The Don Chased His Donna Back

Dante's fingers went rigid against my throat.

The murderous intent in his eyes cracked open, and a sliver of shock bled through.

Then he let go.

I sat up on the bed and straightened the collar he'd wrinkled.

I stood and faced him.

"Mr. Blackwood, I can oversee your surgery from start to finish."

"Including personal pre-operative care."

"The fee is one million dollars."

The room went silent for two full seconds.

Then Vivienne laughed.

Like she'd just heard the funniest joke of the year.

"One million, just like that? You're not here to practice medicine—you're here to extort him! Typical gold-digging trash!"

She raised her hand to slap me.

Before it landed, Dante reached out and caught her wrist.

One flick.

Vivienne stumbled two steps and nearly hit the floor.

"Dante!" She stared at him in disbelief.

Dante didn't look at her.

He pulled a leather checkbook from the nightstand drawer, scrawled a few strokes, and tore out the check.

Then he flicked his wrist—

The check hit me square in the face.

"Pick it up," Dante said.

I bent down.

"Not like that."

He looked down at me, a cruel curve twisting the corner of his mouth.

"Get on your knees. Pick it up with your teeth."

Vivienne's eyes lit up.

She whipped out her phone and aimed the camera straight at me.

"Yes, yes, that's right—kneel! You want the money, don't you? Then kneel for it."

I looked at the check on the floor.

My brother was already showing early signs of organ failure.

Without this money, he wouldn't last three months.

My knees began to bend.

Vivienne was so excited her hands were shaking. She shoved the phone right in my face.

Three inches from the floor—

The phone in my pocket rang.

I hit the answer button.

Dominic Mercer's voice slithered out of the speaker, lazy and dripping with something that made my skin crawl.

"Ivy. Twenty minutes. The Elysium Club."

"Don't show up, and I cut off his medication. You know what happens when the meds stop."

My blood ran cold.

The phone was suddenly ripped from my hand.

Dante gripped my phone, the veins on his forehead bulging like cords.

He'd heard Dominic's voice.

The next second, the phone was smashed against the floor.

The screen shattered. Parts scattered everywhere.

But he didn't stop.

He ripped the IV needle out of the back of his hand in one sharp motion. Blood beaded and dripped down his skin.

He swept the cardiac monitor off its stand—it crashed against the wall with a deafening bang.

Vivienne screamed and ducked behind the sofa.

"Get out!"

Dante pointed at the door and roared at me.

That wasn't a sound a human being makes.

It was the howl of something that had shattered inside his chest.

"Go find your lover!"

"I don't want to see you again!"

"Don't ever show your face in front of me!"

I crouched down.

I didn't look at his bleeding hand.

I picked up the check from the floor, folded it neatly, and slipped it into my white coat pocket.

Then I stood, turned around, and pushed open the door.

I didn't look back.

Behind me came the thunderous crash of things being destroyed.

Then I saw Vivienne scramble out of the room on all fours.