By Saturday morning, Vincent could walk six steps.

By Saturday afternoon, only four people knew.

Mara.

Tony.

Dr. Rebecca Hayes.

And Vincent himself.

Everyone else believed his condition was unchanged.

Vincent had insisted on it.

"If someone needs me helpless," he said, "let's give them what they want."

Mara hated the plan.

She hated even more that it made sense.

Rebecca examined his leg while Mara stood nearby.

"Neurologically, this is better than I expected."

Vincent looked at Mara.

"She likes being right."

"I've noticed," Rebecca said.

Mara folded her arms.

"Neither of you is charming."

Rebecca tested sensation along Vincent's calf.

"Can you feel this?"

"Yes."

"This?"

"Yes."

"This?"

Vincent hesitated.

"Pressure."

Rebecca nodded.

"The nerves are recovering. Slowly."

"When can I walk normally?"

"Months."

Vincent's jaw tightened.

"Maybe longer."

"No."

Rebecca looked up.

"That wasn't a negotiation."

Mara smiled.

"I like her."

"Get out," Vincent said.

Neither woman moved.

---

Tony had narrowed the internal investigation to three names.

Nico DeLuca.

Vincent's cousin.

Gabriel Moretti.

A senior family adviser who had worked beside Vincent's father for nearly thirty years.

And someone with access to Rebecca's medical team.

"Nico knew my route the night I was hit," Vincent said.

Mara sat across from him in the library.

It was the first time he'd left the bedroom for more than an hour.

The curtains there were open.

He had noticed.

He hadn't complained.

"Why would your cousin want you dead?"

"Money."

"Original."

"Control."

"Better."

Vincent almost smiled.

"Succession."

Mara stopped.

"You say that like you're a king."

"In some neighborhoods, the difference is mostly paperwork."

"That's not reassuring."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

Mara looked at Gabriel's photograph.

Silver hair.

Expensive suit.

Warm smile.

He looked like someone's favorite uncle.

"What about him?"

"Gabriel practically raised me after my father died."

"So you trust him."

"I used to."

"What changed?"

Vincent's expression hardened.

"I learned trust is expensive."

Mara studied him.

"That sounds exhausting."

"It keeps you alive."

"Does it?"

His eyes met hers.

Neither spoke.

Tony entered.

"Visitor."

"Who?"

"Chicago PD."

Vincent's expression turned cold.

"Absolutely not."

"He's asking for Mara."

Mara straightened.

"Me?"

Tony nodded.

"Detective Cole Harris."

Vincent's gaze snapped toward her.

"You don't talk to him alone."

"Watch me."

"Mara."

"Here we go again."

He wheeled closer.

"Cole Harris has spent eight years trying to put someone in my family in prison."

"Maybe you're all delightful citizens and he's confused."

Tony coughed to hide a laugh.

Vincent glared at him.

Mara stood.

"I'll talk to him."

"I'll be in the room."

"No."

"Mara."

She leaned down.

"If you're there, he won't tell me anything."

"That's the point."

"Exactly."

For several seconds, Vincent looked ready to order Tony to lock her in the library.

Then he exhaled.

"Five minutes."

"Ten."

"Seven."

"Deal."

---

Cole Harris didn't look like a detective from television.

No trench coat.

No dramatic scar.

Just a tired man in his late thirties wearing a cheap navy suit and carrying a paper coffee cup.

He waited in a small sitting room.

"Mara Bennett?"

"Detective."

He showed his badge.

"You're difficult to find."

"I'm working."

"I know."

His eyes moved briefly toward the security camera.

"For Vincent DeLuca."

Mara sat.

"You have seven minutes."

Cole raised an eyebrow.

"Specific."

"Long story."

He leaned forward.

"You know how DeLuca got hurt?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I'm respecting patient confidentiality."

"Gunfire on Lower Wacker. Two SUVs. Three shooters."

Mara kept her expression neutral.

"His driver died."

That hit harder.

She hadn't known.

"Vincent took two rounds and the vehicle hit a concrete barrier."

Cole watched her carefully.

"Someone leaked his route."

