Chapter 5 - The Fortress on the Sound
Twenty minutes later, three heavily armored black Suburbans tore down the dark, rain-soaked curves of Puget Sound's coastal highway, leaving the burning remains of the Tacoma clinic far behind us.
Roman's tactical team had executed a seamless extraction through the rear ambulance bay, neutralizing the Vance syndicate shooters with terrifying, silent efficiency before pulling out onto the highway.
I sat in the back of the lead Suburban, sitting between Owen's stretcher mount and Roman DeLuca. Kyle was squeezed into the front passenger seat, holding an IV bag over his head with both hands, staring out at the torrential downpour in stunned silence.
"Where are we going?" I asked, monitoring Roman's pulse with my fingers resting lightly on his wrist. His heart rate was surprisingly slow and steady—a rhythm of pure, unadulterated steel.
"The Estate," Roman replied, watching the reflection of the passing trees in the darkened glass. "A forty-acre private peninsula north of Gig Harbor. It has its own power grid, deep-water dock, and security perimeter. You will have a fully equipped twelve-bed surgical suite built into the main compound."
I raised an eyebrow. "You built an emergency hospital inside your house?"
"In my line of work, visiting public hospitals is an invitation to an ambush," Roman said flatly. "Three years ago, my previous medical advisor was bribed by a rival family to mislabel an antibiotic during a routine procedure. He almost killed me."
He turned his head, his gray eyes locking onto mine with uncomfortable intensity.
"That is why I brought you here, Nora. You don't care about my money, and you don't care about my title. You care about the patient. That makes you the most dangerous person in my organization."
"I'm not part of your organization, Mr. DeLuca," I reminded him, pulling my hand back from his wrist. "I am an independent contractor providing medical oversight."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Doctor," he murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
"I'm a nurse," I corrected him sharpely.
"For now," Roman noted cryptically.
The convoy turned off the main road, passing through a massive wrought-iron gate topped with security cameras and armed guards wearing dark tactical gear. The vehicles wound down a long driveway lined with towering pine trees before emerging onto a breathtaking cliff overlooking the ocean.
Standing on the edge of the water was a monumental glass-and-stone estate, glowing like a fortress against the black ocean sky.
As the vehicles pulled into the underground garage, a team of four nurses in clean white scrubs and two paramedics stepped forward with gulleys and stretchers, bowing their heads respectfully as Roman stepped out of the vehicle.
"This is Dr. Harrison's team," Roman said, gesturing toward a tall, middle-aged physician walking toward us with a tablet. "They will take your orders."
Dr. Harrison—a sleek man with polished hair and gold-rimmed glasses—frowned as he looked at my stained scrubs and my messy ponytail. "Mr. DeLuca, who is this woman? I was notified that an unauthorized field triage had occurred."
Roman stepped between Harrison and me, his presence looming over the doctor like a thundercloud.
"This is Nora Whitaker," Roman announced, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. "She is the Chief Medical Officer of DeLuca Enterprises. Her word is law in this facility. If she tells you to jump, you do not ask why—you ask how high. Is that clear, Harrison?"
Dr. Harrison went instantly pale, looking from Roman to me, swallowing his pride in a split second. "Understood, Mr. DeLuca. Welcome, Nurse Whitaker."
I looked at Owen, who was being carefully wheeled onto a clean gurney by two paramedics. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with immense relief.
"Nora," Owen called out softly as they rolled him toward the elevator. "Thank you."
I smiled, a heavy weight lifting off my heart for the first time in eight years. "Rest now, Owen. I'll be right there."
As the medical team wheeled the wounded men toward the surgical suites, Roman turned to me, offering his arm.
"Allow me to show you your living quarters, Nora," Roman said softly. "You've had a long night."
May you like
I looked at his outstretched arm, hesitated for a second, and then placed my hand gently on his forearm. Through the fine wool of his jacket, I could feel the immense, unyielding muscle underneath.
"Lead the way, boss," I said quietly.
