Chapter 2 - Whispers in the West Wing Shadows
The estate went into complete lockdown within fifteen minutes of the gunshot.
Heavy steel shutters descended over every window in the mansion,
sealing us inside a fortress of cold steel,
polished marble,
and oppressive silence.
Armed guards stood at every corridor junction,
their radios buzzing with static and code words I couldn't understand.
In the medical suite,
I set up my station with cold precision.
Gabriel sat in his physical therapy chair,
his shirt removed so I could check his back for injuries from the fall.
The sniper bullet had missed him,
but the impact with the hard floor had left a purple bruise blossoming across his left shoulder blade.
I gently pressed a cold compress against the swollen skin.
Gabriel winced,
his body flinching slightly,
though he refused to make a sound.
"You're pressing too hard,"
he grunted,
staring at his hands resting on his lap.
"I'm pressing with the exact force required to prevent swelling,"
I replied smoothly,
not backing down an inch.
"You might be a crime lord to everyone else,"
"but in this room,
you're just an uncooperative spinal patient who owes me a new pair of pajama pants."
He turned his head slightly,
his sharp jawline outlined by the bright halogen medical light.
"You have an absurdly big mouth for someone who makes fifty dollars an hour."
"Seventy-five,"
I corrected,
dabbing the bruise with antiseptic spray.
"The agency gave me a hazard raise after the rose garden incident."
Gabriel let out a low rumble in his throat,
a sound that felt strangely intimate in the sterile room.
"Carmine was wearing grass-stained shoes,"
I murmured,
leaning in closer so the guards outside the cracked door couldn't hear us.
Gabriel’s entire posture instantly went rigid.
"What did you say?"
"Your uncle,"
I whispered,
my pulse racing as I leaned over his shoulder.
"When he ran into the study to play the frantic relative,"
"his slippers were wet at the edges."
"The lawn between the house and the west tower was watered at eight o'clock."
"If he had come directly from his wing as he claimed,"
"he would have walked exclusively on the dry marble corridors."
Gabriel did not answer immediately.
He closed his eyes,
taking a slow,
measured breath that expanded his wide chest.
When he opened them,
the cold,
calculating fury inside his dark irises was terrifying.
"He brought his own shooter onto the property,"
Gabriel said,
his voice barely a breath against the air.
"He knew the camera blind spot."
"He created the blind spot,"
I added softly.
"Every Thursday at nine PM,"
"the west hall feed loops for six minutes."
"I noticed it on my second night here when I went downstairs to steal peanut butter."
"I thought it was a technical glitch,"
"but now I know someone reprogrammed the server."
Gabriel looked up at me,
really looked at me,
his gaze lingering on my face as if seeing a completely different person.
"You didn't just notice the coffee on my shoe,"
he murmured.
"You've been mapping my house."
"I'm a nurse,"
I said simply,
shrugging my shoulders.
"My job is to observe details that other people miss."
"Like how your afternoon pain killer makes you unnaturally drowsy,"
"even though the dosage on the label shouldn't cause heavy sedation."
Gabriel’s dark brows pulled together into a dangerous line.
"Explain."
"The pills Carmine's personal doctor sent over last week,"
I said,
pulling my smartphone from my pocket and opening a hidden,
password-protected folder.
"They're supposed to be standard nerve pain modulators."
"But the imprint code on the physical pills doesn't match the bottle label."
"They're heavy-duty muscle depressants."
"Someone is intentionally keeping your reflex recovery slowed down,"
"Gabriel."
"They don't want your spinal cord signals to recover."
"They want you trapped in that chair forever."
The silence that followed my words was so thick you could cut it with a scalpel.
Gabriel stared at the high-resolution photo of the pills on my screen.
His hands tightened on the armrests of his wheelchair so hard the leather groaned under the pressure.
"They aren't just trying to kill me,"
he whispered,
a chilling smile spreading across his face.
"They're trying to break me first."
"They picked the wrong nurse to ignore,"
I said softly,
holding his gaze without flinching.
"So,"
"boss..."
May you like
"are we going to sit here and let them poison you,"
"or are we going to do something extremely petty and dangerous?"
