She gave antibiotics.

She dressed the wound.

She used the surgical stapler only where the edges could safely come together and left drainage where infection still needed a way out.

She improvised from experience, not arrogance, and every choice felt like stepping from one cracked stone to another above freezing water.

Finally, she peeled off her gloves.

Her hands were shaking now.

Dominic looked at Carmine, then at her.

“Is he saved?”

Clara almost laughed.

It would have come out bitter.

“No.

He’s not saved.

He’s alive.

Those are different things.”

Dominic absorbed that like a blow.

“What does he need?”

“A hospital.”

The whole room tightened.

Clara raised a hand before anyone could speak.

“I know what he said.

I know what you said.

But he needs monitoring, more IV antibiotics, labs, imaging, probably surgery from people who do this for a living.

I removed the bullet and drained what I could.

I did not erase three days of sepsis.”

Dominic stared at Carmine.

For the first time since Clara had met him, he looked less like an underboss than a man standing at the foot of a sickbed.

“If he goes in under his name, rivals hear within the hour,” he said.

“Then don’t use his name.”

Dominic looked back at her.

Clara wiped her forearm across her forehead, careful not to touch anything contaminated.

“You have money, don’t you? People who owe you favors? Use that for something useful.

Find a private doctor with admitting privileges.

Find a smaller hospital outside the neighborhood.

Say he was mugged.

Say he was found behind a bar.

I don’t care.

But he needs real care.”

“You could come with us.”

“No.”

The word came too fast and too hard.

Dominic’s expression closed.

Clara reached for her coat.

“I did what you brought me here to do.

I am going home to my son.”

One of the guards shifted near the door.

Carmine’s eyes opened.

He did not raise his voice.

He could barely move it.

“Let her go.”

The guard froze.

Dominic turned toward him.

“You heard him.”

Clara grabbed her purse from the metal crate.

Her phone had no signal in the tiled room, but the cracked screen showed the time.

Mrs.

Higgins had been expecting her more than an hour ago.

Her stomach dropped.

“I need to call my babysitter.

Now.”

Dominic nodded to Nico.

“Take her outside.”

Clara followed Nico down the concrete passage with her coat half-buttoned and her pulse hammering in her throat.

The night air hit her like a slap when the steel door opened.

Her phone found one bar, then two.

She called Mrs.

Higgins.

The old woman answered on the second ring.

“Clara? Dear, I was starting to worry.”

Clara closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry.

The hospital held me late.

Is Leo okay?”

A pause.

Too long.

“His cough woke him up,” Mrs.

Higgins said gently.

“I used the inhaler like you showed me.

He’s sleeping again.

But the apartment is very cold.”

Guilt moved through Clara sharper than any blade she had held that night.

“I’ll be there soon.”

When she hung up, Dominic was standing a few feet behind her with an envelope in his hand.

“For tonight,” he said.

Clara did not take it.

“Was this ever optional?”

Dominic