I Entered the Mafia Boss’s House While He Was Wounded, but When He Heard My First “No,” the Doctor Turned Pale

That evening, when I knocked on the door of the Rosses’ mansion, I still did not know that an hour after entering the house, someone would ask for me to be killed.

Rain struck the windshield as if it were trying to break inside. My old car barely stopped at the gate, the engine coughed twice, and fell silent. I had forty-one dollars in my pocket. I had to pay the rent on Monday, and a warning of eviction was waiting for me on the door.

A man in a black suit came out from the gate.

“Nora Hayes?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Leo. The house manager.”

His gaze stopped on the car.

“Someone will move this.”

“It would be good if they helped me start it too.”

Nothing changed on Leo’s face. He only jingled the ring of silver keys held in his left hand.

“There are three rules here. You will not ask Mr. Dominic how he was wounded. You will speak only when you are addressed. You will do what you are ordered.”

“Did you speak to the previous nurses like that too?”

For the first time, Leo looked directly at me.

“There were six. One needed twelve stitches. Another broke her wrist.”

Rainwater ran down my neck, but I stayed in place.

“Anything else?”

“You must not let Mr. Ross die.”

He did not say it like a warning. He said it more in the voice of a man who had already come to terms with someone else’s death.

As I climbed to the third floor, I smelled blood. The bedroom door was half-open. Inside, heavy curtains moved even though the windows were closed. Dominic Ross lay on the bed, a dark bandage wrapped around his shoulder. His skin was pale, and his chest shone with sweat.

“Leave,” he said.

I put my bag on the floor.

“No.”

His eyes opened.

“What did you say?”

“If you want me to leave, you must dismiss me first. Until then, I will not let you die from bleeding.”

On a small wooden table beside him lay old copper sewing scissors. Probably one of the previous nurses had used them to cut the wound dressings. I noticed a dried dark stain on the handle and felt coldness in my heart.

I carefully removed the bandage. The wound was swollen, red, and suppurating. But the color changed strangely—as if the skin were burning not from the outside, but from within.

“When was the last time it was cleaned?”

“Yesterday.”

“Which antibiotic did you take?”

Dominic pointed to the vials arranged on the table. The labels looked genuine, but the protective seal on one was slightly lifted. Ten years of working in an emergency department had taught me to notice such details.

“Who gives you these medicines?”

“My doctor.”

“Does he come himself?”

“Every evening.”

I picked up the vial.

“After this, you will not take a single dose.”

Dominic’s gaze hardened.

“You have been here ten minutes.”

“And I spent ten years with hospital medicines.”

There was a knock at the door. Leo entered with a silver tray. A syringe lay on the tray. The liquid was cloudy and had an unusual yellowish tint.

“Doctor Marino sent the evening injection,” Leo said.

“Do not touch it,” I said.

Silence fell in the room.

Dominic slowly sat up, and his jaw tightened from the pain.

“Do you think someone is poisoning me?”

“I think someone wants your wound never to heal.”

At that moment the door opened wide. An elderly man in an expensive coat and carrying a doctor’s bag entered. It was Doctor Marino. His eyes first looked at me, then at the syringe. Fear flashed across his face for only a moment, but Dominic saw it.

My phone lit up.

An unknown number.

“Leave the Rosses’ house immediately, Nora.”

Then a photograph arrived. It showed me entering the mansion a few minutes earlier.

A second message followed immediately.

“The sixth nurse did not leave her job.”

“What happened to the sixth nurse?” I asked.

No one answered me.

A heavy impact sounded from the corridor. Something slammed into the locked door with all its force. Dominic reached toward his weapon, while Leo clenched the keys in his fist.

Someone roared behind the door:

“Dominic, open the door!”

Marino took one step back. I saw his hand move toward the doctor’s bag, where probably more than medicines were kept. The lock shook, and at that same moment Dominic pointed to a black folder hidden under the bed…

Dominic’s finger was pointed toward the black folder, but another blow against the door frightened us all. The wood of the door cracked in the middle. The smell of wet wood and blood mixed in the room.

“Leo, lock the inner passage,” Dominic said.

“It is already locked.”

“Then who is there?”

Leo did not answer. Marino went to the door and tried to speak calmly.

“Mr. Ross, it is the security boys. There has been some misunderstanding.”

The voice behind the door sounded again.

“Dominic, it’s Sandro! Open up before it is too late!”

Dominic looked at me.

“Do you know that name?”

“No.”

“You do not look like you are lying.”

“Because I am not lying to you.”

I bent under the bed and pulled out the folder. The black leather was damp, and only one word was written on it in golden letters: “Evenings.” When I opened the folder, I found a list of medicines, several dates, and handwritten marks inside. The same initials—M.M.—were repeated on almost every page.

Marino moved toward me.

“These are medical documents. Put it down.”

“Then why are you so frightened?”

“Because you have no right to touch my records.”

“Your own medicine is killing him.”

Dominic looked at the doctor.

“Answer.”

Marino’s lips froze.

“The infection is severe. Perhaps you assessed the condition incorrectly.”

“Ten minutes ago you wanted to give him an injection,” I said. “Now you say you do not know what is in this syringe?”

Another blow sounded against the door. A broken piece of wood fell onto the floor. Leo quickly opened a narrow door hidden in the wall.