Mara's stomach tightened.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"We believe the leak came from inside DeLuca's organization."

She said nothing.

Cole continued.

"Three days after the shooting, one of our confidential sources disappeared."

"Again. Why me?"

"Because six nurses quit."

Mara stared.

"And then you showed up."

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"No."

Cole leaned back.

"I'm telling you you're living in a house with someone who already tried to kill the man you're treating."

Mara's pulse increased.

"You should leave."

"Is that professional advice?"

"Personal."

Cole placed a card on the table.

"If you see something that makes you think you're in danger, call me."

"I don't have a phone."

He almost smiled.

"Of course you don't."

Mara stood.

Cole spoke again.

"One more thing."

She turned.

"If DeLuca starts recovering faster than expected, don't tell anyone."

Mara went still.

Cole noticed.

"Why?"

"Because if the person who arranged the hit thinks he's permanently disabled, Vincent is inconvenient."

Cole's expression hardened.

"If they learn he's recovering, he becomes dangerous again."

Mara said nothing.

Cole looked at her.

"And so do you."

---

Vincent was waiting outside.

"Seven minutes and forty-three seconds."

Mara blinked.

"You timed me?"

"Obviously."

"That's deeply unhealthy."

"What did he say?"

"Patient confidentiality."

"I'm the patient."

"Detective confidentiality."

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

Vincent followed her toward the library.

"Mara."

She stopped.

"He knows the attack came from inside."

Vincent's expression didn't change.

But she saw the confirmation.

"You already knew."

"I suspected."

"He told me not to tell anyone if you started recovering."

Vincent looked toward the hallway.

"Smart."

"He thinks they'll try again."

"They will."

The certainty chilled her.

"And you're okay with that?"

"No."

Vincent moved closer.

"But this time I'll be waiting."

---

That evening, Mara helped him practice in the private rehabilitation room.

No cameras.

Tony had disconnected them himself.

Vincent made eight steps.

Then ten.

His face was wet with sweat.

Mara stood in front of him.

"Enough."

"Again."

"No."

"Ten more."

"You're shaking."

"So are you."

"I'm holding a two-hundred-pound man upright."

"One ninety-two."

"Congratulations."

Vincent smiled.

A real smile.

It changed his entire face.

Mara stared half a second too long.

He noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Walk."

He took another step.

Mara moved backward.

Another.

Her back touched the wall.

Vincent stopped directly in front of her.

His hands were braced on either side of her.

Neither spoke.

The room suddenly felt too small.

Mara could hear his breathing.

She could smell soap and antiseptic and the faint cedar scent that had replaced the stale sweat of his first days.

Vincent looked at her mouth.

"Still my nurse?"

Mara's pulse jumped.

"Unfortunately."

"For how long?"

"Until you're medically stable."

"Define stable."

"Not whatever this is."

He smiled.

Then his expression softened.

"Mara."

She knew what was about to happen.

Worse, she wanted it.

His face lowered.

Mara's hand pressed against his chest.

"Don't."

Vincent stopped instantly.

No anger.

No argument.

Just stillness.

"I'm your nurse," she repeated.

His eyes held hers.

"Not forever."

The same words as before.

This time they sounded like a promise.

Mara slipped out from between him and the wall.

"Back to bed."

Vincent sighed.

"Cruel woman."

"You'll survive."

"Apparently that's your job."

---

Mara returned to her room after midnight.

The door was slightly open.

She froze.

She always closed it.

Always.

"Tony?"

No answer.

Mara pushed the door open.

Nothing looked disturbed.

At first.

Then she saw the dresser.

The top drawer was open.

Her clothes had been moved.

She crossed the room.

The photograph of Ethan remained.

Her wallet remained.

The ten dollars in cash she'd kept for emergencies remained.

But the folder beneath her clothes was gone.

Ethan's diagnosis.

His treatment protocol.

The address of his new medical floor.

Everything.

Mara ran into the hallway.

"TONY!"

At the far end, a shadow disappeared around the corner.

Mara ran after it.

By the time she reached the stairwell—

No one was there.

Her heart pounded.

Then she saw something on the floor.

A single black glove.