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“Most foreigners who come here learn to avert their eyes when speaking to my family,” he said, moving closer again. Close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne—something dark and cloying that made me want to gag.

“I’m not most foreigners.” I turned to check the IV on the man with the bullet wound, desperate to break the uncomfortable intimacy of his stare. “And I look my patients in the eye, regardless of who they work for.”

A low chuckle escaped him, and the sound made my hackles rise. “No, you certainly aren’t like the others.” He moved closer, invading my personal space in a way that felt distinctly threatening. “Tell me, Dr. Valentino, what brings someone like you to our humble country?”

“I go where I’m needed.” I stepped around him to wash my hands at the sink, using the task to put distance between us. “And right now, that’s here.”

“Admirable.” The word dripped with something between mockery and genuine appreciation. “Though perhaps naive.”

I dried my hands on a paper towel, turning to face him fully while staying as far away as the small room would allow. “Was there something else you needed, Mr. Silva? Because I have other patients waiting.”

“I make it my business to know who operates within my father’s territory.” He leaned against the counter, blocking my path to the door in what I was sure was a deliberate move. “Especially when they’re as intriguing as you.”

The word intriguing in his mouth sounded lewd. Like he was already planning what he wanted to do with me.

“I’m a doctor, Mr. Silva. Nothing more, nothing less.” And definitely not intriguing .

He reached out, almost touching my face before I jerked back instinctively. My reaction only seemed to amuse him more as he lowered his hand, looking like a cat that had cornered a particularly interesting mouse.

“You underestimate yourself, Dr. Valentino.” His gaze traveled pointedly from my face down to my worn sneakers and back up again, lingering in ways that made me want to shower. “Beauty and brilliance are a rare combination. Especially when paired with such…spirit.”

It sounded like he was already imagining how to break that spirit. I crossed my arms, partly for emphasis and partly to create another barrier between us.

“You’re cleared to leave with your men. The one with the concussion should be monitored for twenty-four hours.”

“We’ll leave when I say we leave,” Mateo replied, his tone hardening just enough to remind me who held the power here. “But I appreciate your professional opinion.”

One of his guards appeared in the doorway. “Senor Silva, your father calls from the car.”

Silva nodded, eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Evidently, you’re correct, Dr. Valentino. Lauren. It is time to leave.” He turned to his man. “Get everyone into the vehicles.”

Mateo turned back to me at the doorway. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation at another time.”

“I’ll be treating patients,” I said flatly. It didn’t matter when he wanted to talk, even if it was three a.m., I’d make sure I was treating patients.

His laugh was genuine this time, and somehow that made it worse.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Lauren.

” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, holding it between two fingers, and walked back to me.

“If you ever need anything—protection, supplies, better equipment for your clinic—call me directly.”

I didn’t take the card, but he placed it on the counter behind me anyway, leaning in close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck. “Everyone needs something, Doctor. Even you. Don’t discount what I can provide.”

With that, he turned and walked out, his guards falling into step behind him, taking the patient with them. A couple minutes later, the SUVs started up, and I finally released the breath I’d been holding, my hands shaking slightly as reaction set in.

Sophia appeared at my side, face pale. “Do you know who that was?”

“He made sure I knew.” I glanced at the business card. I’d be throwing that away. Even if he could get unlimited supplies for the clinic, it would come at too high a price.

“Lauren, this isn’t good.” Sophia’s voice was tight with concern. “The Silvas don’t visit unless they want something. And we’ve seen what happens to the villages that refuse them.”

Too many wounded had come through our doors with Silva-related injuries. Farmers beaten for late payments. Shopkeepers tortured for refusing to cooperate. Entire families displaced when someone crossed the cartel.

“They brought in wounded. We treated them. End of story,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her.

“It may have started that way, but it wasn’t the wounded Mateo Silva was interested in.” Sophia gripped my arm. “Did you see how he looked at you? Like you were something he wanted to own.”

The assessment hit too close to my own instincts. “I’m not afraid of him.”

The lie came out more defensively than I’d intended. I was afraid—not just of his power or his father’s reputation, but of something deeper. Something predatory and possessive in the way he’d studied me.

“You should be.” Sophia’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The people in the village talk about Mateo. They say he collects interesting things. Things that catch his eye. And he doesn’t take rejection well.”

“I’m not a thing to be collected.” I shook my head, annoyed at the flicker of panic her words triggered. “And this isn’t about me. It’s about controlling the clinic, establishing dominance.”

But even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t true. I’d seen the truth… The possessive gleam when I’d refused to take his hand. The amusement when I’d stepped away from his touch.

Sophia didn’t look convinced. “Just…be careful. The Silvas own everything they touch in Corazón.”

“Not this clinic. And not me.” I moved toward our next patient, desperate to focus on something normal and safe. “We have work to do.”

The rest of the afternoon was blessedly normal, doing house calls in the village as well as treating the few who came to the clinic itself.

That evening, my phone chimed with a text from my father:

Lauren, please come home. We can get you a position at Northwestern or Rush. Somewhere safe. This madness has to stop. Your mother is sick with worry.

My parents texted me every day. I loved them and tried to reassure them I was okay as much as possible without encouraging their overbearing behavior.

They had never understood why I’d chosen this path instead of a prestigious position at Chicago Memorial, where my family name carried weight. They viewed my work with Compass Medical Outreach as a dangerous obsession—something they needed to rescue me from and help me see the light.

Now, Dad’s desperation was palpable, even through the phone screen.

We love you. Just come home where you belong.

For the first time, I considered responding differently. But what would I say? A cartel leader’s son might be fixated on me? It sounded paranoid, even to my own ears. Not to mention, would not do anything but send my dad’s blood pressure through the roof.

I closed the message without responding. Our satellite providing cell service was out anyway, which happened regularly.

I couldn’t leave my patients. Not now, not when they needed me most. And I certainly wouldn’t be frightened away by Mateo Silva, no matter how powerful his family was or how desperately my parents wanted me home.

But as I walked to my small room behind the clinic that night, I found myself checking the locks twice—not that they would do much good. And when I finally fell into an uneasy sleep, Mateo’s voice and too-slick appearance followed me.

Next time I saw Mateo Silva—and I had no doubt there would be a next time—I would make it abundantly clear that I wasn’t interested in whatever sick game he was playing. I would establish boundaries and enforce them.

Even as I told myself that, part of me wondered if it was already too late.