Chapter 8: Let’s Take Ibuprofen Together

[Madison’s POV]

I’m sitting in front of the elevator just doing lookout. Truth be told, this whole body guard act is kinda fake. This hotel is owned by the De Lucas, so I’m more just window dressing. The security team has everything handled, and nobody would dare make trouble in Caterina’s territory anyway.

I check my watch. It’s been almost an hour since the boss took Adam upstairs. I’ve been scrolling through emails on my phone, answering the occasional text from our casino managers. Nothing that requires immediate attention. Just routine business matters that help pass the time.

The soft ding of the elevator pulls my attention away from my screen. The doors slide open, and Caterina steps out alone. Something’s off. Her usually perfect hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s a tightness around her eyes I rarely see. But what really catches my attention is the expression on her face, a mixture of distress and uncertainty that looks completely foreign on her normally confident features.

She motions for me, her movements lacking their usual fluid grace. “Madison,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Come upstairs with me.”

I’m on my feet immediately, slipping my phone into my jacket pocket. “Of course,” I respond, stepping into the elevator beside her.

The doors close, and Caterina swipes her keycard. As the elevator begins its ascent, I study her reflection in the polished brass panels. She’s fidgeting with her hands, Caterina De Luca, who I’ve seen stare down cartel leaders without blinking, is fidgeting.

“You alright, boss?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

Caterina’s crimson eyes meet mine in the reflection. She hesitates, something she never does.

“I made a mistake,” she finally says, the words coming out in a rush. “With Adam.”

I carefully maintain my neutral expression, though internally, I’m surprised. Caterina doesn’t admit mistakes. Ever.

“What kind of mistake?” I ask, my voice deliberately steady.

She runs a hand through her golden hair, further disturbing its perfect arrangement. “I hit him,” she says, her voice dropping low. “I hit him too hard. He has a black eye.”

I process this information quickly. Violence isn’t unusual in our line of work, but Caterina has always been calculating with it, never impulsive. I’ve never seen Caterina hit a man… have I? And I know how long she’s wanted Adam, years of watching from afar, orchestrating events to bring him closer to her orbit.

The elevator rises in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of machinery. I weigh my next words carefully. In our world, offering unsolicited advice to someone like Caterina De Luca can be dangerous, potentially even fatal. But the woman standing beside me now, with her uncertain eyes and trembling hands, seems less like the untouchable crime boss I’ve served for years and more like someone who genuinely needs guidance.

“Was it the coke?” I ask quietly, voicing the question that’s been forming since she stepped out of the elevator downstairs.

The elevator slows as we near the top floor. Caterina’s shoulders sag slightly, the admission coming with a physical release of tension.

“Yes,” she whispers, her crimson eyes meeting mine with rare vulnerability. “I was nervous for our first time, and I wanted to be really intimidating at his house, so I think I ripped too many lines before I showed him how pathetic his wife is.”

“After he upset me earlier, I felt a bit annoyed,” Caterina explains, her eyes flitting around the room. “I hit him twice at first because I wanted him to feel uneasy. I thought instilling a little fear would be beneficial since I wanted him to be obedient. But every time I escalated the abuse while I was fucking him, iy only made him harder.”

She pauses, a flicker of sorrow crossing her face. “Some part of me just couldn’t let go of the fact that he said he wanted to be loyal to Claire earlier. I felt such an intense rage building inside me. And then when he fought back, I don’t know… I just lost control. I had no intention to hurt him so bad.”

The confession hangs in the air between us, raw and unfiltered. The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing the opulent foyer of the Presidential Suite. Neither of us moves immediately.

I nod, understanding washing over me.

“What can I do to help?” I ask, stepping out of the elevator. The marble floor gleams under the soft lighting, reflecting our figures like a still pond.

Caterina follows, her movements lacking their usual predatory grace. “Can you just check him out to see if he’s alright?” she asks, gesturing vaguely toward the bedroom door across the expansive living area.

I glance in that direction, noting that the door is partially open. “I’m no doctor, boss,” I say carefully, “but I can check to see if he’s concussed, I guess.”

We walk across the living room together, our footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The suite smells of sex. As we approach the bedroom, I steel myself, unsure of what condition I’ll find Adam in.

“Boss,” I say, pausing just before we reach the door. The words form in my throat, dangerous but necessary. “You know I would never tell you to quit drugs, but maybe...”

I let the suggestion hang incomplete, bracing myself for a potential explosion of anger. In five years, I’ve never once commented on her personal habits. It’s the kind of boundary overstepping that has gotten others killed.

But Caterina just nods, surprising me with her quiet acceptance. Her crimson eyes, usually so sharp and focused, seem clouded with something like shame.

“I know,” she says softly. “I know, Maddy.”

Caterina pushes the bedroom door open, the heavy wood swinging silently on well-oiled hinges. The room beyond is dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the city lights, casting everything in soft shadows.

My eyes immediately find Adam. He’s lying on his back, propped up slightly against a mountain of pillows. He’s dressed in a plain T-shirt and pants. His left eye is grotesquely swollen, the skin around it already darkening to an angry purple-black. The swelling has nearly closed the eye completely, forcing him to view the world through just his right. He’s holding what looks like a makeshift ice pack to the injury, his hand trembling slightly with the effort of keeping it in place.

