Chapter 1 Midnight Games of the Comatose

I've always believed that true love is about accepting someone at their absolute worst. For me, that meant falling for a man whose "worst" was supposedly being in a vegetative state.

My name is Luna Rossi—though in certain underground circles, I'm known as "The Viper." The nickname wasn't earned through charm. When I administer my specially crafted poisons, death comes as silently as a serpent in the night.

Yet here I was, playing nurse to Dante Moretti, the notorious mob boss who had been in a "coma" for six months following a car accident that left half his Maserati wrapped around a highway guardrail. The official story, anyway.

"Good morning, Mr. Moretti," I chirped, entering his private hospital suite with my medical cart. "Beautiful day outside. Shame you're missing it."

The monitors beeped steadily. Dante lay there, perfectly still—too perfectly still for someone who had supposedly suffered severe brain trauma. His sculpted face remained expressionless, dark hair precisely combed even in his supposed unconsciousness. The staff thought I was a dedicated private nurse. If only they knew I was cataloging his every microexpression.

I checked the door was locked before pulling a syringe from my pocket.

"Time for your special vitamins," I whispered, injecting the clear liquid into his IV line. "This one might make your fingers twitch. Or maybe your heart will race. I do love watching the effects."

The liquid wasn't lethal—not yet. Just a carefully calibrated cocktail of hallucinogens and nerve stimulants. Enough to cause discomfort, not enough to kill. I wanted him to suffer before I finished the job.

You see, Dante "Reaper" Moretti deserved every drop of poison I administered. Three years ago, my sister Marina disappeared after dating one of his lieutenants. The police found nothing, but I knew better. I infiltrated his organization as a nurse when I heard about his accident, patiently waiting for my moment.

I leaned close to his ear. "I know you can hear me, Dante. I know about the shipment at the docks. I know about the judge you bought. I know everything."

As I spoke, I casually ran my fingers through his hair, then suddenly yanked his eyelid open. For a fraction of a second—there it was. Pupil contraction.

"Tsk, tsk. Pupil contraction for 0.3 seconds," I whispered. "Ten points off for faking, Dante. You're getting sloppy."

I smiled, adjusting my prosthetic leg. No one ever suspected the pretty nurse with the slight limp. They certainly didn't imagine my custom titanium limb contained three separate vials of cyanide and a ceramic blade sharp enough to slice through cartilage.

Night fell, and the hospital quieted. I returned to Dante's room for my favorite part of the day. The security cameras had a convenient three-minute loop I'd programmed months ago—just enough time for my nightly ritual.

I locked the door, dimmed the lights, and approached his bed. The monitors cast an eerie blue glow across his chiseled features. I pulled out a tube of bright red lipstick.

"You know what time it is," I murmured, applying it generously. "Time to mark my territory."

I straddled his supposedly unconscious body, enjoying the power I held over the mighty Reaper. Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his neck, then his jaw, leaving perfect crimson imprints. This had become my signature—the next morning, the day nurse would clean them off, assuming they were from a grieving girlfriend.

"I wonder what your men would think if they could see you now," I whispered, trailing a finger down his chest. "The great Dante Moretti, at the mercy of—"

In one fluid motion that defied all medical possibility, Dante's hand shot up and gripped my wrist. Before I could react, he flipped our positions, pinning me beneath him on the hospital bed.

"Nurse," he growled, eyes now fully open and locked on mine, "you're playing with fire."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced a smile. "Well, well. The sleeping beast awakens."

"I've been awake every night for six months," he said, his voice rough from disuse—or perhaps from pretending. "Enjoying your little games, your poisons, your threats."

I tried to reach for the blade in my prosthetic, but he anticipated the move, capturing both my wrists in one strong hand. With his free hand, he traced my lips, smearing the red lipstick.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice the woman who's been slowly poisoning me?" he asked, sounding almost amused. "Though I must admit, your techniques are... impressive."

"If you knew, why not stop me?" I challenged.

His smile was predatory. "Perhaps I enjoyed it. Perhaps I wanted to see how far you'd go."

I spat in his face. "Not far enough, apparently. You should be dead."

"Many have tried, little viper." He wiped his face calmly. "Now, about your sister Marina..."

My blood ran cold. "What do you know about her?"

Before he could answer, the door rattled. Someone was trying to enter. In an instant, Dante released me and was back in his "comatose" position, eyes closed, breathing even.

I scrambled off the bed just as a guard I didn't recognize forced the door open with a master key. His hand moved toward his jacket—where a gun would be.

"Ms. Rossi, you're needed elsewhere," he said, his tone making it clear he wasn't hospital security.

"I'm with a patient," I replied coolly, reaching down to adjust my prosthetic—and access my weapon.

The man drew his gun. "Now."

In that split second, Dante's eyes flew open. With inhuman speed, he reached beneath his mattress and produced a silenced pistol, firing twice. The man crumpled.

"That's Barzini's man," Dante said, already pulling out his IV and disconnecting the monitors. "Which means there are more coming."

I pulled the blade from my prosthetic. "Why would I help you?"

"Because I didn't kill your sister," he said, standing up for the first time in months, steady on his feet like a man who'd been exercising in secret. "But I know who did. And they're probably the ones sending these men."

More footsteps in the hallway. I had seconds to decide.

"The fertilized eggs," I blurted out. "In the storage unit."

His eyes narrowed. "What eggs?"

"Your sperm. My eggs. Insurance policy. If I help you escape, you tell me everything about Marina."

The door burst open again, and three armed men rushed in. Dante fired twice, taking down two. I threw my blade, catching the third in the throat.

We moved in perfect synchrony, like partners who had danced together for years rather than adversaries. I grabbed my emergency bag from beneath the sink while Dante collected weapons from the fallen men.

"The storage unit," I insisted as gunfire erupted in the hallway. "We need to get there first."

He nodded grimly. "Lead the way, Nurse Rossi."

We fought our way down the corridor, a bizarre pair—him in a hospital gown, me in my nurse's uniform, both dealing death with practiced efficiency. We reached the fertility clinic wing, where I'd stored our genetic material months ago—my ultimate leverage.

As we entered the cold storage room, bullets shattered the glass door behind us. One stray bullet hit the cryogenic unit containing our embryos.

"No!" I screamed as the preservation system hissed and failed.

Dante grabbed my arm. "We need to move."

I stared at the ruined unit, my carefully laid plans evaporating. Then I saw something that made my blood run cold—one of the attackers wore a familiar ring. The same ring my sister's boyfriend had worn.

"You're right," I said, grabbing a liquid nitrogen canister as an improvised weapon. "But this isn't over between us, Dante."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, Viper," he replied with a dangerous smile that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "In fact, I'm counting on it."