sleeve over my wrist.
“I told you I fell.”
“Yes.”
He set the teapot down.
“And I didn't believe you.”
I looked at him sharply.
“You don't know anything about my life.”
“That's true.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
He was silent.
I expected anger.
Men like him didn't enjoy being challenged.
Ryan certainly didn't.
Instead, Aleandro moved toward the window.
“You're right,” he said.
I blinked.
He turned back.
“I know you collapsed on a subway because you hadn't eaten properly. I know someone left bruises on your arm. I know the thought of going home frightened you more than waking up in a stranger's apartment.”
My throat tightened.
“But I don't know your story,” he continued. “And I won't pretend otherwise.”
I stared at him.
Then whispered, “I need to go.”
He nodded.
“Your shoes are by the door. Marco can arrange a car, or you can call your own transportation.”
That surprised me.
“You're letting me leave?”
His expression changed.
“Amanda, you're not a prisoner.”
I looked toward the bedroom door.
It stood open.
I hadn't even noticed.
Aleandro followed my gaze.
Something dark crossed his face.
Not anger at me.
Anger at whatever had taught me to look for locks.
“I'd prefer you ate breakfast first,” he said. “But that is your decision.”
I swallowed.
“What if I don't want to go home?”
He looked at me.
“Then we can discuss somewhere else you might feel safe.”
I stared at the man standing beside the window.
I had expected commands.
Threats.
Conditions.
Instead, he'd offered me a choice.
And somehow, after six months of having every choice taken from me, that simple kindness nearly broke me.
My eyes filled.
I hated it.
I hated crying in front of strangers.
Especially dangerous strangers.
Aleandro didn't approach.
He simply waited.
Finally, I whispered, “My boyfriend's name is Ryan Mercer.”
Aleandro went completely still.
I noticed.
“Do you know him?”
His expression became unreadable.
“Tell me his full name.”
“Ryan Christopher Mercer.”
Aleandro's jaw tightened.
Then he asked a question that made the room feel suddenly colder.
“Does Ryan know you work at Mount Sinai?”
I frowned.
“Of course.”
Aleandro looked toward the door.
“Marco.”
His security chief appeared almost immediately.
“Sir?”
“Find out whether Ryan Mercer is still working for the East River Development Consortium.”
Marco's expression changed.
“Yes, Don Aleandro.”
He disappeared.
I stared at Aleandro.
“What is happening?”
Aleandro turned back to me.
And for the first time since we'd met, I saw something unmistakable in his eyes.
May you like
Recognition.
“Ryan Mercer,” he said quietly, “is connected to the men who tried to kill my brother.”
