THE NEW NURSE STOPPED THE MAFIA BOSS’S PRIVATE TREATMENT IN FRONT OF HIS ARMED GUARDS—THEN HIS DOCTOR SAID FIVE WORDS THAT MADE HER BLOOD RUN COLD

Two months later.

The Oakwood Care Facility was entirely different from the state-run home where my father had spent the last two years. Oakwood had sprawling gardens, private suites, and a staff-to-patient ratio that made my nurse’s heart sing.

I walked into my father’s room on a bright Tuesday afternoon.

He was sitting in his wheelchair by the window, looking out at the gardens. He had gained weight. The color had returned to his cheeks. His stroke had left him unable to speak clearly, and his left side was paralyzed, but his eyes were bright and alert.

“Hi, Dad,” I said, kissing the top of his head.

He squeezed my hand with his right hand, giving me a crooked smile. He pointed to the small table next to his chair.

Sitting there was a box of expensive Italian pastries.

I frowned. “Did a volunteer bring these?”

My father shook his head. He pointed a trembling finger toward the doorway.

I turned.

Vincent Moretti was standing in the hall.

He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit, looking perfectly healthy. The gray pallor of the poison was gone. He looked powerful, intimidating, and undeniably handsome.

Holding his hand was Leo, dressed in a neat little sweater, holding a drawing pad.

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Vincent said, stepping into the room. “We had business in the area. Leo wanted to bring your father some cannolis.”

I was too stunned to speak. I hadn't seen Vincent since the morning at the clinic.

Leo let go of his father’s hand and walked over to my dad. The little boy wasn't afraid of the wheelchair or the paralysis. He just held up his drawing pad.

“I drew a picture for you,” Leo said, his voice clear and confident.

My father looked at the drawing. It was a picture of a nurse with a cape, standing in front of a giant dragon. My dad laughed—a warm, genuine sound I hadn't heard in years. He patted Leo’s shoulder.

“He talks about you a lot, Hannah,” Vincent said softly, stepping up beside me. “We both do.”

I looked up at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a man who was given a second chance,” Vincent replied. His dark eyes locked onto mine, carrying a weight that made my breath catch. “Isabella checked into a rehab facility in Arizona. She’s getting help for her panic attacks and her... other dependencies. My mother is back to gardening.”

“I’m glad, Vincent. Truly.”

Vincent looked at the framed photograph on my father’s nightstand. It was an old picture of me and my dad, taken at my nursing school graduation.

“You gave up a lot for him,” Vincent noted.

“He’s my dad. You did the same for Leo.”

Vincent reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a small, flat jewelry box covered in black velvet.

“When Gabriel was clearing out Whitmore’s private office,” Vincent said, “we found something. I thought you should have it.”