Chapter 4 - THE ACCIDENT
The storm that hit the city on the second Sunday of November brought fifty-mile-an-hour wind gusts and freezing rain that coated the estate's driveways in thick sheets of black ice.
Inside the compound, the power flickered twice before dying completely at midnight.
The backup generators kicked in four seconds later with a low, vibrating hum, illuminating the wide hallways in dim, amber emergency lighting.
Diamond was in his private bathroom, transferring himself from his wheelchair to the custom marble bench inside his walk-in shower. It was a mechanical process he loathed with every fiber of his being—a stark, humiliating reminder of his body's failure.
He gripped the polished steel grab-bar mounted to the wall, locked his elbows, and swung his heavy upper body across the gap.
His left palm, damp with sweat, slipped off the cold steel.
With a heavy, sickening thud, Diamond crashed down onto the hard marble floor.
His dead legs crumpled beneath him like discarded rags. His lower back slammed against the edge of the wheelchair's metal footrest.
Pain—sharp, hot, and sickening—shot up his torso from his bruised ribs.
"Damn it!" he roared, slamming his heavy fist against the wet floor tile.
He lay there on his side, panting like a wounded animal, his chest heaving. He jammed his elbows into the floor, attempting to pull his two-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame back up onto the bench using pure upper-body strength. But the angle was impossible; his dead legs were trapped awkwardly beneath the heavy frame of the wheelchair, pinning his hips.
He was stuck. Exposed, helpless, and bleeding from a small scrape on his knee.
Rage, deep and suffocating, flooded his throat. He raised his fist to smash it against the wall, ready to scream for Levi, ready to accept the ultimate humiliation of having his tactical guards lift him off the floor like a broken sack of grain.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Caprice stood in the doorway, holding a flashlight and a bundle of clean towels.
She froze, taking in the scene: the fallen mob boss, his dead legs twisted awkwardly, his bare chest slick with sweat, his eyes wild with a terrifying mixture of embarrassment and feral rage.
"Don't look at me!" Diamond screamed, his voice cracking violently. "Get out! Get the fuck out of here!"
Caprice didn't run. She didn't drop her eyes.
She set her flashlight on the counter, walked straight past his screaming face, and knelt down on the wet floor right beside his twisted legs.
"Don't touch me!" he growled, his large hand snapping out to grab her forearm in an iron grip. His fingers squeezed so hard her bones groaned, but she didn't make a sound.
"You're pinned under the footrest," she said softly, her voice cool and steady as a mountain spring. "If you try to wrench yourself up, you're going to twist your bad spine or tear a knee ligament."
"I said let go!"
"I need to lift the chair off your foot, Diamond," she said, calling him by his name for the very first time.
She looked directly into his wild, agonized eyes. There was no pity in her face. No disgust. Just absolute, immovable calm.
"Let me help you. Then you can fire me."
Diamond stared at her. His grip on her arm slowly loosened, his fingers sliding off her warm skin. He let his head fall back against the cold wall tiles, his chest heaving.
Caprice didn't waste a second. She reached out, gripped the heavy titanium frame of the wheelchair, and lifted it three inches off the floor, sliding his dead left foot out from beneath the footrest.
Then, she stepped behind him, wrapping her thin arms under his wide shoulders.
"On three," she whispered near his ear. Her breath was warm against his neck. "Use your arms on the bar. I'll take the weight from behind."
"You can't lift me, girl," he rasped. "I weigh double what you do."
"Try me."
"One... two... three!"
Diamond let out a guttural roar, surging upward with his massive arms while Caprice heaved with everything she possessed, her small frame straining, her boots sliding against the wet floor tiles.
With a heavy gasp, Diamond’s upper body cleared the floor, and he hauled himself up onto the shower bench.
He sat there, doubled over, panting heavily, his hands resting on his knees.
Caprice collapsed back onto her heels on the floor, gasping for air, her hair plastered to her sweaty forehead, her cheap canvas apron soaked with water from the floor.
Silence filled the bathroom, save for the sound of their ragged breathing and the low hum of the emergency lights.
Diamond slowly turned his head to look at her.
She was sitting on the cold tiles, her hands resting in her lap, her small shoulders rising and falling. A faint, reddish mark was already forming on her forearm where his iron grip had clamped down.
"I hurt you," he said softly, his gravelly voice dropping an octave.
Caprice looked down at her arm, then back up at him. She touched the faint red mark casually.
"I've had worse," she said simply.
She stood up slowly, her knees popping in the quiet room. She grabbed a large, dry bath towel from the rack, walked over, and draped it gently over his bare shoulders.
"Can you manage the transfer back to the chair now?" she asked.
Diamond looked at the towel on his shoulders, then up at her worn, pale face.
"Yes," he whispered.
Caprice nodded once. She picked up her flashlight from the counter, walked to the door, and paused with her hand on the frame.
"I'll mop up the water on the floor when you're dressed," she said.
She stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.
May you like
Diamond sat alone on the marble bench, the soft towel wrapped around his chest. He looked down at his trembling hands, then at the door.
For the first time in two years, the suffocating rage inside his chest felt a little less heavy.
