Chapter 2 - The Caruso Lie
The intensive care unit on the ninth floor of Saint Jude’s Private Hospital was locked down tighter than a federal fortress. Armed men in dark suits stood every ten feet along the immaculate white hallway, their hands resting inside their jackets.
Inside Room 904, the rhythm of a heart monitor filled the air.
Sarah lay beneath heavy white blankets, her face as pale as the sheets. Tubes ran into her arms, and a ventilator mask covered her nose and mouth. The surgery had lasted six hours. The surgeons had managed to repair her torn liver, remove the bullet lodged in her hip, and patch her punctured lung. It was a miracle she had survived the ambulance ride.
The heavy door opened, and Enzo Caruso walked in, carrying a small paper bag.
He had changed out of his bloodied clothing into a clean black suit, though the shadow of dark stubble and sheer exhaustion gave his sharp jawline an edge. Behind him, holding a brand-new red toy fire truck, walked six-year-old Leo.
"Is she sleeping, Daddy?" Leo asked softly, stepping carefully on his tiptoes.
"Yes, buddy," Enzo said, placing a hand on his son’s head. "She’s recovering. The doctors worked very hard."
Leo walked to the side of the bed, looking up at Sarah's still face. He placed his new fire truck gently on the nightstand beside her heart monitor. "I brought her a thank-you present. So her robot isn't lonely."
Enzo felt a strange, uncharacteristic tightness in his chest. For three years, since his late wife had died in a private plane crash that Enzo knew had been sabotaged, Leo had rarely smiled. He had grown withdrawn, terrified of the loud men and constant security guards that dominated their lives.
Yet, this girl—a stranger earning minimum wage at a hotel banquet—had thrown herself in front of a gun without a second thought to save his boy.
"Boss," Marco said, entering the room quietly and closing the door. "We have a problem."
Enzo didn't look away from Sarah. "Which one?"
"The FBI agent, Miller. He’s downstairs in the lobby with six federal marshals. He has a court order demanding access to the patient."
"He can read the court order to my legal team," Enzo replied coldly. "They're already downstairs."
"It’s not just that," Marco added, leaning in closer. "The news broke twenty minutes ago. The New York Post ran the story on their front page: 'Mob Heir Saved in Hotel Bloodbath: Enzo Caruso’s Secret Bride Fights for Life.' Marcone’s men are already asking questions around the docks. They're trying to figure out where Sarah came from."
"Did you secure her family?" Enzo demanded, his voice dropping an octave.
"We found her brother," Marco said, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. "Sixteen-year-old Toby Miller. He was alone in a rundown apartment in Queens. The kid was in bad shape, Boss. He was out of insulin, sitting in the dark because the power was cut off yesterday. Our team brought him straight to the private suite on the floor below us. We got him medical attention and filled his prescriptions."
Enzo nodded slowly. "Good. Bring him up here."
Five minutes later, Toby Miller walked into the room. He was a skinny teenager with messy brown hair, wearing an oversized faded hoodie. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, and he looked around at the armed bodyguards with terrified suspicion.
"Sarah!" Toby cried, rushing to the side of the bed, his voice cracking with emotion. "Oh God, Sarah..."
He grabbed her limp hand, tears streaming down his face. "The police came to the apartment... they said she was shot... they said she was married to..." He turned, glaring at Enzo with a mix of terror and rage. "Who are you?! What did you do to my sister?!"
Enzo didn't flinch at the boy's anger. "My name is Lorenzo Caruso. Your sister saved my son’s life tonight, Toby."
"She’s a server!" Toby yelled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "She works twenty hours a day to buy my medicine! She doesn't know you! Why is the news saying she’s your wife?!"
Enzo stepped forward, placing a firm, steady hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Because if the men who tried to kill my son realize she’s just a server with no protection, they will kill her in this hospital bed to cover their tracks. By giving her my name, I put the entire weight of the Caruso family behind her. She gets the best doctors in the country, twenty-four-hour armed security, and you get a safe place to live, full medical care, and an education."
Toby stared at him, stunned. "You... you're lying to everyone?"
"It’s not a lie if we make it real enough to fool the people who want her dead," Enzo said grimly. "When your sister wakes up, she will have a choice. She can take a check for five million dollars and walk away under witness protection, or she can stay under my protection until I destroy the men who did this."
Before Toby could respond, the monitor beside the bed began to beep faster.
Sarah’s fingers twitched in Toby’s hand. Her eyelids fluttered, struggling against the heavy weight of the anesthesia. A low moan escaped her throat beneath the oxygen mask.
"Sarah?" Toby leaned close. "Sarah, can you hear me?"
Sarah opened her eyes. The bright hospital lights burned, making her tear up. Everything hurt—her chest, her stomach, her hip—a deep, throbbing ache that made it impossible to breathe deeply.
She saw Toby’s face first. "Toby..." she whispered faintly behind the mask. "Your... insulin..."
"I have it, Sarah! I have it!" Toby sobbed, pressing her hand to his cheek. "These people got it for me. I'm okay!"
Sarah let out a weak breath, relief washing over her. Then her gaze shifted past her brother, landing on the tall, imposing figure standing at the foot of her bed.
May you like
Enzo Caruso met her gaze. He stepped closer, leaning down until his dark face was only inches from hers.
"Welcome back, Sarah," Enzo said softly, his tone intense and unreadable. "You've been asleep for eighteen hours. And while you were out... we got married."
