The hospital cafeteria was filled with so many nurses, doctors and patients —nurses grabbing coffee before rounds, patients' families whispering in corners, and the ever-present aroma of overworked espresso beans. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, falling in warm patterns across the floor.
Rose sat at a corner table near the window, sipping her coffee as she went through her phone . Her hazel eyes were fixed on the foam forming lazy shapes on the coffee's surface.
She had barely slept. The surgery from the day before kept replaying in her mind—not the case itself, but how she'd snapped at Smart. She could still see the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Not anger. Not judgment. Just quiet, tired disappointment.
She didn't like how that felt.
The cafeteria door slid open and in, walked Smart, wearing a clean navy scrub top, the ID badge clipped casually to his pocket. He looked relaxed, confident as always, but when his eyes found Rose, his brows lifted slightly. He picked up a tray, grabbed a muffin and coffee, and headed straight toward her table.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, standing across from her.
Rose nodded. "Of course, Doctor Smart."
"Ah, formality. Good morning to you too, Dr. Cruz," he replied with a grin, settling into the seat opposite her.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. It wasn't awkward, but it was heavy—the kind of quiet that holds unspoken apologies and waiting forgiveness.
"About yesterday," Rose began, looking up. "I'm sorry for yelling in the OR. I let the pressure get to me."
Smart took a sip of his coffee before answering. "It was a tense case. Happens."
"No," she said firmly. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I was out of line."
He studied her for a moment, his dark brown eyes unreadable. Then his mouth quirked into a half-smile. "I accept your apology. Let's laugh about it in a week, yeah?"
Relief washed over her in a way she hadn't expected. "Deal."
"Besides," he added, leaning in slightly, "you yelling in the OR is still less intense than the Doctor I assist on his good days."
Rose chuckled, some of the guilt easing from her shoulders. "God, don't remind me."
Their laughter rose slightly above the cafeteria noise. It felt normal. Familiar. She let herself enjoy the moment.
Across the City Hospital was a Mafia lord.
Dante Salvadore
He stood behind his desk, a tumbler of whiskey untouched beside his laptop. The study was dim, lit only by the golden glow of the city filtering in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind him, the skyline shimmered like scattered diamonds, but his attention was fixed on the call.
He pressed the speaker button.
"Lorenzo."
"The shipment's ready," his right hand confirmed. "Warehouse 12. Midnight. I tripled the security. We're clean."
"No law?"
"Nothing on scanners. Local patrols diverted. I greased the right hands."
Dante leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Good."
He cut the call and stood, walking to the window. Below, the city pulsed with life, ignorant of the darkness that funded some of its brightness. Tonight was crucial. Not because of the drugs themselves—he'd moved hundreds of shipments before. But this batch? This buyer? They represented new territory. New alliances. And more importantly, a new level of power.
Dante's reflection stared back at him in the glass—impeccably dressed, expression unreadable, a man made of cold fire. His jaw clenched. He picked up the whiskey and drained it in one go.
The old industrial warehouse sat on the edge of the harbor district, half-forgotten by city planners and hidden from public scrutiny. At midnight, fog rolled in from the water, entering the warehouse in secrecy.
Inside, the operation was in full swing. Dante stepped through the rusted side door, followed by two of his most trusted men. He was dressed in all black—casual yet calculated. Every movement of his was economical, precise.
Lorenzo approached, clipboard in hand. "All forty-two crates accounted for. Each has the seal. The buyer just arrived."
Dante didn't respond immediately. He walked down the rows of crates stacked neatly in columns, each marked with a small blue cross. He popped one open, revealing vacuum-sealed packets tucked in layers of electronics parts—a camouflage designed to fool even the sharpest customs agent.
He gave a nod. "Let's do this."
Moments later, a convoy of sleek black SUVs pulled up outside. Five men stepped out. One walked ahead of the rest—tall, lean, with a scar stretching from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone. He was a mid-tier supplier looking to expand into Dante's city.
"Mr. Salvadore," he said, shaking his hand with a tight grip. "A pleasure."
"Let's keep it short," Dante replied.
They walked side by side to the crates.
"Everything you asked for," Dante said. "Double-purified. Lab certified. You won't find cleaner products east of the Atlantic."
He popped a packet and inspected it. He tasted a pinch, nodding.
"Impressive."
Dante gestured, and Lorenzo wheeled forward two briefcases. He opened them, revealing crisp stacks of untraceable euros.
"This concludes our first transaction," the buyer said.
"And it won't be the last," Dante replied coolly.
They shook again. The men loaded the crates onto the SUVs without a word. Minutes later, the convoy disappeared into the fog.
Dante turned to Lorenzo. "Send a message to my dad. Tell him it's done."
"Anything else?"
Dant
e looked out at the road beyond the warehouse. Somewhere out there.
"No fam." He smirked.