Chapter 2 - The Contract of Blood and the Boy Behind the Breathing Mask
Sebastian did not blink. For ten seconds, the silence stretched so taut it threatened to snap.
“Gabriel,” Sebastian commanded without looking away from Clare. “Clear her schedule. All of it.”
“I have a job,” Clare said instantly. “I have patients who depend on me at the clinic.”
“You had a job,” Sebastian corrected, pulling himself into an upright seated position. His upper body was carved from pure labor, a stark contrast to the motionless limbs draped over the table. “Your clinic is funded by municipal grants that run out in thirty days. I own the building. As of five minutes ago, your clinic is being renovated. You work exclusively for me.”
“You can't buy people, Mr. Lombardi.”
“I can buy time. And right now, Clare Bennett, time is the only commodity your son doesn’t have.”
Clare’s blood ran cold. “Leave Oliver out of this.”
“I’m putting him into the best pediatric pulmonary ward in the state,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “Dr. Vance at Northwestern has already received his case file. Oliver will have his filtration unit replaced by tomorrow morning, private nursing around the clock, and a permanent trust fund established in his name.”
He leaned forward, placing both forearms on his knees.
“In exchange, you come here every night. You do not speak of my condition to your neighbors, your friends, or any doctor who isn’t cleared by Gabriel. You tell no one that my foot moved. If a single word escapes this room, your son goes back to the county clinic, and you disappear.”
Clare felt her fingernails biting into her palms. “Why the secrecy? If you're regaining nerve function, shouldn't you want the entire world to know?”
Sebastian’s smile was thin and razor-sharp. “In my world, Clare, weakness is an invitation for hyenas. But recovery? Recovery is a threat. If my rivals know I might stand again, they won’t wait for me to walk. They will burn this city to the ground to bury me before I take my first step.”
She understood then. The wheelchair was a target, but it was also a shield. It made his enemies complacent.
“I need an MRI,” Clare said, stepping into her professional cadence to hide her fear. “A high-resolution spinal scan from C-spine to sacrum. Not seven years old. Current. Taken within forty-eight hours.”
“Impossible,” Gabriel cut in. “Moving him to a commercial imaging center exposes our security detail.”
“Then bring a mobile unit to the underground garage,” Clare fired back, looking at Gabriel. “I cannot treat what I cannot see. If scar tissue is compressing a dormant nerve root, manipulating it blindly could cause permanent ischemia. You want him to walk? Then let me do my job properly.”
Sebastian’s dark eyes flashed with amusement. “She speaks to you like you’re an intern, Gabriel. I like her.”
“Mr. Lombardi—”
“Get the machine,” Sebastian ordered. “And Gabriel?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Ensure Oliver Bennett’s room at Northwestern is guarded by two of our best men. If anyone approaches that child without Clare’s written consent, remove them.”
Gabriel bowed his head and left the room, closing the massive oak doors with a dull click.
Left alone with the most dangerous man in Chicago, Clare took a breath. “Lie back down. We have thirty minutes left on this session.”
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“You aren't afraid of me,” Sebastian noted, settling back onto the table.
“I have an eight-year-old boy whose lungs fill with fluid when the weather turns cold,” she said, placing her fingers along the L3 vertebrae. “I don’t have room in my schedule to be afraid of you.”
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