The Don's Alibi.

The Hospital Siege

The cold night air whipped against Harper’s face as the black SUV tore through the city streets. In her lap, the silver handgun felt like a block of ice. She didn’t know how to use it, didn't want to use it, but the image of the live hospital feed—her mother, pale and sleeping—was the only thing keeping her from hyperventilating.

"Five minutes out, Miss Evans," the driver barked. He was one of Dante’s men, a silent shadow named Elias who drove like a man with nothing to lose.

"Can't you go faster?" Harper gasped.

"Any faster and we’re flying. Keep your head down. If Marco’s men are already there, it’s going to get loud."

Harper looked out the tinted window. The city lights were a blur. She felt like two people: Harper the maid, who was currently terrified for her mother’s life, and KROXY, the viral sensation who had just commanded a cathedral full of wolves.

Be KROXY, she told herself. KROXY isn't afraid. KROXY has 30 million reasons to win.

The SUV screeched to a halt in front of St. Jude’s Private Wing—the hospital Dante supposedly "owned." Before Elias could even round the car to open her door, Harper was out. She sprinted through the sliding glass doors, her mesh dress shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights of the lobby.

"Room 402! Where is security?" she shouted at the receptionist.

The young man behind the desk looked up, his eyes widening. He recognized her. Not as a maid, but from the emergency press conference that was currently plastered across every news site in Nigeria.

"Miss Evans! Mr. Vargas said—"

"Where is the security for the fourth floor?" she demanded, slamming her hand onto the desk. The silver gun was tucked into the waistband of her dress, hidden by the silk, but her voice carried the weight of Dante’s authority.

"They—they were called away to a disturbance in the parking garage," the receptionist stammered.

A distraction. Marco was already here.

Harper didn't wait for the elevator. She took the stairs, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart hammering against her ribs. Every flight of stairs felt like a mile. By the time she burst through the heavy doors of the fourth floor, the hallway was eerily silent.

Too silent.

She rounded the corner toward Room 402. Two men in cheap suits—Marco’s "cleaners"—were standing outside the door. One was checking his watch; the other was reaching for the handle.

"Get away from that door!" Harper screamed.

The men spun around, reaching for their jackets. Harper didn't think. She pulled the silver gun from her waist and leveled it at them. Her hands were shaking, but from fifty feet away, in the dim light, she looked like a woman who knew exactly how to pull the trigger.

"Back off!" she commanded, her voice echoing off the sterile white walls. "I am Harper Evans. I am Dante Vargas’s fiancée. If you touch that door, he will turn this city into a graveyard with you at the center of it."

The men hesitated. They had been told Harper was just a maid—a pawn. They hadn't expected the girl from the viral video to show up with fire in her eyes and a weapon in her hand.

"Marco said she was a nobody," one of the men hissed to the other.

"Does she look like a nobody to you?" the second one replied, his eyes fixed on the gun.

Suddenly, the elevator at the end of the hall pinged. Marco Moretti stepped out, clapping his hands slowly. He looked relaxed, his white tuxedo jacket unbuttoned, but his eyes were full of venom.

"Bravo, Harper," Marco drawled, walking toward her. He didn't seem bothered by the gun. "The maid has found her spirit. Or is it the 'star'? I can never tell with you people."

"Stay back, Marco," Harper warned, her finger tightening on the trigger.

"Or what? You’ll shoot me? In a hospital full of cameras?" Marco laughed, a cold, grating sound. "You don't have the stomach for it. You’re playing a game you don't understand. Dante doesn't love you. You’re a shield. A piece of paperwork. Once Miller is off his back, he’ll dump you back in the gutter where he found you."

"Maybe," Harper said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper that she had learned from Dante. "But right now, I'm the only thing between you and a very messy end. My mother is in that room. If you take one more step, I stop being an artist and I start being a Vargas."

Marco stopped. He saw the shift in her eyes. It wasn't fear anymore; it was the cold, clinical calculation of someone who had nothing left to lose.

Behind Marco, the stairwell door burst open. Elias and three more of Dante’s men flooded the hallway, their weapons drawn and silent.

"The party's over, Marco," Elias said, his voice a low growl.

Marco looked around, his smug expression finally cracking. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He looked back at Harper, a twisted smile returning to his face.

"You won this round, little maid," Marco whispered. "But the 'Undercover Heiress' story is a lie. And lies have a way of burning down the house."

He turned on his heel and walked back toward the elevator, his men following close behind.

The moment the elevator doors closed, the gun slipped from Harper’s fingers, clattering onto the linoleum floor. She lunged for her mother’s door, bursting inside. Her mother was still asleep, the heart monitor chirping a steady, peaceful rhythm.

Harper sank to her knees by the bed, clutching her mother’s hand. She was shaking so hard she could barely breathe.

"Miss Evans?" Elias said, standing in the doorway.

"Keep them here," Harper whispered, not looking back. "I don't care what it costs. No one gets on this floor unless they have a Vargas badge."

"Mr. Vargas is on his way," Elias replied.

Ten minutes later, Dante entered the room. He didn't look like the man from the gala. He looked frantic. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing Harper by the shoulders and pulling her up.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his eyes searching her face.

"She’s safe," Harper said, her voice hollow. "I did it. I protected her."

Dante looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, Harper didn't see a boss or a monster. She saw a man who was terrified that he had almost lost his most valuable "interest."

He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. "You're more than an alibi, Harper. Much more."

But as he held her, Harper’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was a notification from the DreameShort app.

"Contract Offer Received: The Don's Alibi. Exclusive Buyout: $50,000. Action Required."

The 30 million Naira was within reach. But looking at the man holding her, Harper realized the buyout might be for more than just her words.