Chapter 2 - The Mandate
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They had to cut my surgical glove to get my hand free so they could wheel him into the operating theater. I stood in the hallway, my scrubs soaked in crimson, staring at the empty double doors. My supervisor, a thin woman who had spent years giving me the worst shifts, wouldn't even look me in the eye.
A man stepped into my line of sight. He was massive, wearing a bespoke suit that failed to hide the holster at his shoulder. His face was scarred, his expression unreadable. This was Silas, Vincent’s underboss.
“What is your name?” Silas asked. His voice was a low rumble that made the passing nurses freeze in their tracks.
“Nora,” I said, crossing my arms to hide the fact that my hands were shaking.
“You did well in there, Nora,” Silas said, glancing at the surgical doors. “The doctors say he’ll pull through the surgery. But the recovery is going to be complicated. He doesn't let medical staff touch him. He rips his IVs out in his sleep. He fights.”
“He has severe post-traumatic stress,” I replied, my clinical training kicking in. “He associates sudden touch with the fire. He needs a specialized trauma psychiatrist, not just a nurse.”
“He doesn't trust psychiatrists,” Silas countered smoothly. “He trusts you. He let you touch his chest.”
“That was a desperate moment. He was dying.”
“He is still dying,” Silas corrected. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy, unmarked black envelope, holding it out to me. “Mr. Mercer will be transferred to his private estate as soon as the bullets are extracted. You are coming with us.”
I stared at the envelope. “I work for Chicago General. I have shifts. I have patients.”
May you like
My supervisor stepped forward, her voice trembling. “You’ve been granted an indefinite leave of absence, Nora. Fully paid. You… you’re reassigned.”
I looked between the terrified administrator and the immovable mobster. I wasn't being offered a job. I was being drafted. And refusing the Mercer syndicate was a luxury no one in this city could afford.
