Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Hall
My chest heaved as the heavy brass handle depressed an inch. The metal latch clicked.
With instincts born of sheer panic, I whipped around, kicked the fallen book under the armchair with my foot, and threw my weight against the edge of the bed just as the door swung open.
Miller stepped into the dim red glow of the emergency lights. His sharp eyes scanned the room instantly, darting from the IV drip to the heart monitor, and finally landing on me. His hand hovered casually near the concealed holster beneath his tailored suit jacket.
"Problem, Jenkins?" Miller asked, his voice flat, devoid of any human warmth.
I forced my lungs to expand, pasting on a trembling, exhausted expression that wasn't entirely fake. "It's just the storm, Mr. Miller. The lightning strike caused a power surge. The monitor spiked for a second, and it startled me. I dropped my chart."
Miller's gaze narrowed. He took two slow steps further into the room, his eyes sweeping over Nicholas’s motionless form. Nicholas lay there, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in the slow, rhythmic cadence of a deep coma. It was a masterclass in deception; the man looked as lifeless as he had yesterday.
"Your hands are shaking," Miller noted, his tone laced with suspicion.
"I've been on a double shift," I fired back, channeling every ounce of defensive annoyance I could muster. "The backup generator smells like burning plastic, the storm is terrifying, and yes, being locked in a penthouse suite with a comatose mafia boss at three in the morning is nerve-wracking. Would you like to check the vitals yourself?"
Miller stared at me for three agonizingly long seconds. The air felt thick enough to cut with a scalpel. If he walked over, if he checked Nicholas's pulse or noticed the slight shift in the bedsheets, we were both dead.
Finally, Miller gave a curt nod. "Keep the noise down. And fix the monitor. Mr. Castellano needs absolute peace."
"I will," I whispered.
Without another word, Miller turned on his heel and stepped back out into the corridor, pulling the heavy door shut with a heavy, final-sounding thud.
The lock clicked into place.
I slumped against the bedside table, letting out a ragged breath I felt like I'd been holding for a lifetime.
"Good," a low voice murmured from the bed.
May you like
I snapped my head around. Nicholas’s eyes were open again, staring straight at the door, then back at me. Slowly, a dangerous, calculating light settled into his dark pupils.
"You're a terrible liar, Clara," he said softly, shifting his weight. "But you're a remarkably good actress when your life depends on it. Now... help me sit up. We have work to do."
