Chapter 3 - The Unspoken VulnerabilityWhen we returned to the mansion past two in the morning, the house was dark and silent.
Carmine wheeled me through the front entrance and up the private elevator to the second floor. As he stepped out to leave me in the master suite, he hesitated by the door.
"Boss... about tonight," Carmine started, rubbing the back of his neck. "You handled Santoro like the old days. But... maybe you shouldn't be going out into the field anymore. Let the captains handle the street work."
"My empire is built on presence, Carmine," I replied coldly. "If they think I'm hiding behind closed doors, they'll tear each other apart. Get some sleep."
"Yes, Boss."
He closed the door.
I wheeled myself over to the large bay window, looking out over the moonlit gardens. The adrenaline from the warehouse showdown was wearing off, leaving behind a deep, hollow exhaustion in my bones. That was always the catch—every victory on the streets exacted a physical toll on my broken body.
Suddenly, a sharp, electric pain shot down my right thigh.
I gasped, gripping the armrests as my right leg violently jerked upward. It was another spasm—worse than the one two days ago. The neurological misfires were growing more frequent, tearing through muscles that refused to obey my will.
I groaned, clenching my teeth so hard I tasted copper. I reached down to force my leg back down, but the spasm locked my knee into a rigid, agonizing angle.
The bedroom door clicked open.
Footsteps padded softly across the hardwood floor. I didn't need to look to know who it was. Fay was carrying a small tray with a cup of chamomile tea.
When she saw me slumped forward in the chair, sweating profusely and gripping my convulsing leg, she didn't hesitate. She dropped the tray on the side table—the ceramic clattering loudly—and rushed across the room.
"Get out," I snarled through clenched teeth, my voice shaking with pain and humiliation. "I said... get out!"
Fay ignored me completely. She dropped straight to her knees in front of my wheelchair, exactly as she had done before. Her small, warm hands reached out and pressed firmly against my rigid thigh and calf.
"Don't touch me!" I roared, my frustration boiling over. I swung my arm blindly, trying to push her away, but she caught my wrist with a surprising, unbreakable grip.
"Shut up and breathe," Fay ordered, her voice cutting through my panic like a scalpel.
"You don't understand—"
"I understand you're fighting your own body," she interrupted, pressing harder into the cramping muscle, using her body weight to counteract the violent spasm. "Every time your legs lock up, you tense every muscle from your neck down. You're making it worse."
"I am Dominic Corso!" I shouted, the veins in my neck bulging. "I don't need pity from a broke maid!"
"This isn't pity!" Fay yelled back, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce fire that silenced me instantly. "I don't care who you were before the accident! Right now, you're just a stubborn man sitting in a chair who's about to tear his own muscle fibers because he's too proud to let someone help him!"
We stared at each other in the dim, shadowed light of the bedroom.
My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. Under her hands, the violent shaking of my leg began to slow. The agonizing knot in my thigh slowly started to release its iron grip.
Fay didn't let go. She kept her hands steady on my legs, her breathing matching mine in a slow, rhythmic cadence until the spasm finally subsided entirely.
I collapsed back against the leather upholstery of the chair, drenched in cold sweat, utterly defeated.
Fay remained kneeling before me, her hands resting softly on my knees. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The fierce barrier of hostility I had spent six months constructing around myself had just been dismantled by a woman wearing cheap boots and carrying an eviction notice.
"Why don't you leave?" I whispered, my voice cracked and vulnerable—a tone I hadn't used with anyone in years. "Everyone else does."
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Fay looked up, her expression softening into something quiet and profound.
"Because you don't need someone to fear you, Dominic," she said softly, using my first name for the very first time. "You need someone who isn't afraid of you."
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