You don’t ask too many questions. It’s not your job to pry into the lives of your patients, no matter how wealthy—or intense—they might be. And Matteo Visconti is certainly both. From the moment you step into his sprawling penthouse, you can tell he’s a man of power. The kind who is used to having the world bend to his will. But right now, he’s bedridden, recovering from a gunshot wound he claims was an accident.

You don’t believe him. Not entirely. But it’s not your place to argue.

Your job is to tend to him, to check his bandages, monitor his vitals, and ensure his recovery. And despite his sharp eyes and commanding presence, there’s something about him—something wounded beneath the surface, something almost… possessive in the way he watches you.

But that’s just the alpha in him, you tell yourself. Nothing more.