Chapter 4 - The Unwritten RuleThe kitchen was so quiet they could hear the heavy summer rain drumming softly against the sprawling glass windows outside.
Mara stared at the check, then up at the ruthless mafia don who had just laid his entire vulnerability bare before her.
“You’re insane,” she breathed out, though the anger in her voice had completely vanished, replaced by a strange, overwhelming rush of validation she hadn't felt in two agonizing years.
“Probably,” Vincent agreed, a genuine, unguarding smile finally breaking across his rugged face. “Are you going to take the check, or do I need to figure out how to wire it to your landlord before Monday?”
Mara reached out slowly, her fingers brushing against the heavy paper. She picked it up, folded it in half with deliberate care, and slid it safely into the pocket of her scrubs.
Then she looked up at him, a familiar, stubborn spark returning to her eyes.
“The check covers my legal fees and my rent, Mr. DeLuca. But it doesn't cover your physical therapy.” She reached into her canvas bag, pulled out a resistance band, and tossed it right against his chest. “Put your left arm through this. You’ve got forty sessions ahead of you, and I’m still billing hourly.”
May you like
Vincent caught the band, laughing low in his chest as he shook his head.
“God help my enemies,” he whispered, “because you’re going to survive us all.”
