Dante's fingers went rigid against my throat.

The murderous intent in his eyes cracked open, and a sliver of shock bled through.

Then he let go.

I sat up on the bed and straightened the collar he'd wrinkled.

I stood and faced him.

"Mr. Blackwood, I can oversee your surgery from start to finish."

"Including personal pre-operative care."

"The fee is one million dollars."

The room went silent for two full seconds.

Then Vivienne laughed.

Like she'd just heard the funniest joke of the year.

"One million, just like that? You're not here to practice medicine—you're here to extort him! Typical gold-digging trash!"

She raised her hand to slap me.

Before it landed, Dante reached out and caught her wrist.

One flick.

Vivienne stumbled two steps and nearly hit the floor.

"Dante!" She stared at him in disbelief.

Dante didn't look at her.

He pulled a leather checkbook from the nightstand drawer, scrawled a few strokes, and tore out the check.

Then he flicked his wrist—

The check hit me square in the face.

"Pick it up," Dante said.

I bent down.

"Not like that."

He looked down at me, a cruel curve twisting the corner of his mouth.

"Get on your knees. Pick it up with your teeth."

Vivienne's eyes lit up.

She whipped out her phone and aimed the camera straight at me.

"Yes, yes, that's right—kneel! You want the money, don't you? Then kneel for it."

I looked at the check on the floor.

My brother was already showing early signs of organ failure.

Without this money, he wouldn't last three months.

My knees began to bend.

Vivienne was so excited her hands were shaking. She shoved the phone right in my face.

Three inches from the floor—

The phone in my pocket rang.

I hit the answer button.

Dominic Mercer's voice slithered out of the speaker, lazy and dripping with something that made my skin crawl.

"Ivy. Twenty minutes. The Elysium Club."

"Don't show up, and I cut off his medication. You know what happens when the meds stop."

My blood ran cold.

The phone was suddenly ripped from my hand.

Dante gripped my phone, the veins on his forehead bulging like cords.

He'd heard Dominic's voice.

The next second, the phone was smashed against the floor.

The screen shattered. Parts scattered everywhere.

But he didn't stop.

He ripped the IV needle out of the back of his hand in one sharp motion. Blood beaded and dripped down his skin.

He swept the cardiac monitor off its stand—it crashed against the wall with a deafening bang.

Vivienne screamed and ducked behind the sofa.

"Get out!"

Dante pointed at the door and roared at me.

That wasn't a sound a human being makes.

It was the howl of something that had shattered inside his chest.

"Go find your lover!"

"I don't want to see you again!"

"Don't ever show your face in front of me!"

I crouched down.

I didn't look at his bleeding hand.

I picked up the check from the floor, folded it neatly, and slipped it into my white coat pocket.

Then I stood, turned around, and pushed open the door.

I didn't look back.

Behind me came the thunderous crash of things being destroyed.

Then I saw Vivienne scramble out of the room on all fours.

I arrived at The Elysium Club and pushed open the door to the private room.

Dominic Mercer sat in the middle of the leather sofa, one leg propped up on the coffee table, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looked like he'd had plenty.

He smiled when he saw me.

"That was fast."

He set down his glass and stood up.

He walked over to me, reached out, and gripped my chin, turning my face side to side.

"Long time no see. Still as beautiful as ever."

"No wonder Dante still can't get over you."

I clenched my back teeth and said nothing.

He released me, stepped back, and dropped onto the sofa.

"Kneel."

"Do a good job, and I'll keep your brother's medication coming."

"Do a bad job..."

He smiled but didn't finish.

I walked over.

I knelt down.

Dominic leaned his head back with satisfaction and closed his eyes.

My hand slid up his thigh.

Soft. Slow.

He let out a low groan.

In that exact instant—

I drew the sterile scalpel from my sleeve.

The blade slicing through air made barely a whisper.

But the sound of it plunging into the muscle of his inner thigh was a dull, wet thud.

"AHHH—!"

Dominic's scream shook the walls of the room.

He shoved me away and looked down. The scalpel handle jutted from his inner thigh, buried to the hilt.

Blood poured out like a faucet had been turned on.

His lieutenant snapped to attention.

But before he could rush me, I'd already pulled the blade free and pressed it against the side of Dominic's neck.

"Back off," I said.

The lieutenant looked at Dominic, bleeding and helpless, and hesitated.

"Back off!" Dominic's voice cracked with pain as he screamed at his own man.

The lieutenant stepped back.

I crouched down, the tip of the blade resting against Dominic's Adam's apple.

"Dominic. Listen carefully."

"Touch one hair on my brother's head again, and I'll dissect your entire family while they're still breathing."

"Think I won't? Try me."

Dominic stared at me, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

But he didn't dare move.

"And my aim with a throwing blade is excellent. You know that."

I kept the scalpel trained on him as I backed out of the room.

I went back to the hospital.

The corridor.

Dr. Walsh was waiting for me with six security guards, blocking my path completely.

He held a document in his hand, his face livid.

"Ivy! Look at what you've done! Mercer Corporation sent an official letter—if you stay at this hospital, they pull every cent of their investment!"

"Who do you think you are? You think one person is worth billions in funding?"

He waved the guards forward.

"Strip her coat. As of today, this hospital has no one named Ivy Ashford."

Two guards stepped toward me. Their fingers hadn't even touched me.

A dull, heavy impact.

Dr. Walsh went flying.

His body traced an arc through the air before crashing onto the floor fifteen feet away, half a front tooth knocked clean out.

Everyone in the corridor froze.

Dante stood behind me in nothing but a thin hospital gown, barefoot.

His hand was still wrapped in gauze, and he'd dragged the IV stand all the way out of his room.

He lifted Dr. Walsh by the collar with one hand, hoisted him into the air, and pinned him against the wall.

Dr. Walsh's feet dangled eight inches off the ground, both legs kicking uselessly.

Dante swept his gaze across every person in that corridor.

Security guards. Nurses. Bystanders.

He said one sentence.

"Anyone who touches her, I bury alive."

No one spoke.

No one dared.

After Dante released him, Dr. Walsh braced himself against the wall and staggered away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Dante turned to look at me.

The gauze on his hand was soaked through with blood.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward his room.

His grip was strong.

His palm was burning hot.

The door to the hospital room was locked from the inside.

Dante shoved me into a chair and roughly tore open the sleeve of my white coat.

There was a shallow cut on my arm—I'd scraped it when I fell at the bar earlier.

Not deep. Didn't hurt.

But Dante's face looked even worse than before he saw the wound.

He dug through the first aid kit and pulled out iodine and cotton swabs, his movements fast and rough.

The swab pressed against the cut and I sucked in a breath.

"Good. It should hurt," he said through gritted teeth.

"Maybe the pain will teach you to think next time."

I watched him bent over my arm, saying nothing.

His fingers were long, the knuckles sharply defined, the iodine-soaked swab tracing across my skin inch by inch.

His touch was so gentle it didn't match his tone at all.

When he finished, he tossed the swab aside and leaned against the cabinet.

"The leg wound on Dominic—that was you?"

"Yes."

"Where exactly?"

"Inner thigh. Three centimeters from the femoral artery."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Nice aim. Three centimeters closer and he'd have been done for."

"I'm a doctor. I know exactly what I'm doing."

He stared at me for two seconds, then suddenly laughed.

Not a happy laugh.

It was the kind of laugh where the corners of his mouth curved up but his eyes were full of ice—bitter, helpless, furious all at once.

"Ivy Ashford, you really are ruthless."

"I look forward to watching you two tear each other apart."