"She thought the mafia boss would fire her for crying outside his office—until he heard the threat against her dying brother and quietly reached for his g.u.n. "

The heavy black SUV cut through the blinding Chicago rain like a knife, its twin exhaust pipes roaring as Adrian pushed the vehicle far past the speed limit.

Clara sat in the front passenger seat, clutching her handbag in her lap, her eyes fixed on the rain-streaked windshield. The leather seats were heated, warming her cold body, but inside she was frozen solid.

Beside her, Adrian drove with one hand on the wheel, his dark face illuminated by the green glow of the dashboard lights. The pistol he had drawn in the foyer was now tucked into a leather holster beneath his left arm, hidden once more by his black jacket.

"How long has Evan been in the coma?" Adrian asked, his voice cutting through the steady beat of the windshield wipers.

"Sixty-two days," Clara answered quietly. "The doctors told me his brain activity was minimal. They said... they said I should start thinking about taking him off life support because my insurance ran out last week."

Adrian didn't look at her, but his jaw tightened. "Who is his primary physician?"

"Dr. Aris. He’s the head of neurosurgery at St. Jude’s."

"Aris is on Carlo Moretti’s payroll," Adrian said flatly. "He’s been delaying your brother’s recovery on purpose so Evan wouldn't speak to the authorities."

Clara felt a wave of nausea hit her stomach. "What?"

"If an ICU patient doesn't wake up, no one investigates," Adrian explained, his tone clinical, analytical. "The moment Evan spoke three days ago, Aris contacted Julian. They were planning to cut his oxygen tonight and claim it was natural brain death."

"Oh God," Clara choked out, burying her face in her trembling hands. "Oh God, Evan... I left him alone there..."

"He’s not alone," Adrian said.

He reached down and pressed a button on the steering wheel console.

"Marco," Adrian said into the speaker.

A rough, deep voice responded instantly over the car's sound system. "Boss. We’re in position on the fourth floor of St. Jude’s. Four men in dark suits just exited the service elevator. They have hospital badges, but they’re carrying suppressed pieces under their coats."

Clara gasped.

"Hold your fire until I arrive," Adrian ordered. "Do not let them enter room 412."

"Understood, boss. Two minutes."

Adrian slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The SUV surged forward, the engine screaming as it tore through a red light at the intersection of Grand Avenue.

Two minutes later, the massive vehicle screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay of St. Jude’s Hospital, splashing rain across the automatic glass doors.

Adrian killed the engine, reached into the back seat, and pulled out a long black raincoat, throwing it over Clara’s shoulders.

"Stay close to me," he said, his eyes scanning the dimly lit parking garage. "Keep your head down. If shots are fired, drop to the floor immediately."

"Adrian," Clara said, grabbing his forearm before he could open his door.

He paused, looking down at her hand on his sleeve.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice small, fragile. "You don't know me. I'm just a maid."

Adrian looked into her eyes for a long, quiet moment. The rain hammered on the roof of the car, creating a rhythmic, thundering curtain around them.

"You sat on my floor at midnight and cried because you were trying to protect your brother," Adrian said softly. "I lost my brother five years ago because I wasn't fast enough to protect him. I am not letting it happen to you."