**For twelve years, no woman had been allowed within arm’s reach of Boston’s most feared mafia boss—until a waitress crashed into him, cut her hand, and made him use the one thing he had protected since his wife died.**

At 2:00 p.m., the emergency department at Boston City Hospital was a chaotic storm of flashing lights, rolling gurneys, and crying children.

Aliyah stood at the central nursing station, wearing dark blue scrubs, a stethoscope draped around her neck. Her right hand was neatly wrapped in clean medical gauze, allowing her to type patient notes onto the computer terminal with only slight discomfort.

"Brooks," Dr. Aris, the attending trauma physician, called out as he hurried past with a clipboard. "Bay 3 needs a full vitals sweep. Traffic accident on the Expressway."

"On it, Doctor," Aliyah replied, pulling a blood pressure cuff from the supply shelf.

She walked into Bay 3, pulling the yellow privacy curtain shut behind her.

Sitting on the edge of the examination table was a young man in his mid-twenties, wearing a dark grey tracksuit. His right elbow was scraped, but he didn't look like a victim of a car crash. His eyes were sharp, darting around the room, taking in the exits, the staff, and the security cameras.

"Good afternoon," Aliyah said professionally, adjusting her stethoscope. "I'm Aliyah, your student nurse. Let's get your blood pressure."

The young man didn't roll up his sleeve. He looked down at her right hand, his eyes fixing onto the neat gauze bandage around her palm.

"That's a neat wrap," the young man said, his voice carrying a distinct Providence accent. "Did you get that at The Red Lion last night?"

Aliyah froze. Her fingers stopped on the velcro strap of the cuff.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her heart beginning to speed up.

"Dimitri sends his regards, sweetheart," the man whispered, reaching into his tracksuit pocket with lightning speed.

Before Aliyah could scream, a heavy black-gloved hand reached around the edge of the privacy curtain, grabbed the young man by his throat, and slammed his head violently against the stainless-steel equipment wall.

THUD.

The metal tray crashed to the floor.

Nikolai stood inside the bay, wearing his dark trench coat, his left hand pinning the attacker against the wall while his right hand smoothly disarmed a small, snub-nosed revolver from the man's grip.

"In a hospital, boy?" Nikolai gritted out, his voice cold and disgusted. "Dimitri is getting sloppy."

Aliyah backed against the counter, her hands trembling, her chest heaving as she stared at the gun in Nikolai's hand. "Nikolai... what... what is happening?!"

"Don Victor anticipated this," Nikolai said calmly, dragging the dazed attacker off the table by his collar. "This piece of garbage is one of Volkov's runners. They wanted to take you to force Victor into a territory concession."

Two hospital security guards rushed past the curtain, their hands on their holsters. "What's going on here?!"

Nikolai pulled a gold badge from his wallet, flashing it briefly at the guards while keeping his grip on the assassin. "Federal logistics security. This man is a wanted fugitive. I am taking him into custody."