“We have to leave through here.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Dominic said.

“If you stay, you may not wake up,” I said.

He looked at me for a moment. Then he stood up. Pain twisted his face, but he did not let anyone support him. He wore only black trousers and a white shirt stained by the wounded shoulder.

Behind the wall there was a narrow corridor. A small copper bell hung on the wall. When Leo closed the door, the bell moved by itself and made a low, glass-like sound. I remembered that sound for the entire night.

The corridor descended into a room beneath the kitchen. Old refrigerators, folded linens, and iron shelves stood there. In one corner I saw a stretcher stained with blood-red marks.

“Was the sixth nurse here?” I asked.

Leo stopped.

“I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

Dominic looked sternly at the manager.

“Tell me the truth this time.”

Leo lowered his eyes.

“Clara Bennett. She did not leave. On the night she disappeared, she entered Marino’s room. Then we found her bag, but not her.”

My stomach contracted. I noticed a small device resembling my phone in the bag. A red light was blinking on it.

“Is this a camera?”

“No,” Marino said very quickly.

I touched the device. It turned out to be a small recorder. I pressed the button. First there was static, then a woman’s quiet voice.

“If anyone finds this, I am Clara. Dominic Ross’s wound is not healing by accident. Marino adds something to the medicine every evening. But the main thing is that Marino is not acting alone.”

The recording stopped exactly there.

Dominic closed his eyes.

“Continue.”

“There is no more.”

At that moment a gunshot sounded from the upper floor. The walls shook. Leo drew a gun, while Marino suddenly tore the folder from my hands.

“This must be destroyed.”

Dominic pinned him against the wall.

“You will destroy nothing.”

Marino no longer looked like an old doctor for the first time. His face became cold.

“If you listen to this recording to the end, Dominic, you will learn that the person standing closest to you betrayed you.”

The red light on the device was still blinking. Where the recording had stopped, a small arrow pointed to another file. I moved my finger toward the button, but a new message appeared on the screen.

“Clara is alive. If you are trying to find her, first find out whom Leo serves…”

It was as if this message removed the oxygen from the room. Leo’s face changed. Dominic aimed the gun at him, while I held the recorder with both hands.

“One more step and I will shoot you myself,” Dominic said.

Leo slowly raised his hands.

“I was trying to protect her.”

“Whom?” I asked. “Yourself or her?”

I played the second file on the recorder. For several seconds only heavy breathing could be heard. Then Marino’s voice sounded.

“Reduce the injection dose. If he dies, everything is over.”

Then another man spoke. His voice was calm, almost gentle.

“He will not die. Until he signs, he must remain alive.”

Dominic froze.

“That voice…” he said.

“Is it your brother’s?” I asked.

He could not answer me.

The man in the recording continued. “The nurses follow one another. Frighten them if necessary. And the seventh must be someone who understands medicines.”

Marino stopped the recorded voice.

“This is edited.”

“Then why do you know which word comes next?” I asked.

Leo lowered his head.

Dominic brought the gun closer to him.

“Say his name.”

The muscle in Leo’s throat tensed.

“Mateo.”

The word fell into the room like a stone.

Mateo Ross was Dominic’s younger brother. In the family he had always been known as a quiet, loyal, and inconspicuous person. Now the recording proved that he wanted Dominic to remain alive only until he signed the documents transferring power.

Dominic asked quietly:

“Who shot me?”

Marino lowered his eyes.

“Mateo. He thought the bullet would not touch the bone or artery. Then I was supposed to leave the wound infected.”

“And the nurses?”

“Some left. Some asked too many questions.”

“Clara?”

Leo spoke for the first time.

“She is in the old laundry room in the basement. Alive. I hid her there.”

Shame and relief struck me together. She was alive. At least someone in this house still had the strength to resist.

We found Clara a few minutes later. She had marks from metal restraints on her wrist, and her lip was swollen, but she was standing. When she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.

“Are you the seventh?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we still have a chance.”

At that moment my phone rang. This time the number belonged to a police station.

“Ms. Hayes,” said an unknown man, “we know that you are in the Rosses’ house. If you have evidence against Dominic Ross, send it immediately.”

“Who are you?”

“Detective Alan. But you must hurry. Mateo Ross is already with us and says that Dominic planned everything.”

Dominic looked at my phone.

“Mateo is at the police station?”

“And he is accusing you.”

Clara shook her head.

“That is impossible. He must know here that we found the recording.”

Then another message arrived. It was a photograph: Mateo stood on the steps of the police building, with two armed men beside him.

“Do you think this recording is enough? I already have Dominic’s signature.”

Below the photograph there was another sentence:

“And Nora, your rent problem will no longer exist tomorrow if you leave this house alive.”

Dominic took the phone from me. For the first time, his face showed not anger, but weariness.

“He does not want to kill me,” he said. “He wants me to sign my own disappearance.”

Clara handed me the recorder with a wet hand.

“Transfer the file to the phone. If something happens before we get there, it will be sent automatically.”

I placed my finger on the screen. The transfer bar slowly filled.

Everyone in the room held their breath.

Ninety-nine percent.

Ninety-nine and a half.

Then an unfamiliar voice sounded on the phone, belonging to none of us:

“File transfer stopped. Your device is already in our hands…”