Chapter 1 - The Stranger Who Was Supposed to Die
"Please... don't let me die."
The man's voice was barely louder than the rain falling through the trees.
Dr. Amelia Brooks froze.
She had been gathering medicinal plants along a narrow mountain trail when she heard someone struggling to breathe.
At first, she thought it was an injured animal.
Then she saw the blood.
A tall man in an expensive black suit lay beneath an old oak tree, one hand pressed against his chest. His face was deathly pale, his lips were turning blue, and his entire body trembled uncontrollably.
Beside him lay a shattered glass vial.
Amelia dropped her basket and rushed toward him.
"Oh, my God!"
She knelt in the mud.
"Sir? Can you hear me?"
His gray eyes opened slightly.
He tried to speak, but his throat seemed unable to form the words.
Amelia pressed two fingers against his neck.
His pulse was dangerously slow.
His breathing was shallow.
His pupils were unusually small.
And there were marks on his forearm that looked suspiciously like a recent injection.
Someone had done this to him.
This wasn't an accident.
"Stay with me," she whispered, opening her worn medical bag. "I'm a doctor. I'm going to help you."
The stranger suddenly grabbed her wrist.
His grip was surprisingly strong for a dying man.
He pulled her closer.
With enormous effort, he whispered four words.
"They poisoned me... run."
Then his eyes rolled backward.
His hand fell into the mud.
And his breathing nearly stopped.
Amelia stared at him in horror.
She had no idea that the unconscious stranger was Dante Moretti, the thirty-eight-year-old mafia boss whose name terrified the most powerful criminal families in America.
She didn't know that someone had offered ten million dollars for his death.
And she certainly didn't know that saving this man's life would turn her quiet mountain village into the center of a deadly mafia war.
All she knew was that a man was dying.
And she wasn't going to leave him there.
Three hours earlier, Amelia Brooks had been standing outside the only medical clinic in Pine Hollow, a forgotten mountain village in western North Carolina.
At twenty-nine, Amelia was the youngest doctor the community had ever known.
And probably the poorest.
Her clinic was a small wooden building with peeling white paint, a leaking roof, and an old sign that read:
PINE HOLLOW COMMUNITY CLINIC — NO ONE TURNED AWAY.
The building had belonged to her father, Dr. Samuel Brooks.
For thirty years, he had treated miners, farmers, lumber workers, and families who couldn't afford proper medical care.
He never turned anyone away.
Not even when they couldn't pay.
Amelia had grown up watching him give away medicine, accept homemade pies instead of cash, and drive through snowstorms to help sick children.
When he died three years earlier, he left her two things.
A mountain of unpaid medical bills.
And a promise.
Take care of our people, sweetheart. Sometimes the ones with the least money have the biggest hearts.
Amelia had kept that promise.
Even when it meant skipping meals.
Even when it meant wearing the same winter coat for six years.
Even when the county hospital offered her a position paying four times her current income.
She stayed.
Because Pine Hollow was home.
And because people like seventy-eight-year-old Martha Jenkins had nobody else.
That morning, Martha sat on an examination table while Amelia checked her blood pressure.
"You're too thin, honey," the old woman complained.
Amelia smiled.
"Mrs. Jenkins, I'm supposed to be examining you."
"And I'm supposed to be telling you to eat more."
They laughed.
Then Martha noticed an unopened envelope on Amelia's desk.
The return address belonged to Mountain Ridge Properties.
Her smile faded.
"Is that another letter from those developers?"
Amelia glanced at it.
"Yes."
"What do they want now?"
"Same thing as last month."
"To buy your father's clinic?"
Amelia nodded.
"They're offering enough money to clear the debts, but they want to demolish the building."
Martha looked horrified.
"And where are we supposed to go when we're sick?"
"The nearest hospital is almost forty miles away."
"Then you can't sell."
Amelia forced a smile.
"I know."
But deep down, she was terrified.
The clinic's small supply of emergency medicine was running low.
Her truck needed new tires.
And the bank had warned her that another missed payment could put the property at risk.
That morning, she'd found just forty-three dollars in the clinic's checking account.
Forty-three dollars.
For a building that served nearly six hundred people.
When Martha finally left, Amelia sat alone at her father's old wooden desk.
She opened the bottom drawer.
Inside was a photograph of him holding her on his shoulders when she was six.
"Dad," she whispered, "I'm trying."
Her eyes filled.
"I really am."
Then she wiped her tears, grabbed her medical bag, and walked out.
