Chapter 4 - The Viper’s NestBy nightfall, the entire 12th floor of Saint Jude’s had been converted into a fortified bunker.
Mara sat in an armchair beside Lucian’s bed, her hospital uniform replaced by a dark turtleneck and jeans provided by Julian’s team. She hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, but the adrenaline rushing through her veins kept her hyper-alert.
Lucian was sitting up now, his chest heavily bandaged under a black silk shirt. Despite his injuries, his command over the room was absolute.
Through the clear glass partition, Mara watched Viktor pacing in the hallway, holding an encrypted phone to his ear. She focused on Viktor’s profile, tracking his lip movements as he spoke into the receiver:
"...she's still in the room with him... No, she hasn't told Julian anything concrete yet... Yes, I'll clear the rear entrance at midnight... Make sure the hit squad uses silenced weapons... No witnesses, especially the nurse."
Mara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She kept her posture relaxed, leaning back in her chair as if she were resting her eyes.
She waited until Viktor turned his back and walked down the corridor before she picked up her notepad. She wrote quickly:
Viktor is talking to someone on an encrypted line. Midnight. Rear entrance. Hit squad. Silenced weapons. They are targeting you and me.
She slid the pad across the bed to Lucian.
Lucian read the message once. His gray eyes hardened into solid ice. He didn't panic. Instead, he looked at Mara with a strange, dark admiration.
He picked up the pen and wrote back:
Can you handle a gun?
Mara took the pen:
I’m a nurse. I save lives.
Lucian grabbed her wrist—the same firm, warm grip from the burning road—and brought her hand close to his mouth so she could read his lips cleanly:
"Tonight, Nurse Vale, saving my life means taking theirs. Are you in, or do I have Julian escort you out the fire escape right now?"
Mara looked down at her bandaged palm, then up at the powerful crime lord whose life was suspended by a thread of her own choices. If she left, she was a loose end; Viktor would hunt her down anyway.
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She leaned down, her face inches from his, her lips moving with absolute clarity:
"Give me a weapon that doesn't recoil hard enough to tear my stitches."