The contrast between the luxury of the room and his obvious suffering creates a jarring dissonance that tightens something in my chest. This isn’t a business associate who crossed the line or a rival who needed to be taught a lesson. This is the man my boss has been obsessing over for years, the one she’s schemed and manipulated to possess.

‘What the fuck was she thinking.’

Adam’s good eye flicks toward us as we enter. There’s no fear in his gaze, which surprises me. Instead, I see resignation mixed with a dull sort of pain that seems to go beyond the physical. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge our presence beyond that initial glance.

“Boss, you got any ibuprofen or Tylenol?” I ask, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the hushed room. “To help with the swelling.”

Caterina stands frozen in the doorway, her tall frame silhouetted against the light from the living room. I can’t see her face clearly, but the stiffness in her posture speaks volumes. She’s not used to feeling regret, and it sits on her like an ill-fitting coat.

She looks over at Adam, really looks at him, taking in the damage she’s done. Her crimson eyes widen slightly, and I watch as something crumbles in her expression. The tyrannical crime boss dissolves, leaving behind a woman who suddenly seems lost, almost childlike in her uncertainty.

“Yes, I think we have something.”

She doesn’t move immediately, her gaze still fixed on Adam’s swollen face. Her fingers twitch at her sides like she wants to reach out to him but doesn’t quite dare.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Caterina turns and disappears down the hallway toward the bathroom, her footsteps fading into silence.

I take a deep breath and approach the bed where Adam lies.

“Hey,” I say softly, perching carefully on the edge of the mattress. The bed dips slightly under my weight, causing Adam to wince as the movement jostles his injury.

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to keep still.

Adam’s good eye focuses on me, surprisingly clear despite everything he’s been through. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice rough and tired.

I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a small penlight flashlight I always carry. It’s slim and silver, designed for emergencies. Right now, checking for a concussion qualifies.

“Look at me,” I instruct, keeping my voice professional but gentle.

He complies, turning his face toward me. The bruising looks even worse up close, spreading across his cheekbone in a violent bloom of purple and black.

I flick on the penlight, the bright beam cutting through the dim room like a laser. “I’m just going to check if you’re concussed,” I explain, holding the light up to his good eye.

Before I can begin the examination, Adam’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. His grip is weak.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “You can just take Claire. I barely know her. I can’t do four months of this.”

My heart breaks for the guy but I know if he tries to leave, Caterina might actually lock him up. I check over my shoulder for Caterina and whisper, “Listen, Adam. This isn’t something you can just walk away from.”

His fingers tighten around my wrist, desperate. The look in his one good eye reminds me of a trapped animal, and suddenly, I’m thinking about my brother. How I’d feel if he was in this situation, traded like property, beaten and confused. The thought makes my stomach twist.

“I think tonight was a one-off, alright?” I continue, keeping my voice barely audible. “She’s not usually like this. But I really don’t know how upset she’ll get with you if you say that to her.”

He just blinks at me, the movement causing him to wince slightly as it pulls at the swollen tissue. “I don’t even understand why she hurt me this much,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. “One minute she was... and then she just...”

“Just hang in there for a week, okay? If you still want to leave, tell me privately.” I offer him a little bit of hope. In truth, it’s not something I could follow up on even if I wanted too. I just don’t know what else to say.

‘This poor guy.’

I gently extract my wrist from his grip and hold up the penlight again. “Let me just check if you’re concussed, okay?”

He nods, resignation washing over his features.

I shine the light in his good eye, watching as the pupil contracts normally in response to the brightness. I move the beam back and forth, observing as his eye tracks the movement smoothly. No dilation issues, no tracking problems.

“You’re not concussed,” I confirm, clicking off the penlight and slipping it back into my pocket. “That’s good.”

I feel a small sense of relief that at least his brain isn’t scrambled, though the eye looks bad enough. The bruising has deepened in the short time we’ve been talking, spreading outward from the socket like spilled ink on parchment.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Caterina returns carrying a crystal tumbler of water in one hand and a small white pill bottle in the other. Her movements are careful, almost hesitant, so unlike her usual commanding presence that it’s jarring to witness. She’s trying to make herself smaller somehow, hunching her shoulders slightly as if afraid she might startle Adam if she moves too suddenly.

“Here,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she sits on the side of the bed.

“I found some Advil,” she continues, twisting the cap off the bottle. Two orange pills tumble into her palm. “It should help with the pain and swelling.”

Adam watches her warily through his one good eye, his face a mask of caution. His hand still holds the makeshift ice pack to his injury.

“He’s not concussed,” I report, breaking the tense silence that hangs between them. “Pupil response is normal, and he’s tracking fine.”

Caterina nods, her golden hair catching the dim light as it falls forward. “Thank you for looking,” she says, not taking her eyes off Adam.

The moment feels oddly intimate as if I’m intruding on something private despite the bizarre circumstances that brought us all here. I shift my weight, preparing to leave them to whatever comes next, reconciliation, more apologies, or perhaps just silence.

“Do you want me to do anything else?” I ask, already knowing the answer but feeling compelled to offer nonetheless.

Caterina finally turns to look at me, her crimson eyes filled with a vulnerability. For a moment, she looks almost lost, like a child unsure of what to do next. But then her expression shifts, the mask of control sliding back into place, though not as perfectly as usual.

“No, that will be all,” she says, her voice regaining some of its usual authority, though it remains softer than normal. “Thank you, Madison.”

“Of course.” I take my leave.

Maddy. Pretend the pen is a flashlight.