Chapter 3 - Breach in the ICU
The sharp, concussive pop-pop-pop of silenced pistol fire echoed through the sterile corridor outside the trauma suite, instantly shattering the heavy silence of the hospital wing.
Viktor spun around, drawing a sleek, black firearm from a concealed holster beneath his blood-soaked jacket with terrifying speed. The other three guards dropped into defensive stances, their tactical training evident in the crisp, mechanical clicks of safeties being disengaged.
“They found him,” Viktor muttered, his eyes darting to the reinforced double doors. “The Syndicate didn’t finish the job in the alley. They tracked him here to finish it in the ICU.”
Logan let out a terrified cry, burying his face deeper into my shoulder. I squeezed him tight, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“Mommy, I’m scared,” he sobbed.
“Shh, baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” I whispered, scanning the room frantically for a place to hide. But the room was a glass-walled fishbowl, completely exposed to the hallway.
Alessandro didn’t panic. Despite the fresh blood staining his hospital gown, he swung his legs over the side of the bed with a grimace of pure willpower. The chief surgeon gasped, stepping forward to protest, but Alessandro silenced him with a single, murderous glare.
“Hand me that trench coat on the chair,” Alessandro ordered Viktor, his voice cutting through the distant sound of shattering glass and shouting voices.
Viktor tossed the heavy leather coat across the room. Alessandro caught it with one hand, shrugging it over his broad shoulders to conceal the bandages and the crimson stains spreading across his chest. He reached into the inner pocket, pulling out a heavy, matte-black Sig Sauer pistol and checking the magazine with practiced efficiency.
“Catherine,” Alessandro said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that brooked no argument. “If you want to live—and if you ever want to see David again—you and your son are going to stick close to me. Do you understand?”
“Why should I trust you?” I hissed back, adrenaline overriding my fear. “You’re a mob boss! My husband is mixed up in whatever war you’re fighting because of people like you!”
“People like me are the only reason your husband was able to send anonymous cash drops to your bank account every month disguised as a clerical error,” Alessandro shot back, his voice dropping to a harsh, resonant whisper.
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. The mysterious deposits that had saved us from eviction twice last year... those hadn't been accounting mistakes.
Before I could process the words, the heavy metal door handle of the trauma suite rattled violently. Someone was trying override the electronic lock from the outside.
“Back against the far corner, behind the diagnostic cart,” Viktor commanded, motioning to me and Logan.
I scrambled backward, pulling Logan down with me and shielding his small body with my own as I pressed us flat against the cold tile wall.
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The electronic keypad on the door sparked as a high-tech hacking device was slapped against the metal casing. With a heavy clack, the magnetic lock disengaged. The door swung slowly inward, revealing the shadows of masked figures creeping into the doorway.
Alessandro raised his Sig Sauer, his breath steady, and opened fire.
