Chapter 2 - Waking Up with a Diamond Band and Armed Guards Outside My Door
The first thing that returned to me was not sight, but the scent of antiseptic, expensive leather, and the rhythmic, steady beep of hospital monitors.
Every single breath felt as though someone had poured crushed glass and liquid fire into my chest. My throat was raw, dry, and scraped raw from where an endotracheal tube had clearly rested for days. I tried to move my fingers, but even the slightest twitch sent shockwaves of agony radiating across my torso, ribs, and shoulders.
"Do not try to sit up," a deep, commanding voice broke the silence.
I forced my heavy eyelids open. The harsh white light of the room made me wince, but as my vision gradually brought the room into focus, I realized I wasn't in any standard hospital ward.
This was a massive, ultra-luxurious private suite. Floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows looked out over the sprawling skyline of Manhattan. The walls were lined with mahogany paneling, leather couches, and high-end medical equipment that looked brand new. Standing near the foot of my bed, framed against the gray morning sky, was Dominic Rossi.
He had discarded his tuxedo jacket. He wore an immaculate charcoal dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing corded muscle and the dark ink of intricate tattoos winding up his wrists. His face was shadowed with dark stubble, his eyes bloodshot from days without proper sleep, yet his presence was as terrifyingly commanding as ever.
On either side of the heavy mahogany double doors stood two massive, broad-shouldered men in tailored black suits, earpieces nestled in their ears, their jackets subtly bulging with concealed firepower.
"You're in St. Catherine’s private surgical wing," Dominic said, stepping closer to my bedside. His voice was calm, yet it carried an underlying vibration of lethal authority. "You survived three emergency surgeries. The doctors pulled four bullets out of you; three had already passed clean through. You flatlined twice on the operating table. But you're alive."
"My... my mother..." I rasped out, my voice barely a dry croak. Panic, cold and sharp, cut right through the fog of my pain medication. "Ellen... she's in Cleveland... her medication... the rent..."
"Breathe, Maya," he said softly, reaching out and gently pressing his warm hand over my trembling knuckles.
The casual way he spoke my name made me freeze.
I had never told him my name. I was an anonymous catering temp hired through a third-party agency under a rushed substitute form.
"How do you know my name?" I whispered, my heart rate spiking on the monitor beside the bed.
Dominic didn't answer immediately. His dark eyes held mine with an unreadable intensity. Instead of answering, he gently lifted my left hand.
That was when I felt the unfamiliar, heavy weight on my fourth finger.
Resting on my pale, bruised finger was a magnificent, flawless emerald-cut diamond ring flanked by a thick band of solid platinum and gold. It was a masterpiece of jewelry, ancient and priceless, practically radiating power.
I stared at it in utter disbelief. "What... what is this? What did you put on my hand?"
"Protection," Dominic said simply.
"I don't understand," I stammered, pulling my hand back against the scratchy hospital sheet, though the movement sent a sharp stab of pain through my sutured chest. "Take this off. What is going on?"
The door to the suite opened quietly, and Isabella Rossi walked in, followed by a distinguished-looking man carrying a leather briefcase. Isabella looked immaculate in a navy silk dress, though her eyes were filled with profound emotion when she looked at me.
"Maya, darling," Isabella whispered, coming straight to my bedside and kissing my forehead with genuine, trembling affection. "Thank God you're awake. The doctors called it a medical miracle. We thought we lost you three nights ago."
"Mrs. Rossi..." I breathed. "Please, what is happening here? Why is there a wedding ring on my finger?"
Isabella looked at her son with a complex expression of sorrow and resolute pride. She turned back to me and took my free hand.
"The man who ordered the hit at the gala was Victor Costa," Isabella explained, her voice hardening at the name. "He is the head of the Costa syndicate. He believed killing me would break my son’s empire. When you threw your body over mine and took seven bullets meant for my heart, you humiliated him. But worse than that... Costa’s informants inside the hotel immediately leaked that a waitress took the hits and survived."
"Costa doesn't leave witnesses, and he doesn't tolerate anyone who disrupts his executions," Dominic took over, his voice dropping into a pitch-black register that made the air in the room turn icy. "Forty-eight hours ago, two of Costa’s men infiltrated this hospital disguised as maintenance staff. They had two syringes of potassium chloride meant for your IV line."
A cold dread seized my lungs. "They tried to kill me here?"
"My men intercepted them in the elevator," Dominic said coldly. "They won't be walking again. But I realized that private security guards and locked hospital wings wouldn't be enough. Costa has corrupt cops, judges, and hitmen on his payroll. If you remained an ordinary civilian—an anonymous catering girl who got lucky—he would pick you off the second you stepped onto the street. Or worse, he would go to Cleveland and use your mother as leverage to force you out into the open."
My breath caught in my throat. My mother.
"So what did you do?" I demanded, tears of fear and confusion stinging my eyes.
"I called the Archbishop of New York and my family’s legal council to this room while you were in a medically induced coma," Dominic said, stepping up right beside the bed, towering over me like an unstoppable fortress. "I signed the marriage certificate, placed my family’s heirloom ring on your finger, and filed the paperwork with the state supreme court within the hour."
He leaned down slightly, his dark, mesmerizing eyes locking onto mine with terrifying certainty.
"You are no longer Maya Vance, the broke waitress nobody cares about. You are Maya Rossi. You are the legal, recognized wife of Dominic Rossi. Under the laws of the five families and the laws of this state, an attack on you is a declaration of total, unmitigated war against the entire Rossi empire. Touch one hair on your head, and I burn their entire bloodline to the ground."
May you like
I stared at him, my mind spinning into freefall. "You... you married a comatose woman to save her life?"
"I married you because you bled for my family," Dominic replied, his voice unwavering. "And in my world, Maya, we pay our debts with absolute loyalty. You are mine to protect now. Whether Victor Costa likes it or not."
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