There was a farm family living beyond the forest who needed a supply of medicine delivered.
Amelia had promised to bring it herself.
And Amelia Brooks always kept her promises.
By late afternoon, dark clouds had gathered over the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Amelia had finished her visit and was driving home when she spotted an injured deer near the forest trail.
She stopped her old blue pickup and climbed out to investigate.
The animal startled and disappeared into the trees.
Relieved, Amelia returned toward the truck.
Then she heard it.
A groan.
Low.
Broken.
Human.
She followed the sound through the wet undergrowth.
And found the stranger beneath the oak tree.
Now, kneeling beside him, she realized his condition was deteriorating rapidly.
His breathing had become dangerously weak.
"Come on," she whispered. "Don't you dare give up on me."
She checked for other injuries, then reached for her emergency phone.
One bar of service.
Barely enough.
She dialed 911.
"This is Dr. Amelia Brooks from Pine Hollow. I have an adult male with suspected poisoning, severe respiratory depression, and altered consciousness. I'm on the eastern forest trail near Miller's Creek. I need an ambulance immediately."
The dispatcher confirmed that help was on its way, but storm damage had blocked the closest access road.
Twenty-five minutes.
Possibly longer.
Amelia looked at the man.
He didn't have twenty-five minutes.
She examined him again.
The tiny pupils.
The dangerously slow breathing.
The needle mark.
An opioid-like substance was one possibility, though she couldn't know exactly what he'd been given.
She reached into her emergency bag and pulled out the naloxone she carried for suspected overdoses.
Her hands were cold, but steady.
She administered it and continued supporting his breathing while staying on the line with emergency services.
"Come on," she whispered.
Nothing.
She checked his pulse again.
Still there.
Weak.
"Please."
For one terrible moment, Amelia thought she'd lost him.
Then the stranger suddenly gasped.
His chest rose.
He coughed violently.
And air rushed into his lungs.
Amelia nearly cried with relief.
"That's it. Breathe. Stay with me."
His eyes opened.
He stared at her.
Confusion.
Pain.
And fear.
He tried to sit up.
"Don't move," Amelia said firmly. "You're seriously ill. Help is coming, and whatever was given to you could affect you again."
The man looked past her into the trees.
His expression changed.
Terror flashed across his face.
"They're coming."
Amelia frowned.
"Who?"
His fingers tightened around her sleeve.
"Men... black SUVs..."
She glanced toward the forest road.
Far in the distance, she heard engines.
More than one.
Her stomach tightened.
"Are those your friends?"
The man shook his head.
With enormous effort, he whispered:
"The men who tried to kill me."
Dante Moretti had never feared death.
At thirty-eight, he controlled one of the largest criminal organizations in the United States.
He owned luxury hotels, shipping companies, private security firms, and commercial real estate worth billions.
His influence stretched from New York to Chicago and Miami.
Rival organizations called him the Black Wolf.
His men called him Boss.
And his enemies rarely called him anything twice.
He had survived assassinations.
Territorial wars.
Betrayals.
But he had never expected to be poisoned by someone sitting at his own dinner table.
That afternoon, Dante had attended a private meeting at a secluded mountain estate.
Only four people knew the location.
His cousin.
His attorney.
His head of security.
And his younger brother, Victor.
The meeting was supposed to settle a dispute over millions of dollars missing from one of their family companies.
Instead, someone had tried to kill him.
Dante remembered the whiskey.
The strange taste.
His brother smiling from across the table.
Then the dizziness.
The weakness spreading through his limbs.
He had managed to escape through a rear service entrance before his attackers realized he was still conscious.
But the poison had overwhelmed him.
He barely remembered stumbling into the forest.
And now, through the haze of pain, he saw a young woman kneeling beside him.
She wore worn jeans, a faded green jacket, and muddy hiking boots.
Her brown hair had escaped its ponytail.
Rain rolled down her cheeks.
She looked exhausted.
Terrified.
And determined.
Dante had met presidents, billionaires, and powerful women who smiled at him because of his money.
But this stranger didn't know who he was.
She didn't know his reputation.
And when she touched his face, her only concern was keeping him alive.
"Listen to me," she said, looking directly into his eyes. "I don't know what happened to you, but I'm not leaving you here."
Dante tried to speak.
"Go..."
"No."
"They'll..."
"I said no."
She took off her jacket and draped it over him.
"You're my patient now. And I don't abandon my patients."
Something unfamiliar stirred inside Dante.
