Chapter 3 - The Upper East Side Clinic
The private medical clinic in the Upper East Side did not look like a place where criminals or mob bosses sought treatment. It looked more like a boutique art gallery, complete with minimalist white walls, polished concrete floors, and soft ambient lighting that muted the clinical sterility usually associated with hospitals.
Dr. Harrison, an older physician with sharp gray eyes and hands that moved with practiced precision, stood over the examination table where Sophia sat.
Roman stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't left the room since they arrived forty-five minutes ago, ignoring multiple calls vibrating silently against his thigh from his associates.
"Well, Miss Mercer," Dr. Harrison said, finishing his examination and snapping off his latex gloves. "You have three cracked ribs on your left side, a mild concussion, contusions along your jawline and cheekbone, and severe physical exhaustion. How long has it been since you slept a full night?"
Sophia stared down at her hands, resting in her lap. The medical gown felt thin and drafty against her bruised skin. "A few days. It doesn't matter."
"It matters a great deal," the doctor replied, turning to Roman. "She needs absolute rest for at least two weeks. No lifting, no stress, and a proper diet to help her body repair the cellular damage from malnutrition and trauma. I'll write a prescription for the pain, but the best medicine here is time and stability."
"Thank you, Doctor," Roman said, stepping forward. He handed the physician a black card without a second thought. "Charge whatever is necessary. Ensure her prescriptions are filled and delivered to my residence."
"Right away, Mr. Vale."
Twenty minutes later, Sophia was settled into the back of the Mercedes once more, wrapped in a heavy cashmere blanket Roman had retrieved from his private collection. The pain medication Dr. Harrison had administered intravenously was beginning to take effect, wrapping her mind in a warm, fuzzy haze that made it difficult to keep her eyes open.
"Where are we going?" she mumbled, her head resting heavily against the headrest.
"My home," Roman said softly, keeping his eyes on the road as they crossed the bridge leaving Manhattan.
"I can't go to your home. I need to go back to the garage. If I'm not there, the suppliers—"
"The garage is closed for the next month, Sophia," Roman interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've already sent a crew to secure the property. Your brother's creditors won't be paying it another visit. Ever."
Sophia closed her eyes, a tear escaping from beneath her lashes and sliding down her cheek, cutting through the fading bruise on her cheekbone. It wasn't a tear of sadness, but of overwhelming, crushing relief. For weeks, she had carried the weight of Eric's catastrophic mistakes entirely on her own, running on fumes, terror, and desperation. Now, in the span of a single morning, a man she barely knew had dismantled the nightmare.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "You don't even know me."
Roman slowed the car as they approached the security gates of an expansive, secluded estate nestled along the Hudson River. The iron gates parted automatically, recognizing the vehicle's transponder.
"I know enough," Roman said, pulling the car up to the grand entrance of a modern stone mansion surrounded by towering pines. "I know that Eric Mercer is a gambler who bit off more than he could chew. And I know that his sister was left to clean up the mess because everyone else in his life abandoned him."
He turned off the engine and looked over at her. Sophia had drifted off to sleep, her breathing finally deep and even for the first time in days.
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Roman sat quietly in the driver's seat for a long moment, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the cashmere blanket. His mind flashed back to his own past—to the cold, unforgiving streets where he had learned that loyalty was the only currency that truly mattered in a world built on betrayal.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out of the car, and opened the passenger door. Instead of waking her, Roman bent down and scooped Sophia into his arms once more, carrying her up the stone steps and into the sanctuary of his home.
