The air in Chicago General’s break room was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and antiseptic, a rare pocket of quiet amid the ER’s relentless chaos. Sayrn Sauns leaned against the counter, her chestnut hair escaping its braid in soft wisps, her scrubs wrinkled from a ten-hour shift. At twenty-eight, with her RN degree freshly earned this year, she was used to the grind—stitching wounds, stabilizing patients, navigating life-and-death moments with a steady hand. But tonight, her mind wasn’t on the ER. It was on Daniel Isiah, the mafia boss whose presence had become a persistent hum in her thoughts.
Three days had passed since their dinner at The Sapphire Room, where his words—“I’m getting into you”—had left her breathless. His latest text, sent after she’d saved one of his men from a gu