He'd spent his entire life surrounded by men who would die for him because they were paid to.
This woman had nothing.
Yet she was risking her life for a stranger.
A stranger lying in the mud.
He tried to ask her name.
But darkness pulled him under again.
Amelia heard the approaching engines grow louder.
The emergency dispatcher told her paramedics had reached the damaged access road and were coming on foot with rescue equipment.
But the vehicles she heard now were approaching from another direction.
Through the trees, she spotted two black SUVs.
Both had tinted windows.
They stopped near her pickup.
Four men stepped out.
All wore dark jackets.
One carried a handgun openly.
Amelia's blood went cold.
These weren't paramedics.
The tallest man looked around.
"Check the trees. He couldn't have gotten far."
Amelia lowered herself beside Dante.
She pressed her hand over his mouth for a moment, then immediately moved it away so she wouldn't interfere with his breathing.
"Please," she whispered. "Stay quiet."
The men spread out.
One moved toward the creek.
Another walked toward the old logging trail.
The tall man approached the clearing.
Amelia's heart pounded.
She glanced at Dante.
He was barely conscious.
He couldn't run.
He couldn't fight.
And she couldn't carry him.
She looked toward a thick fallen tree surrounded by thorny bushes.
Then back toward the approaching man.
A desperate idea formed.
She grabbed the orange emergency blanket from her medical bag and spread it over a fallen branch near the opposite side of the trail.
From a distance, it looked like someone had hastily abandoned supplies while fleeing downhill.
Then she returned to Dante and positioned herself behind the oak, keeping both of them low and shielded by the undergrowth.
The man's footsteps grew louder.
"Anything?" another called.
"Not yet."
Then he noticed the bright orange material.
"Over here!"
The others hurried toward it.
"There's something by the ravine!"
Amelia held her breath.
The men moved away.
For several precious seconds, the clearing became silent.
Then she heard another sound.
Sirens.
Faint.
But getting closer.
One of the armed men cursed.
"Somebody called an ambulance."
The leader glanced back toward the vehicles.
"Forget it. We can't be seen here."
A moment later, the SUV doors slammed.
The engines roared.
And the vehicles disappeared down the forest road.
Amelia waited until the sound faded.
Only then did she let herself breathe.
She looked down at Dante.
He was staring at her.
His eyes were half-open.
But there was something different in his expression.
Disbelief.
"You're..." he whispered.
Amelia leaned closer.
"What?"
His voice was weak.
"Crazy."
Despite everything, she laughed.
"You're welcome."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Then he lost consciousness again.
By the time paramedics reached them, Dante's breathing had slowed once more.
Amelia helped the emergency team stabilize him, explaining her findings and the treatment she'd given.
They moved him carefully onto a stretcher.
As they prepared to carry him toward the ambulance, one paramedic noticed the expensive watch on his wrist.
"Who is this guy?"
Amelia shook her head.
"I don't know."
The paramedic examined the watch more closely.
"This thing looks like it costs a fortune."
Amelia barely heard him.
She was watching Dante's face.
Even unconscious, he looked strangely powerful.
There were scars on his hands.
A faint mark across his jaw.
And beneath his torn shirt, she had noticed an old bullet wound.
Whoever he was, violence had followed him for a long time.
The paramedic looked toward Amelia.
"Doctor, we need to get him to the hospital."
She nodded.
"Call ahead. He may need repeat treatment and close monitoring."
As they lifted the stretcher, something fell from Dante's coat.
A small photograph.
Amelia bent to retrieve it.
The picture showed a little girl with dark curls sitting on a man's shoulders.
The man's face was partly hidden.
On the back, someone had written:
For Uncle Dante. Please come home.
Amelia looked at the photograph.
For some reason, it made her chest ache.
Whoever this man was, somebody loved him.
Somebody might be waiting for him.
She slipped the photograph into a clean evidence bag and handed it to a paramedic to keep with his belongings.
Then she followed the stretcher toward the ambulance.
The next morning, Amelia sat in a small consultation room at the regional hospital.
Her clothes were still damp.
She hadn't slept.
After handing Dante over to the emergency team, she'd stayed long enough to give the physicians a complete account of what happened.
The medical staff confirmed that he had suffered a severe poisoning and needed intensive monitoring.
They couldn't yet identify every substance involved.
But he was alive.
For now.
Amelia should have gone home.
She had patients waiting.
Bills to pay.
And a clinic that might not survive another month.
