My Boss Was Pronounced Dead — Until I Climbed Onto His Freezing Autopsy Table
Part 2
The flutter was so weak I thought I had imagined it.
I held my breath.
Another thump vibrated against my ribs.
It was sluggish and erratic.
But it was undeniably there.
My eyes flew open.
I pulled back just slightly.
I stared at Vincent’s face in the dim blue light.
The ashen gray pallor had retreated just a fraction.
Panic and disbelief flooded my system.
I scrambled to sit up.
My heavy frame shook violently.
I grabbed the leads of the heart monitor.
They had been switched to standby mode.
I fumbled blindly for the power switch on the machine.
A loud click echoed through the room.
The screen glowed green.
For ten agonizing seconds, there was only a flat green line.
Then a small ragged spike appeared on the screen.
A sharp beep pierced the silence.
Ten seconds later, another spike followed.
Another beep.
Vincent Rossi, the man the world’s best surgeons had pronounced dead eight hours ago, was alive.
Suddenly, a harsh, ragged gasp tore from his throat.
His chest heaved upwards violently.
His dark, terrifying eyes flew open.
He was completely disoriented.
Those eyes instantly locked onto me.
I hovered above him, trembling in my thick cotton undergarments.
My heavy chest heaved with sheer panic.
His hand twitched upward.
His fingers weakly brushed against the soft, substantial curve of my waist.
He felt the immense radiating heat of my flesh.
I scrambled backward.
I was completely horrified by my own audacity.
I tripped over my discarded gray uniform on the cold tile.
I clutched the fabric to my chest to hide my stomach and thighs.
The sudden rapid beeping of the heart monitor acted like an air raid siren.
Within thirty seconds, the heavy steel doors burst open.
Dr. Gable sprinted into the room.
Craig Salvo was right behind him.
His suit was wrinkled from a night of war planning.
Craig pulled his firearm.
He aimed it directly at me huddled in the corner.
He screamed demands, asking what I had done to the boss.
Before he could fire, a weak, gravelly voice commanded him to put the gun down.
It carried the undisputed authority of a king.
Vincent struggled to prop himself up on his elbows.
His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Craig.
In the split second Craig had burst through the door, Vincent had seen the microscopic flash of genuine disappointment on his underboss’s face.
The precision of the rival family’s attack and the untraceable poison clicked into place.
Craig was the rat.
Vincent ordered everyone out except Dr. Gable and me.
He told Craig to secure the perimeter upstairs.
He swore to kill him if a single word of his survival left the basement.
Once Craig backed out, the heavy doors sealed shut.
Dr. Gable rushed to the table.
He analyzed the rising core temperature and stared at me in absolute awe.
My body mass and intensive thermal transfer had literally thawed Vincent’s heart.
Vincent turned his head to look at me.
I couldn’t meet his gaze.
But he ordered Dr. Gable to declare him officially dead.
He told the doctor to move his body to the underground bunker below the wine cellar.
He reached out to grasp my thick, soft hand.
His grip was surprisingly warm.
Could I keep the most dangerous man in the city alive long enough for him to take back his throne?
