The next morning, Elias walked into Dante's private room. He expected to see a sick man in bed. Instead, he saw three men in suits standing by the door. On the table, there was a fancy breakfast that didn't come from the hospital kitchen.
Dante was sitting up. His chest was wrapped in bandages, but he looked like a king on a throne.
"Good morning, Doctor," Dante said. He watched Elias with a small smile.
"I didn't give you permission to sit up," Elias said. He walked over to check Dante's pulse. "And who brought all this food? You are on a strict diet."
Dante grabbed Elias's hand as he tried to check his wrist. He didn't let go. "My men brought it. I don't like hospital food. And I don't like following rules."
Elias pulled his hand back. "Then you picked the wrong doctor. In here, my word is the law."
Dante laughed softly, even though it hurt his chest. "I like you, Elias. You are the first person in years who isn't afraid of me. That is a dangerous way to live."
"Are you threatening me?" Elias asked, crossing his arms.
"No," Dante said, his eyes turning dark and serious. "I am thanking you. But in my world, a 'thank you' means I take care of you. I have already paid off your medical school loans. And I bought this hospital."
Elias froze. "You did what?"
"I own the building now," Dante said calmly. "Which means you don't work for the hospital anymore. You work for me."
Elias felt his heart beat faster. He wasn't scared—he was angry. "I am not your toy, Dante."
"We will see," Dante whispered.