But she couldn't stop thinking about the stranger in the woods.
The way he had begged her to run.
The armed men searching for him.
And the strange loneliness she'd seen in his gray eyes.
She was staring into a vending machine, trying to decide whether she could justify spending three dollars on a sandwich, when a deep voice spoke behind her.
"Dr. Amelia Brooks?"
She turned.
A silver-haired man in a black suit stood in the hallway.
Two younger men waited behind him.
Amelia immediately tensed.
"Yes?"
The man lowered his head respectfully.
"My name is Gabriel Russo."
She said nothing.
"I work for the gentleman you rescued yesterday."
Amelia glanced toward the two men behind him.
"Is he okay?"
Gabriel studied her face.
"You really don't know who he is?"
"No."
"Did he tell you his name?"
"He wasn't exactly in a condition to make introductions."
For the first time, Gabriel looked almost amused.
Then his expression became serious.
"His name is Dante Moretti."
Amelia stared at him.
The name meant nothing at first.
Then she remembered a news report she'd seen months earlier.
A federal investigation.
A string of suspicious disappearances.
An international criminal organization.
And a photograph of a cold-eyed man stepping out of a courthouse surrounded by armed security.
Her stomach dropped.
"Moretti?"
Gabriel nodded.
Amelia took one step backward.
"The mafia boss?"
"Yes."
She stared at him.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she looked toward the intensive care unit.
"I saved a mafia boss?"
Gabriel's expression softened.
"You saved a man who has more enemies than you can imagine."
Amelia swallowed.
"I didn't know."
"I believe you."
He reached into his coat and removed a thick white envelope.
"Mr. Moretti's family would like to compensate you."
Amelia looked at it.
"What's that?"
"One hundred thousand dollars."
She froze.
"What?"
"For your medical assistance."
Amelia stared at the envelope.
One hundred thousand dollars.
Enough to pay the clinic's debts.
Repair the roof.
Restock the medicine shelves.
And maybe keep her father's dream alive for another year.
Her fingers trembled.
Gabriel noticed.
"Take it, Doctor."
Amelia slowly reached toward the envelope.
Then stopped.
She remembered her father's words.
You don't decide who deserves saving by looking at their wallet.
She lowered her hand.
"No, thank you."
Gabriel frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"I didn't know who he was when I treated him. I would've done the same for anyone."
Gabriel looked genuinely surprised.
"Doctor, you understand what we're offering?"
"Yes."
"Then why refuse?"
Amelia took a deep breath.
"Because his life isn't something I want to put a price on."
Gabriel studied her in silence.
Then he slowly returned the envelope to his coat.
"Mr. Moretti would like to see you."
Amelia hesitated.
"He's awake?"
"For short periods."
She looked toward the hallway.
Then nodded.
"All right."
Dante Moretti lay in a private intensive-care room, connected to several monitors.
His skin was still pale.
A bandage covered his forearm.
But the moment Amelia stepped inside, his gray eyes opened.
He recognized her immediately.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Dante slowly lifted his hand.
"Doctor."
His voice was hoarse.
Amelia walked closer.
"You're awake."
"Apparently."
She couldn't help smiling.
"That makes two of us."
Dante studied her face.
He remembered pieces of the forest.
The rain.
The pain.
The strangers hunting him.
And this woman refusing to run.
"You stayed," he whispered.
Amelia pulled up a chair.
"Well, you were a little difficult to leave behind."
His mouth twitched.
"I've been called worse."
She looked at the monitors.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like someone tried to murder me."
Her smile faded.
"Someone did."
Dante's eyes darkened.
"Yes."
Amelia hesitated.
"Mr. Moretti, I know who you are now."
His expression changed.
"Then you're afraid of me."
It wasn't a question.
She thought about it.
"Maybe a little."
He looked away.
For some reason, her honesty hurt more than he expected.
Then she continued.
"But I was afraid in the forest too. I still helped you."
Dante slowly turned back toward her.
"Why?"
Amelia blinked.
"Why what?"
"Why risk your life for a stranger?"
She looked down at her hands.
Her palms were scraped from the forest.
Her fingernails were still stained with mud.
Then she answered simply.
"Because if my father had been dying alone in the woods, I would've prayed someone stopped to help him."
Dante went still.
He stared at her.
Not at her clothes.
Not at her tired face.
At her eyes.
There was something in them he hadn't seen for years.
Kindness without calculation.
He swallowed.
"What's your father's name?"
"Samuel Brooks."
