Chapter 2 - THE PHANTOM FIRE
Three weeks dragged by, establishing a bleak, predictable rhythm inside the Kelly estate.
Diamond continued his campaign of self-destruction. He fired two agency nurses brought in from the city, hurled a silver soup tureen at the executive chef for salting his broth, and sent one of Levi’s street captains out of the study bleeding from a clipped forehead after the man made the mistake of offering to help adjust his footrests.
Fear moved through the grand hallways like a toxic gas. The staff tiptoed around the second and third floors, whispering in corners, terrified of triggering the boss's infamous rage.
Except Caprice.
She became a fixture of the night shift. Every evening at eight o'clock, she arrived in her worn sneakers, tied her cheap apron around her waist, and moved through the vast, quiet rooms with her rags, mop, and buckets. She never spoke unless spoken to. She never offered the cheery, fake smiles that the private nurses used. She simply cleaned.
Diamond began watching her through the security feeds monitor in his study.
At first, it was pure paranoid suspicion. In his world, utter detachment was always a cover. Everyone wanted something—information, money, leverage, blood. But as he watched the grainy black-and-white camera feeds, he saw nothing suspicious.
She never lingered near his wall safe. She never glanced at the confidential ledgers left open on his desk. When she cleaned his study, she lifted his encrypted satellite phones with two fingers, wiped the dust beneath them, and set them back down in the exact same spot. She was an engine powered entirely by necessity.
On a rainy Tuesday at two in the morning, the phantom nerve pain returned with unimaginable violence.
It started as a dull throb in Diamond's lower back before shooting down his severed spinal cord like liquid fire. His brain registered excruciating agony in limbs that could not register the prick of a needle. His thighs spasmed violently, jamming his dead knees together.
He sat alone in the dark living room of his suite, his large frame doubled over, both hands gripping his useless thighs so hard his fingernails tore through his trousers. Cold sweat poured down his forehead, dripping off his jaw onto the rug. His breathing came in ragged, wet gasps.
His pain medication was downstairs on the kitchen counter, tucked inside a locked medical box. He refused to ring the intercom for a guard. He refused to call Levi. He would rather tear his own throat out with his teeth than admit to his men that he was suffering.
A faint line of light spilled across the carpet as the hallway door swung open.
Caprice walked in carrying a wicker basket filled with freshly folded linen. She stopped cold when she saw him hunched over in his chair in the pitch dark, shuddering violently.
Diamond snapped his head up. His face was ghastly pale, his eyes wild with agony and rage.
"Get... out," he choked out through grinding teeth.
Caprice didn't run. She set the heavy linen basket down on a leather ottoman and walked slowly toward him. She stopped three feet away, her tired eyes taking in his white-knuckled grip on his knees, the sweat soaking his collar, and the violent tremors racking his chest.
"Where are the pills?" she asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of panic.
"I said... get the fuck out!" he snarled, his voice cracking with strain.
"Are they in the kitchen or the bathroom?" she repeated, unbothered by his snarl.
"Kitchen!" Diamond spat, the word ripped from his throat like a surrender. "Counter... left of the sink. Black lockbox. Code is 1104."
Caprice turned on her heel and left the room. Her sneakers squeaked softly against the hardwood floor.
Diamond leaned his head back against his headrest, closing his eyes as a fresh wave of phantom fire tore through his hips. He prepared himself to destroy her when she returned. He would remind her what she was—a temporary maid, an insect in his house.
Two minutes later, Caprice returned.
She did not bring the lockbox. She brought a single white pill in the palm of her hand and a glass of lukewarm tap water. She held them out to him.
Diamond stared at the pill in her palm, his breathing harsh. "I take two of those."
"The label on the bottle says one pill every six hours," Caprice replied calmly.
"I take two!" he barked. "My tolerance is higher than the bottle says!"
"You haven't eaten a solid meal in two days," Caprice said, holding her ground. Her arm didn't shake. "Mrs. Higgins told me you threw your dinner in the trash. Two of these on an empty stomach will burn through your stomach lining and make you vomit. Take one."
Diamond glared at her hand. Her knuckles were raw, red, and cracked from constant exposure to bleach and cold water. Her nails were short, unpolished, and bitten down to the quick. It was the hand of a woman who worked until bone, tendon, and skin screamed for mercy.
With a harsh growl, Diamond snatched the pill from her palm, threw it into the back of his throat, and gulped down the water. He jammed the empty glass back toward her chest.
"Happy?" he rasped.
"It's not about me being happy," Caprice said, taking the glass. She walked back over to the ottoman and picked up her heavy linen basket. "It's about you not screaming in agony half the night so I can finish cleaning this floor and catch my bus."
She turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.
Diamond stared at the empty doorway for a long, stunned moment.
Something strange, tight, and unfamiliar shifted inside his chest. It wasn't anger. It was shock.
No one spoke to him like that. Levi offered hard truths, but always with the underlying deference of a second-in-command. His lieutenants spoke with terrifying awe. Women before his injury had spoken with calculated, seductive softness.
May you like
Caprice spoke to him as if he were nothing more than an annoying, stubborn man keeping her from finishing her shift.
And somehow, it was the most grounding, human thing he had experienced in two horrific years. For five minutes, he hadn't been a pitied, crippled monster. He had just been a hassle.
