Chapter 3 - THE NURSE WHO SAVED DOMINIC MORETTI HAD DISAPPEARED FROM THE HOSPITAL THREE MONTHS LATER
Eleanor spent the night in cardiac monitoring.
By morning, her digoxin level had begun to fall.
No severe arrhythmia.
No permanent injury expected.
Dominic sat in a chair beside her bed at five thirty in the morning.
She opened one eye.
“You look terrible.”
“You were poisoned.”
“I’ve looked worse.”
“Mother.”
“I am alive.”
“Because Hannah noticed.”
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
Dominic stared at her.
“You knew who she was.”
It wasn’t a question.
Eleanor’s eyes closed again.
That was answer enough.
“How long?”
“Before she started.”
His jaw tightened.
“You hired her?”
“Walter hired her.”
“Because you asked him to?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Eleanor sighed.
“Because if I told you a nurse named Hannah Reed wanted a housekeeping position, you would investigate her before she crossed the gate.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I would have discovered Thomas.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“You would have done exactly what you’re doing now.”
“What am I doing?”
“Turning guilt into a management project.”
Dominic stared.
Apparently every woman in his life had formed a committee.
“How did you find her?”
“I didn’t.”
“She found us.”
His body stilled.
“What?”
Eleanor opened her eyes.
“She sent me a letter three weeks ago.”
“Why you?”
“Because she didn’t trust you.”
That was becoming an unpleasant morning.
“What did it say?”
“That someone connected to my household had requested copies of my medication records from a clinic where she once worked.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“What clinic?”
“Whitmore Cardiac Center.”
The name changed everything.
Vanessa’s family.
Whitmore Medical Holdings operated private clinics across Illinois.
Vanessa served on its charitable board.
Her father, Malcolm Whitmore, had been chairman until retiring.
Hannah had worked there?
Eleanor continued.
“She said the request looked improper.”
“She recognized my name.”
“She tried to alert the clinic administrator.”
“Then?”
“She was fired.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“Why?”
“Officially, patient privacy violations.”
“Real reason?”
“Hannah believed someone wanted her quiet.”
“Did she have proof?”
“Not enough.”
“So she contacted you.”
“Yes.”
“And you hired her as a maid.”
Eleanor looked offended.
“She asked for the position.”
“Why?”
“Because it let her observe without announcing herself as medical staff.”
“That is insane.”
“Runs in this household.”
“Mother.”
“She also needed money.”
Dominic stopped.
“For what?”
Eleanor looked away.
Not her secret.
Good.
“I don’t know all of it.”
“Did she ask you to keep her identity from me?”
“Yes.”
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my fiancée’s family may have been accessing your medical records and said nothing to me.”
Eleanor’s face hardened.
“I knew an unknown person had requested records.”
“I did not know Vanessa was poisoning me.”
“You should have told me.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
She looked directly at him.
“Six years ago, when Thomas Reed was killed by one of our guards, what did you do?”
Dominic’s mouth closed.
He knew.
He found the guard.
Beat him.
Nearly killed him.
Then had three men drag him to a police station with evidence of illegal weapons.
The guard was later convicted.
Dominic’s retaliation had nearly started a war inside his own organization.
Eleanor continued.
“You did not investigate first.”
“I knew who fired.”
“You knew he fired.”
“You did not know why.”
“He thought Thomas had a gun.”
“He was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“But you learned that after you broke his jaw.”
Dominic stared at the floor.
His mother whispered:
“I love you.”
“But your anger has always been easiest for other people to use when they point it toward a person before you know the whole room.”
Exactly what Hannah had understood.
Dominic sat back.
“Where is she?”
“Hospital cafeteria, probably.”
He found Hannah twenty minutes later.
She sat alone with black coffee.
Still wearing borrowed scrubs the hospital had provided after a nurse noticed her torn uniform.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Bandage on her wrist.
She looked younger without the mansion around her.
More tired too.
Dominic sat opposite.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Do mafia bosses usually eat cafeteria oatmeal?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He pushed the bowl away.
“I spoke to my mother.”
Hannah looked down.
“She told you.”
“Some.”
“Then ask.”
“Whitmore Cardiac Center.”
Her face closed.
“What happened?”
Hannah took a breath.
“I worked there for almost four years.”
“As an RN?”
“Yes.”
“Emergency?”
“Started emergency.”
“Moved into cardiac observation.”
“Why?”
“My father’s death made trauma difficult.”
No self-pity.
Fact.
Dominic nodded.
“Seven months ago, you saw someone request my mother’s records.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Account credential belonged to Patricia Lane.”
The household nurse.
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“But the request came through an administrative workstation assigned to Vanessa Whitmore’s office.”
There.
“Why would Vanessa’s office have clinical access?”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Did she?”
“Board members had limited portal access for charity programs.”
“Not medical charts.”
“Correct.”
“What exactly was requested?”
“Medication list.”
“Cardiology notes.”
“Recent labs.”
“Especially renal function.”
Dominic frowned.
“Why renal?”
“Digoxin is cleared partly through the kidneys.”
His stomach turned.
“If kidney function changes, toxicity risk changes.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother had mild renal impairment after pneumonia last year.”
“Yes.”
“So someone trying to poison her would need exactly that information.”
Hannah looked at him.
