Chapter 3
The cinematic, vivid lighting of the private suite seemed to sharpen, emphasizing the brutal contrast between the elegant surroundings and the visceral agony of the man in the wheelchair. Rocco’s broad chest was completely frozen, his jaw locked so tightly the tendons in his neck looked ready to snap. The spasm was suffocating him, a relentless, crushing weight that completely dismantled his imposing, intimidating presence.
Lucia stood a few feet away, her diamond rings flashing in the bright light as she crossed her arms over her formal outfit. She wore a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction, enjoying the utter helplessness of the fearsome Mafia Boss.
"I am warning you, little girl," Lucia said, her American accent dripping with condescending menace as she glared down at the caretaker. "If you do not stand up and walk out of that door right now, you will never find employment in this city again. I will make certain of it."
June Harper did not hesitate. The threat of losing her desperate lifeline of income paled in comparison to the suffering of the human being in front of her. She instantly dropped the sharp, broken dishes she had been holding. The porcelain clattered loudly against the floor.
June pushed herself off the floor and rushed forward. She knelt directly in front of Rocco’s wheelchair, completely disregarding the danger of his violently jerking limbs. Her fair, rosy hands reached out and firmly grasped his right leg, pressing her own body weight against his shin to stabilize the terrifying, erratic movements of the spasm.
"Get away from me," Rocco managed to grind out through his clenched teeth. His deep, raspy voice was fractured by the blinding pain. He tried to raise his heavily tattooed hand to shove her away, his mafia-boss instincts rejecting any display of vulnerability or need.
"Stop fighting me!" June commanded, her voice surprisingly loud and authoritative for a penniless maid. She swatted his trembling hand away from her shoulder and shifted her grip, holding his leg steady while placing her other hand firmly on the center of his chest.
"You are going to suffocate if you don't unlock your diaphragm," June said, her bright eyes locking onto his cold, piercing gaze. "Look at me, Mr. Santoro. Look right at me. You have to breathe."
Rocco let out a ragged, agonizing groan, his body fighting a brutal war against its own nervous system. "I said... don't... touch me."
"I don't care what you said!" June fired back, refusing to move a single inch. She pressed her hand flat against his tailored dark shirt, feeling the frantic, trapped hammering of his heart beneath her palm. "Breathe in on a count of three. One. Two. Three. Do it!"
Lucia let out a sharp, aristocratic scoff of disgust. "You insolent little brat! I told you to step away from him! Edwin!" she shouted toward the hallway. "Edwin, get in here and remove this trash!"
Rocco’s chest remained locked. His vision began to blur at the edges from the lack of oxygen, the cinematic brightness of the room dimming into gray shadows.
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"Look at me!" June demanded, leaning closer, her fair face inches from his. The sheer, unyielding determination in her eyes pierced through his blinding agony. "You can fire me after you breathe. But right now, you are going to inhale. One. Two. Three. Breathe!"
Slowly, agonizingly, the sheer force of her will broke through his physical paralysis. Rocco pulled in a sharp, ragged gasp of air. The sound was harsh and broken, but it was oxygen. His massive shoulders slumped slightly as the oxygen hit his lungs. The violent jerking of his leg began to subside beneath her firm, steady grip. June closed her eyes in sheer relief, keeping her hands exactly where they were, silently counting out his breaths.
