The Don Chased His Donna Back

I arrived at The Elysium Club and pushed open the door to the private room.

Dominic Mercer sat in the middle of the leather sofa, one leg propped up on the coffee table, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looked like he'd had plenty.

He smiled when he saw me.

"That was fast."

He set down his glass and stood up.

He walked over to me, reached out, and gripped my chin, turning my face side to side.

"Long time no see. Still as beautiful as ever."

"No wonder Dante still can't get over you."

I clenched my back teeth and said nothing.

He released me, stepped back, and dropped onto the sofa.

"Kneel."

"Do a good job, and I'll keep your brother's medication coming."

"Do a bad job..."

He smiled but didn't finish.

I walked over.

I knelt down.

Dominic leaned his head back with satisfaction and closed his eyes.

My hand slid up his thigh.

Soft. Slow.

He let out a low groan.

In that exact instant—

I drew the sterile scalpel from my sleeve.

The blade slicing through air made barely a whisper.

But the sound of it plunging into the muscle of his inner thigh was a dull, wet thud.

"AHHH—!"

Dominic's scream shook the walls of the room.

He shoved me away and looked down. The scalpel handle jutted from his inner thigh, buried to the hilt.

Blood poured out like a faucet had been turned on.

His lieutenant snapped to attention.

But before he could rush me, I'd already pulled the blade free and pressed it against the side of Dominic's neck.

"Back off," I said.

The lieutenant looked at Dominic, bleeding and helpless, and hesitated.

"Back off!" Dominic's voice cracked with pain as he screamed at his own man.

The lieutenant stepped back.

I crouched down, the tip of the blade resting against Dominic's Adam's apple.

"Dominic. Listen carefully."

"Touch one hair on my brother's head again, and I'll dissect your entire family while they're still breathing."

"Think I won't? Try me."

Dominic stared at me, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

But he didn't dare move.

"And my aim with a throwing blade is excellent. You know that."

I kept the scalpel trained on him as I backed out of the room.

I went back to the hospital.

The corridor.

Dr. Walsh was waiting for me with six security guards, blocking my path completely.

He held a document in his hand, his face livid.

"Ivy! Look at what you've done! Mercer Corporation sent an official letter—if you stay at this hospital, they pull every cent of their investment!"

"Who do you think you are? You think one person is worth billions in funding?"

He waved the guards forward.

"Strip her coat. As of today, this hospital has no one named Ivy Ashford."

Two guards stepped toward me. Their fingers hadn't even touched me.

A dull, heavy impact.

Dr. Walsh went flying.

His body traced an arc through the air before crashing onto the floor fifteen feet away, half a front tooth knocked clean out.

Everyone in the corridor froze.

Dante stood behind me in nothing but a thin hospital gown, barefoot.

His hand was still wrapped in gauze, and he'd dragged the IV stand all the way out of his room.

He lifted Dr. Walsh by the collar with one hand, hoisted him into the air, and pinned him against the wall.

Dr. Walsh's feet dangled eight inches off the ground, both legs kicking uselessly.

Dante swept his gaze across every person in that corridor.

Security guards. Nurses. Bystanders.

He said one sentence.

"Anyone who touches her, I bury alive."

No one spoke.

No one dared.

After Dante released him, Dr. Walsh braced himself against the wall and staggered away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Dante turned to look at me.

The gauze on his hand was soaked through with blood.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward his room.

His grip was strong.

His palm was burning hot.