*THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A STUPID LITTLE MAID” WHEN I REFUSED TO LEAVE HIS ELDERLY HOUSEKEEPER ALONE—BUT WHAT I DID NEXT MADE HIM STOP THE ENTIRE ENGAGEMENT PARTY.** / Chapter 7 / 10

Chapter 7 - The Vigil at St. Jude’s MemorialThe rain had stopped by the time we reached St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital, leaving the Chicago streets slick with shimmering reflections of neon signs and streetlamps.

The emergency waiting room was quiet, lit by fluorescent panels that buzzed softly overhead. I sat on a vinyl-covered chair in the corner, clutching my purse, my black maid’s uniform still smelling faintly of smoke and basement dust.

Adrian sat across from me in a chrome chair, his coat draped over the back, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The ruthless mafia boss who had dismantled a corporate conspiracy an hour ago was entirely gone, replaced by a tired man waiting for news about the woman who had tucked him into bed thirty years ago.

The heavy double doors of the Intensive Care Unit swung open, and an elderly doctor in green scrubs walked out, pulling down his surgical mask.

Adrian was on his feet in a single, fluid motion.

"Doctor?" he asked, his voice tighter than I had ever heard it.

The doctor offered a warm, reassuring smile, wiping his brow with a small towel.

"You're family, right? Mr. Moretti?"

"Yes. How is she?"

"She’s stable, Mr. Moretti," the doctor said, letting out a soft sigh of relief. "It was a mild ischemic stroke, caught right in the golden window thanks to whoever called 911 and administered rapid response protocols. The clot in her left cerebral artery was successfully dissolved. She’s regained full consciousness, and her speech is already clearing up."

Adrian closed his eyes, pressing a hand firmly against his face as a massive wave of tension visibly drained from his broad shoulders.

"Thank God," he whispered. "Can I see her?"

"Just for a few minutes," the doctor cautioned. "She's weak, and she needs absolute rest. But she’s asking for you."

Adrian turned around, looking across the waiting room until his dark eyes met mine.

"Come with me, Sophie," he said softly.

"Oh—Mr. Moretti, I shouldn't," I stammered, shaking my head. "That’s family business. I’m just—"

"You saved her life, Sophie," Adrian interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't even be in that room. Come on."

I stood up, smoothing down my uniform skirt, and followed him down the sterile, white-tiled hallway of the ICU.

Room 412 was quiet, illuminated only by the rhythmic, steady beep of a heart monitor and the soft glow of moonlight through the window. Miss Evie lay propped up against a bank of pillows. Her face was pale, but the drooping corner of her mouth was almost entirely gone.

As Adrian pushed the door open, her tired eyes turned toward the entrance.

When she saw him standing there, a weak, genuine smile spread across her wrinkled face.

Adrian walked quickly to the side of the bed, dropping to his knees and taking her frail, aged hand in both of his, pressing his forehead gently against her knuckles.

"You old fool," Adrian choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "Trying to take on a corporate conspiracy all by yourself."

Evie let out a soft, raspy chuckle, her fingers weakly squeezing his hand back.

"Somebody... has to keep you out of trouble, my boy," she whispered, her voice clear enough to understand. "I see... you brought company."

Adrian lifted his head, turning to look at me where I stood awkwardly near the door. He reached out, gently pulling me forward until I stood beside him at the edge of the hospital bed.

"Evie," Adrian said, looking back at her with absolute sincerity. "This is Sophie. She’s the one who called the ambulance. She’s the one who stayed by your side when everyone else told her to walk away."

Evie turned her gaze toward me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She reached out with her left hand—the one that had been paralyzed an hour ago—and caught my fingers in a warm, gentle grip.