“It would help.”
Not certainty.
Good.
“What did you do?”
“I flagged the access.”
“My supervisor told me to close it.”
“I didn’t.”
“I printed the audit log.”
“That violated policy.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Security searched my locker.”
“They found patient records.”
“Records you printed?”
“No.”
“Someone planted them?”
Hannah looked away.
“I believe so.”
“Proof?”
“No.”
“Hospital fired you.”
“Yes.”
“Board reported you?”
“To state nursing regulators.”
“License?”
“Still active but under investigation for months.”
“Were you suspended?”
“No.”
“Then why become a maid?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Because being technically licensed does not mean hospitals hire you while you’re accused of taking records.”
“Fair.”
“Your mother’s letter came after?”
“I wrote Eleanor.”
“She responded.”
“She said if I genuinely believed someone around her was tampering with medical information, I could come to the house.”
“Why not as private nurse?”
“Patricia controlled nursing access.”
“And Vanessa would know why I was there.”
“So maid.”
“Yes.”
Dominic stared.
“Did Vanessa recognize you?”
“Last night.”
His body became still.
“How?”
“After I took the wine, she looked at me and said, ‘Whitmore should have buried you properly the first time.’”
Silence.
Dominic felt cold.
“You left that out.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know whether it was threat or anger.”
“Hannah.”
“I was being hit with a riding strap.”
“My interpretation might have been emotional.”
He almost laughed from disbelief.
“You are the most infuriatingly careful person I have ever met.”
“That’s because careless people destroyed my career.”
Fair.
Then Dominic asked the question he had avoided.
“Six years ago.”
Her face changed.
“What about it?”
“What happened after my shooting?”
Hannah looked toward the cafeteria window.
Snow over Chicago.
“Your convoy arrived at Mercy St. Catherine.”
“You were losing blood.”
“My father was working private ambulance transport that night.”
“I was a nursing student doing clinical hours.”
“Your men came in armed.”
“One of them thought Dad reached beneath his jacket.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“He was reaching for trauma shears.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“He was shot.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed with me.”
“For seven minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because the trauma team needed pressure on your wound.”
“My father had people with him.”
“None of them were medical.”
Her voice sharpened slightly.
“You were a patient.”
“Not a Moretti.”
“Not a mafia boss.”
“A patient.”
Dominic swallowed.
“You knew your father had been shot?”
“Not until you were transferred into surgery.”
That hurt more.
She saved him before learning what his world had taken.
“After?”
“I ran to emergency.”
“He died twenty-two minutes later.”
Dominic stared.
“I sent money.”
“Yes.”
“My mother returned it.”
“Why?”
“Because she said if she deposited it, every grocery bill for the rest of her life would feel like it had my father’s blood printed across it.”
Dominic’s chest tightened.
“Where is she now?”
Hannah looked down.
“Dead.”
He stopped.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She had ovarian cancer.”
“Did she have treatment?”
“Yes.”
“Could I have—”
Hannah’s gaze snapped up.
He stopped.
Money.
Again.
“Sorry.”
She softened slightly.
“We managed.”
“How?”
“I worked.”
“School.”
“Night shifts.”
“Whatever.”
“Your nursing license?”
“I finished.”
“Good.”
Then Dominic looked at her injured wrist.
“You have spent six years surviving consequences that started in my world.”
“No.”
Hannah’s voice became firm.
“My father made his own choice to help.”
“My mother got cancer because bodies fail.”
“My career problem came from Whitmore.”
“Do not collect every tragedy and put your name on it.”
“You are not that important.”
Dominic stared.
Then laughed.
A short sound.
Unexpected.
Hannah blinked.
“Was that funny?”
“Apparently.”
“Good.”
He became serious again.
“What did Thomas say before he died?”
Her face changed.
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“Not when he was conscious.”
Dominic looked down.
“I was told he asked whether I lived.”
Hannah went still.
“Who told you?”
“My mother.”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t know that.”
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Then Dominic said:
“I want to reopen everything.”
“The shooting.”
“Your firing.”
“My mother’s medication.”
“All of it.”
Hannah shook her head.
“The medication, yes.”
“Whitmore, yes.”
“My father, no.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“So?”
“Because I spent six years trying not to let that night become the only story he gets.”
Dominic stared.
“What do you want me to do?”
“About Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
The answer was unbearable.
He understood why that made it important.
Then Marcus called.
Dominic listened.
His face changed.
Hannah saw.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“Patricia Lane was found.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a motel outside Milwaukee.”
“Did she run?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked at Hannah.
“She contacted police herself.”
That surprised both of them.
“She says Vanessa forced her to alter my mother’s medication.”
Hannah exhaled.
Then Dominic continued:
“And she says Vanessa wasn’t acting alone.”
“Who?”
“My cousin Luca.”
Hannah frowned.
Luca Moretti.
Dominic’s second cousin.
Chief operating officer of Moretti Shipping.
The man who would gain operational control if Dominic’s marriage placed certain Whitmore capital into the company and Eleanor relinquished her voting trust.
Hannah whispered:
“So this is about money.”
Dominic’s expression went cold.
“No.”
“What?”
He stared through the cafeteria window.
“It’s about control.”
May you like
He had spent his life understanding the difference.
Money was only one of its tools.
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