Anna Thought the Mafia Boss Was Broken—Until He Looked at Her and Said, “I’m Still a Man”

Anna stayed in the doorway long enough to understand that Degan had no idea she was there. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers spread over expensive fabric as if he could command his legs to move through sheer force of will.

She should have walked away. Instead, she knocked once against the doorframe.

Degan’s head snapped up. The grief vanished behind a familiar wall of contempt. “Do you make a habit of listening at doors?”

“Only when someone sounds like he’s about to put half the city on fire.”

“Get out.”

“Your legs are shaking.”

“They don’t move.”

“Your upper body is shaking, then. You’re holding your breath, and your blood pressure may be through the roof. I’m not asking whether you want help. I’m telling you that if you pass out, I’ll have to explain to your doctor why I let you.”

His stare could have stripped paint. “You think you can talk to me any way you like because I let you touch my legs?”

“No. I talk to you this way because I’m your therapist, and you’re a patient who is about to make a catastrophic decision while furious.”

For a moment, she thought he would throw her out. Instead, he looked toward the shattered decanter.

“Three men are dead,” he said. “One of them has a daughter who’s six. I promised him I’d keep the docks safe.”

“You can’t protect anyone by making more people dead.”

“You know nothing about what keeps people safe.”

“Maybe. But I know what happens when people mistake revenge for control.”

His eyes sharpened. “Who taught you that?”

“My father. He drank himself into a grave trying to punish everyone who disappointed him.”

The admission surprised them both. Anna looked away first.

Degan released a breath, long and ragged. “I’m not your father.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She checked his pulse after asking permission. He allowed it with visible reluctance. His heart rate was elevated, but there was no immediate emergency. She helped him reposition his legs, then asked whether he had taken his prescribed medication. He admitted he had skipped the evening dose because he hated feeling drowsy when business was unstable.

“That stops tonight,” she said. “We can ask your physician about alternatives. You don’t get to improvise with medication.”

“Is that an order?”

“It’s a professional recommendation. You can ignore it and deal with the consequences, but I’ll document that you ignored it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

She helped him return to his bedroom, staying professional and asking before each transfer. When she left, Degan called her name.

“Anna.”

She turned.

“Don’t repeat what you heard.”

“I won’t discuss your business. But if you intend to burn a warehouse with people inside, I won’t pretend I didn’t hear that.”

His expression hardened again. “You’re brave for someone whose brother owes my family sixty thousand dollars.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m exhausted. There’s a difference.”

The next morning, Degan followed the exercise plan without arguing. It was the first small victory Anna had won in the estate, and it lasted until Victor appeared halfway through their session with a folder.

“We have a problem,” Victor said. “The shipment at the docks wasn’t ours.”

Degan’s face went still. “Explain.”

“The manifests were changed. The warehouse contained medical equipment routed through a charity clinic. Someone wanted the Russians to hit it and wanted us to retaliate.”

Anna glanced at the papers. One page showed the logo of the rehabilitation clinic where she worked.

Her stomach dropped.

“That clinic is on the list,” she whispered.

Degan turned toward her. “What clinic?”

“The one where I work two shifts a day.”

Victor closed the folder. “Then someone has been using your workplace to move something through the docks.”

Degan looked at Anna, and the suspicion in his eyes cut deeper than any insult.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

She met his gaze. “If you think I’d risk Tommy’s life and my license for your criminal empire, you haven’t been paying attention at all.”

Before Degan could answer, a guard rushed in with a phone. A video was playing on the screen. Tommy sat in a bare room, his face bruised, a gun held just outside the frame.

A voice said, “Tell Curado we know what his therapist is hiding.”