Chapter 6 - The FeverClara ran down the sweeping hallway with Dante right behind her.
They burst into a massive bedroom covered in toys and blue velvet curtains.
Julian was tossing and turning on the huge bed, his small face flushed a dangerous, bright red.
Clara pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and swore under her breath.
“He is burning up,” she stated, slipping entirely into her clinical nurse persona.
“He was soaked in freezing rain for hours the other night, Dante.”
“His immune system crashed from the trauma.”
Dante stood at the foot of the bed, looking utterly helpless for the first time in his life.
“Tell me what to do,” the mafia boss pleaded.
“Get me a bowl of ice water, washcloths, and children's liquid ibuprofen,” Clara ordered sharply.
She didn't care who he was in that moment; he was just a terrified father.
Dante sprinted out of the room himself, returning moments later with everything she asked for.
Clara worked tirelessly through the long, agonizing night.
She bathed Julian’s face in cool water, coaxed him to swallow the medicine, and whispered soothing words.
Dante sat in a chair by the window, watching her every single move in absolute silence.
By dawn, Julian’s breathing finally slowed, and his skin felt cool to the touch.
The fever had broken.
Clara slumped back into the armchair beside the bed, completely exhausted.
A heavy, warm cashmere blanket was suddenly draped over her shoulders.
She looked up to see Dante standing over her.
“You saved him again,” he whispered softly.
“It is my job,” Clara replied, closing her heavy eyes.
May you like
“No,” Dante murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek.
“It is a gift.”
