Chapter 4

Upstairs, in the study, the air was thick with tension.

A large monitor in the center of the room showed the feed from the bedroom. The audio was crystal clear.

All the Capos were staring at the screen’s title: [Cold-Blooded Doctor Aurora Begs Vitale Family for Forgiveness].

But Nico didn’t know something.

The secret, local network he’d set up for this private live stream? My top hacker had hijacked it five minutes ago.

Now, this stream wasn’t just playing in the Vitale family study. It had been pinned, with the highest level of clearance, directly to the front page of the North American darknet forum.

Every scumbag who trashed my name online was now glued to this live broadcast.

Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the show.

[The bitch finally caved! Good job, Vitale family!]

[Let’s watch this fraud get on her knees and beg!]

[I feel so bad for Miss Isabella, having to face this venomous woman.]

Isabella lay in bed, her face still a mask of pale fragility.

When she saw me, she let out a trembling, “Nico...”

She had no idea that thousands of ears were listening in.

“Don’t be afraid. She’s here to treat you this time.”

Nico put his gun away, stood up, and walked over to me.

He knew the family elders were watching. His posture was arrogant.

“Aurora. Get started. Fix my sister.”

“You fail, and you’re out of Chicago for good.”

I ignored him.

I walked straight to the medical equipment by the bed.

As I put on my gloves, I shot him a cold glance.

Nico gritted his teeth. But with all the Capos watching, he held back. He just sneered.

He stepped aside, hands in his pockets.

The study, and the entire darknet forum, went silent.

I turned my back to the hidden cameras. I picked up my stethoscope and placed it on Isabella’s chest.

“Breathe in.”

“Breathe out.”

Isabella was very cooperative. Her breaths were heavy, her brow furrowed. She was playing the part of a fragile, broken doll.

Through the hidden mic, I could hear Nico’s pained gasp. I could imagine the flood of sympathetic comments on the darknet.

I put the stethoscope down.

I picked up the thick stack of medical reports from all the famous doctors the Vitale family had consulted over the years.

Congenital heart defects. Insufficient myocardial blood supply. Each diagnosis was more severe than the last.

I flipped through them, page by page. My frown deepened.

I looked for about five minutes.

Then I slammed the reports back down on the table with a loud smack.

I took off my gloves. Turned around.

“Isabella. Your condition... it’s a tricky one.”

Nico, playing to the cameras, sneered.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you were the great ‘Dawn’? You can’t cure her either? You’re a fraud!”

I could hear an angry stir from the elders in the study. The insults on the darknet exploded.

I paid them no mind.

Instead, I spun around and ripped the thin blanket off Isabella.

I dug my thumb deep under her floating rib. Hit the nerve cluster. Hard.

“AHHHH!!!”

A piercing scream shattered the quiet bedroom.

Isabella, who had been “too weak to breathe,” shot up from the bed like an enraged cat.

Nico instantly drew his gun on me. “What are you doing! You want to die!”

I looked at him coldly. Then I looked up, at the micro-camera.

I knew the entire power structure of the North American underworld was watching this farce.

I met his shocked, furious gaze and spoke, my voice light and clear.

“A dying girl. Too weak to breathe. Yet she jumps out of bed like a track star.”

I wiped my hands clean, a cold smile on my face as I looked at the two frozen siblings.

“Nico Vitale, your sister isn’t sick at all. She’s been playing you—and everyone else—for ten years.”