"Where is he?"
Amelia's smile disappeared.
"He died three years ago."
Dante lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
For a moment, the room became quiet.
Then Dante reached toward the small table beside his bed.
His hand trembled.
Amelia immediately leaned forward.
"Don't strain yourself."
He ignored her.
He picked up a notepad and wrote something.
Then he turned it toward her.
What do you need?
Amelia frowned.
"What?"
"Money? A better job? A new house?"
She stared at him.
Dante continued.
"You saved my life. Tell me what you want."
Amelia shook her head.
"I don't want anything."
"Everyone wants something."
"Then maybe you've been surrounded by the wrong people."
Dante froze.
Gabriel, standing near the door, nearly smiled.
Nobody spoke to Dante Moretti that way.
Not unless they were looking for trouble.
But instead of growing angry, Dante watched Amelia with a strange intensity.
Then he asked quietly:
"Do you have somewhere safe to live?"
She looked confused.
"Of course."
"Where?"
"In Pine Hollow."
His eyes narrowed.
"That's where they found me."
"Yes."
He looked toward Gabriel.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Then Dante turned back toward her.
"Be careful, Doctor."
Amelia frowned.
"Why?"
His voice dropped.
"Because whoever poisoned me knew exactly where I would be."
She felt a chill.
"And?"
Dante looked directly into her eyes.
"They may come looking for the person who saved me."
Amelia left the hospital an hour later.
She told herself not to be frightened.
Pine Hollow was a quiet village.
Nothing terrible ever happened there.
And whatever criminal war Dante Moretti was fighting belonged to a world far away from hers.
Or so she believed.
When she reached her clinic that afternoon, she found a black SUV parked outside.
A man in an expensive gray suit stood beside the entrance.
Amelia recognized him immediately.
Charles Whitmore.
The representative from Mountain Ridge Properties.
He smiled.
"Dr. Brooks. Just the person I wanted to see."
Amelia sighed.
"Mr. Whitmore, I've already told you. I'm not selling the clinic."
He chuckled.
"I'm afraid the situation has changed."
He handed her a document.
A legal notice.
Amelia read the first page.
Her face went pale.
The property company had purchased a defaulted loan secured against the clinic and was threatening foreclosure unless she paid the outstanding balance.
Within thirty days.
She looked up.
"You can't do this."
Whitmore shrugged.
"It's business."
"Six hundred people depend on this clinic."
"Then perhaps they should find somewhere else to get sick."
Amelia stared at him.
He smiled coldly.
"You should've accepted our first offer, Doctor."
Then he climbed into his SUV and drove away.
Amelia stood motionless.
The notice trembled in her hands.
Thirty days.
Thirty days before everything her father had built could be taken away.
She sat on the clinic steps.
And cried.
For the first time in three years, she wondered whether she had made a terrible mistake by staying.
Then her phone rang.
An unknown number.
She hesitated before answering.
"Hello?"
A deep voice spoke.
"Dr. Brooks?"
She recognized it immediately.
"Mr. Moretti?"
"Call me Dante."
She wiped her tears.
"How did you get my number?"
"Gabriel."
She gave a tired laugh.
"Of course."
There was a pause.
Then Dante asked:
"Are you crying?"
Amelia straightened.
"No."
He was silent.
Then he said quietly:
"You're a terrible liar, Doctor."
She closed her eyes.
"It's nothing. Just a difficult day."
"Tell me."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why?"
"Because you have enough problems of your own."
Dante stared through the hospital window toward the darkening mountains.
He had just learned that the poison found in his system matched a substance recovered from his younger brother's private estate.
Someone inside his family had tried to kill him.
His empire was on the verge of war.
But somehow, the only thing he wanted at that moment was to hear Amelia Brooks laugh again.
"Doctor."
"Yes?"
"You saved my life yesterday."
A pause.
"Today, let me help you with yours."
Amelia closed her eyes.
For a brief moment, she imagined telling him everything.
The debts.
The foreclosure.
The fear of disappointing her father.
But she couldn't bring herself to ask for help.
"Thank you, Dante. Really. But I'll figure it out."
Then she ended the call.
Dante stared at his phone.
He wasn't accustomed to being dismissed.
Especially not by a woman who could barely afford to keep her clinic open.
He looked toward Gabriel.
"Find out what's troubling her."
Gabriel nodded.
"Already working on it, boss."
"Discreetly."
"Of course."
Dante leaned back against his pillow.
He closed his eyes.
