Elias hadn't slept properly in three days. The private floor of the hospital was now full of more Moretti soldiers than doctors, and every corner felt polluted. He was trying to chart his morning patients at the central nursing station, rubbing his tired temples, when a warm cup of expensive coffee was set in front of him.
He looked up to see the handsome, smiling face of Dr. Julian Graves. At forty-two, Julian was older than Elias, and he was the hospital's head of neurosurgery. Julian was charming, established, and had made no secret of his attraction to Elias for the past year.
"You look exhausted, Elias," Julian said. He didn't just stand near Elias—he leaned against the counter, closing the distance between them. "I know this new owner... situation... is stressful. But you can't keep carrying the whole world on your shoulders."
Elias managed a weak smile. He didn't mention that Dante was holding him hostage. "Thank you, Julian. I just need more caffeine."
"Listen," Julian said, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. He reached out and covered Elias's hand with his own. His hand was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the burning heat of Dante's touch. "After our shifts, let's get out of here. My car is parked in the lower deck. We could get dinner. A real dinner. You need a break."
Elias looked down at their joined hands. For a single, fleeting second, he considered it. A way out. A moment of normalcy with another professional. "I..."
"He's not leaving this floor, Dr. Graves."
The voice didn't come from the station. It came from down the hall.
Dante Moretti was standing there. He wasn't in bed. He was wearing his black silk pajama pants and a fresh white shirt, which was unbuttoned, revealing his heavily bandaged chest. He looked like death warmed over, his pale skin making his dark eyes look like two pits of black fire. Behind him, two guards were panicking, trying to beg him to go back to bed.
Julian immediately stood up straight, his face turning pale. He didn't pull his hand away from Elias fast enough.
Dante didn't just walk over. He stalked. He didn't look at Julian. He was staring directly at Elias's hand, where Julian's fingers were still resting. He looked like he was about to rip the other doctor apart with his bare hands.
Dante reached the nursing station, his powerful, dangerous presence immediately commanding the entire floor. He reached out and with a cold, almost violent motion, he swiped Julian's hand away from Elias's. Then, he grabbed Elias's wrist and pulled him around the counter until Elias was standing pressed against him.
"This is Dr. Graves," Elias stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could feel the dangerous vibration of rage coming off Dante's skin. "He was... offering me dinner."
Dante finally looked at Julian. It was the look of a god judging a worm. "I am sorry, Dr. Graves," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly polite. "But my physician does not work for you. He does not take dinner breaks with you. He does not go to the parking garage with you. In fact, if I ever see you touch him again, I will have your hand surgically removed by a medical student. Do you understand my terms?"
Julian nodded, too terrified to speak. He looked at Elias, his eyes wide, then turned and literally ran down the hallway.
Dante looked back at Elias. The polite mask was gone. His face was twisted with raw, possessive fury. "Rule number two, Elias," Dante whispered, his grip on Elias's wrist turning painful. He pulled Elias into an empty consultation room and locked the door with a loud click. "You are mine. If I ever see another man so much as breathe near you... I will paint this city red."