Chapter 2 - THE MAID WHO REFUSED TO LET HIM DIE
Getting Gabriel Falcone out of his mansion was harder than I had imagined.
The west garage was guarded by two men who had worked for him longer than I'd been employed in the household.
I couldn't simply wheel a supposedly dead man through the front gate.
So I did the only thing a maid could do.
I made myself invisible.
I returned to the kitchen, changed into a dark housekeeping uniform, and found an old laundry trolley large enough to carry Gabriel if I folded the blankets correctly.
Then I stole a bottle of water, a clean towel, and the first-aid kit from the pantry.
My hands shook so badly that I dropped the scissors twice.
At 4:52 a.m., I slipped back into the medical wing.
Gabriel was still breathing, but his pulse had weakened.
I touched his cheek.
"Mr. Falcone?"
His eyes opened a fraction.
"You're late."
I stared at him.
"You were declared dead three hours ago, and you're complaining about my punctuality?"
One corner of his mouth lifted.
"Good. You're still capable of arguing."
I almost laughed.
Then he winced, and the humor disappeared.
"Can you stand?"
"No."
"Can you sit?"
"Probably."
"Excellent. We're making progress."
He looked at me with something resembling amusement.
"You always this bossy?"
"Only when someone is trying to die on my watch."
I helped him sit up.
His shirt was stained with blood around the bandages on his chest. The wounds had been treated, but whatever poison had entered his bloodstream was clearly still affecting him.
He gripped the edge of the table.
For a moment, his face twisted with pain.
I caught his shoulder.
"Easy."
"I don't need—"
"Mr. Falcone, if you finish that sentence with 'help,' I'm leaving you here."
He looked at me.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was weak and rough, but it was real.
I had never heard him laugh like that.
"You're a dangerous woman, Matilda Higgins."
"I'm a maid with a laundry trolley."
"Exactly."
We managed to transfer him onto the trolley, covering him with folded sheets and a stack of towels.
Before I pushed him out, he caught my hand.
"Why are you doing this?"
I stared at him.
"Because you're alive."
"That's not an answer."
I thought about the broken crystal glasses, the laughter, and the way he'd made Carmine apologize.
"You treated me like a person when everyone else treated me like furniture."
His expression changed.
"That was a long time ago."
"Not to me."
He released my hand.
I pushed the trolley into the corridor.
At the corner, we nearly collided with one of the guards.
"What's that?"
"Laundry."
He glanced at the sheets.
"From the medical wing?"
"Blood gets everywhere, sir."
He grimaced.
"Disgusting. Get it downstairs."
I lowered my head.
"Of course."
He stepped aside.
I kept walking until we reached the service elevator.
Only then did I allow myself to breathe.
The old clinic on Halsted was a narrow brick building hidden between a closed bakery and an auto-repair shop. Its front windows were dark, but a small light burned above the side entrance.
I knocked three times.
A woman opened the door.
She was in her late thirties, with dark hair tied in a loose knot and tired eyes that sharpened the instant she saw the trolley.
"Who are you?"
"Matilda Higgins. I'm from the Falcone estate."
Her face went pale.
"Where is Gabriel?"
I pulled back the sheet.
Dr. Elena Rossi stared at him.
Then she moved so quickly that I barely had time to step aside.
"Get him inside. Now."
Within minutes, Gabriel was on an examination bed.
Elena checked his pupils, listened to his heart, and examined the bandages covering his chest.
"Who treated him?"
"Dr. Mercer."
"Mercer is a surgeon, not a toxicologist."
She opened a cabinet and pulled out several medical supplies.
"What did he receive?"
"I don't know."
Gabriel forced his eyes open.
"Something in the bullets."
Elena went still.
"What?"
"Carmine had them coated."
Her jaw tightened.
"Do you know what substance?"
"No."
She looked at me.
"Did he lose consciousness?"
"He was declared dead. But I heard his heartbeat."
Elena looked back at Gabriel.
"Then you may have been lucky. Some toxins can severely slow the heart and breathing, making it difficult to assess whether someone has died. But I need tests before I can tell you exactly what's happening."
She worked quickly, taking blood samples and preparing treatment based on Gabriel's symptoms and the records she had kept from previous medical consultations.
I stood against the wall, feeling useless.
"Can you save him?" I asked.
Elena didn't look up.
"I can try. But if the toxin has damaged his heart, he may need intensive care."
"Can you call an ambulance?"
Gabriel shook his head.
"Not yet."
Elena glared at him.
"You're in no position to make demands."
"I'm in a position to tell you Carmine controls the private hospital staff."
"Not all of them."
"Enough."
She considered this, then nodded reluctantly.
"I'll contact a specialist I trust. But if your condition deteriorates, we're calling emergency services. I won't let you die to protect your empire."
Gabriel closed his eyes.
"Fair."
Elena turned toward me.
"There's a small room upstairs. You can rest there."
"I'm staying."
"Matilda, you haven't slept."
"Neither has he."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
"Fine. But if you faint, I'm treating you next."
I pulled a chair beside Gabriel's bed.
For hours, I listened to the uneven rhythm of his breathing.
At 7:30 a.m., he woke enough to drink water.
At 8:15, he asked for a phone.
At 8:17, Elena confiscated it.
"You need rest, not a criminal organization."
Gabriel glared at her.
"You've become very disrespectful."
"And you've become very mortal."
I couldn't help smiling.
Then Gabriel looked at me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You smiled."
"Am I forbidden to smile in your presence?"
"Usually, people are too frightened."
I thought about that.
"Maybe they haven't met the right people."
He studied me in silence.
For the first time, I wondered what it would be like to know Gabriel Falcone without his guards, his money, and the fear that followed him through every room.
Then Elena returned with the test results.
Her expression was grave.
"The toxin is still in his system. His heart rhythm is unstable, and we need to keep monitoring him. He may survive, but the next twenty-four hours are critical."
Gabriel stared at the ceiling.
"How long?"
"At least a day before I can give you a more reliable prognosis."
He nodded.
Then he turned toward me.
"Matilda."
"Yes?"
"If I ask you to leave, will you?"
I considered the question.
"No."
"Why?"
I pulled the chair closer.
"Because you haven't apologized for dying on my laundry trolley."
His eyes widened.
Then he laughed.
And for the first time since the shooting, the sound filled the room with something warmer than fear.
But downstairs, Elena's phone began vibrating.
She checked the screen.
Her expression changed.
"What is it?" I asked.
She turned the phone toward us.
A news alert filled the screen.
GABRIEL FALCONE'S DEATH CONFIRMED—SUCCESSION BATTLE ERUPTS.
Beneath it was a photograph of Carmine standing outside the mansion.
He was smiling.
Elena locked the phone.
"They're already dividing the empire."
Gabriel's expression turned cold.
"Then we have less time than I thought."
He tried to sit up.
I pushed him gently back against the pillow.
"You're not going anywhere."
His eyes met mine.
"That's my decision."
"Not today."
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then, to my astonishment, Gabriel settled back against the pillow.
"Very well, Miss Higgins."
He closed his eyes.
"But when I recover, we're going to have a conversation about who's in charge."
I folded my arms.
May you like
"I look forward to it."
And somewhere in Chicago, Carmine Bellucci was preparing to celebrate his victory over a man who was very much alive.