And whispered:
"She saved a stranger because she thought his life mattered."
He opened them again.
"Nobody has done that for me in a very long time."
Two hours later, Gabriel returned to Dante's hospital room carrying a folder.
His expression was dark.
"Boss, we have a serious problem."
Dante sat up slightly.
"What is it?"
Gabriel handed him the documents.
"Dr. Brooks owns the only medical clinic in Pine Hollow. She's deeply in debt, and a property company is threatening to take the building."
Dante frowned.
"Who owns the company?"
"Mountain Ridge Properties."
"Never heard of it."
Gabriel's expression hardened.
"That's because it's a shell company."
Dante turned the page.
His eyes narrowed.
"Whose?"
Gabriel hesitated.
Then answered.
"Your brother's."
Dante went completely still.
"Victor?"
Gabriel nodded.
"And that's not the worst part."
He handed Dante a second photograph.
The picture showed Amelia standing outside her clinic earlier that afternoon.
It had been taken from inside a vehicle.
Across the bottom was a message.
The doctor from the forest has been identified.
Dante felt a dangerous coldness spread through his chest.
Gabriel continued.
"We intercepted a communication between Victor's men. They know she saved you."
Dante looked up.
"What are they planning?"
Gabriel swallowed.
"They believe you told her something about the poisoning."
Dante stared at Amelia's photograph.
The tired smile.
The gentle brown eyes.
The woman who had risked her life for him without knowing his name.
His voice turned ice cold.
"Gabriel."
"Yes, boss?"
"Put a security team near her clinic. Keep them out of sight, and make sure nobody hurts her."
"Understood."
"And find out everything about the property company."
Gabriel nodded.
But before he could leave, Dante's phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
Amelia Brooks.
Standing alone outside the clinic.
Taken only moments earlier.
Beneath it was a message.
You survived because of her.
Now she'll die because of you.
Dante's blood turned cold.
He immediately called Amelia.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
He tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Then a second message arrived.
This one contained a photograph of Amelia's clinic.
The lights were off.
The front door stood open.
And a shadowy figure was visible inside.
The message beneath it contained only six words.
"Come alone if you want her alive."
Dante stared at the screen.
For thirty years, he had built an empire on fear.
He had faced assassins.
Enemies.
Betrayal by his own blood.
But he had never felt fear like this.
Not until a poor village doctor had knelt beside him in the rain and refused to let him die.
He pulled the monitoring leads from his chest.
Gabriel rushed forward.
"Boss! You're not strong enough!"
Dante swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed.
Pain shot through his body.
He nearly collapsed.
But he caught himself against the railing.
"Get the car."
"Sir, the doctors said you need to stay—"
"Gabriel."
His gray eyes burned.
"That woman saved my life."
He took one unsteady step.
"She didn't know my name. She didn't know my money. She didn't even know whether I was a good man."
Gabriel fell silent.
Dante reached for his black coat.
"And now my own brother wants to kill her for showing me kindness."
He looked toward the mountains.
Toward the little village where Amelia Brooks had spent her entire life helping people who had nothing.
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"I will not let the only woman who saw me as a human being die because of me."
Gabriel lowered his head.
"Then what are your orders, boss?"
Dante's expression hardened.
For the first time since the poisoning, the Black Wolf was returning.
But this time, he wasn't fighting for money.
Power.
Or revenge.
He was fighting for the woman who had saved him when the entire world wanted him dead.
"Bring the car," Dante said.
Then he looked at Amelia's photograph one final time.
"We're going to Pine Hollow."
And somewhere deep in the mountains, inside a darkened medical clinic, Amelia Brooks heard footsteps approaching her examination room.
A familiar male voice called out.
"Dr. Brooks?"
She turned.
Standing in the doorway was Charles Whitmore.
The property developer.
Only this time, he wasn't carrying foreclosure papers.
He was holding a gun.
Amelia stumbled backward.
"What are you doing?"
Whitmore smiled.
"I'm afraid you've become involved in something much bigger than your little clinic."
Her heart pounded.
"I don't understand."
He raised the gun.
"Yesterday, you saved a man who was supposed to die."
Amelia's blood turned cold.
"Dante?"
Whitmore nodded.
"That's right."
He stepped closer.
"And now his brother wants to make sure you never tell anyone what happened in those woods."
Amelia backed against the examination table.
Her hands trembled.
"Please..."
Whitmore aimed the weapon at her chest.
May you like
"You should've left him to die, Doctor."
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