Chapter 1 - The Anatomy of Survival
"Sarah," she whispered, her voice surprisingly steady despite the roar of adrenaline hammering against her ribs. "I'm Sarah. I work here. Let go of my wrist, Mr. Rossi, or you’re going to bleed to death on this rug."
Dominic’s icy blue eyes searched hers, swimming through a haze of shock and agonizing pain. For a fraction of a second, the lethal heir of the Rossi empire looked entirely human, stripped down to raw instinct. Then, slowly, his fingers uncoiled from her flesh. He fell back against the marble, a wet, ragged gasp escaping his lips.
Sarah didn't hesitate. The three semesters of nursing school she had mourned for a year surged to the forefront of her mind, overriding her terror.
"Don't move," she commanded gently, her hands already tearing at the fine linen of his dress shirt.
The entry wounds were jagged and ugly. Two small, dark punctures just below his ribcage on the left side. The blood was dark and flowing steadily—venous, not arterial, which meant the bullets had missed his abdominal aorta. But the rate of blood loss was critical. If he didn't shock out first, internal bleeding would suffocate his organs within the hour.
"The guards..." Dominic choked out, his jaw clenched so hard a hairline fracture felt imminent. "Infiltrated. Internal coup. Maroni's men... bought the security detail."
"They said 'no witnesses,'" Sarah muttered, pressing her hands hard against the wounds. Dominic hissed, his entire body arching off the floor. "I heard them in the hall. They're clearing the staff wing. We can't stay here."
"The panic room... west wing..."
"They said they were clearing the west wing first," Sarah interrupted, her mind racing. "If they bought your security, they know where the panic room is. We'd be walking into a vault turned coffin."
She looked toward the high library windows. Outside, the nor'easter was a swirling vortex of white, blotting out the pine trees and the perimeter walls. The temperature was plunging toward zero. It was madness to go out there. But staying inside meant certain execution.
Sarah looked down at her maid's uniform. She tore off her white apron, folding it tightly into a thick, makeshift compress. "Hold this. Press down with everything you have left."
Dominic gritted his teeth and took over the pressure. Sarah stood up, her legs shaking, and bolted to the heavy velvet curtains. She ripped down a thick, heavy wool throw blanket from the reading armchair and grabbed Dominic’s dark wool overcoat from where it had fallen near the door.
"Can you stand?" she asked, kneeling back beside him.
"I can do whatever I have to do," he growled, though his face was pasty and slick with cold sweat.
With Sarah stabilizing his uninjured side, Dominic hoisted his massive frame upward. A low groan tore from his throat, but he didn't fall. He leaned heavily on her, his arm draped over her shoulders, his scent—expensive leather, cedarwood, and the metallic tang of fresh blood—enveloping her.
She guided him toward the library's private terrace doors. It was a secondary exit, rarely used, leading directly to the dense pine forests that bordered the estate.
When Sarah pushed the heavy glass door open, the winter wind hit them like a physical blow. The snow was already knee-deep, drifting wildly against the stone foundations.
"Where... are we going?" Dominic breathed, his head sagging against her neck as they took their first agonizing steps into the white abyss.
"To the old caretaker's cabin," Sarah said, blinking against the driving ice. "Two miles south through the tree line. I used to hide my nursing textbooks there when the house manager got too strict. Nobody goes there. If we survive the walk, I can save your life."
May you like
Behind them, inside the darkened mansion, the library doors burst open. Flashlights sliced through the gloom, accompanied by the harsh, angry shouts of men who had found a blood trail.
Sarah didn't look back. She gripped Dominic tighter, pulling the wool blanket over his shivering shoulders, and plunged into the blinding fury of the blizzard.
