Chapter 3 - The Awakening at St. Jude’s
Upstairs at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital, the room was quiet except for the rhythmic, steady beep of the cardiac monitor and the soft rustle of autumn leaves tapping against the windowpane.
Amelia Hayes opened her eyes slowly. The left side of her face throbbed with a dull, sickening ache, and a thick white bandage was taped securely over her left cheekbone. She tried to lift her hand, but a sharp sting in her forearm reminded her of the IV line taped to her skin.
“Easy, honey. Don't try to move too fast.”
Amelia turned her head—a movement that sent a wave of dizziness through her skull—and saw Angela sitting in the armchair beside the bed, holding a worn paperback novel.
“Angela?” Amelia’s voice came out as a dry croak.
Angela stood up immediately, pouring a small cup of ice water from the pitcher on the bedside table and holding a flexible straw to Amelia’s lips. “Sip it slow. The doctor said you’ve got a mild concussion and a cracked zygomatic arch, but nothing’s displaced. You’re going to have a lovely bruise for a few weeks, but you’ll live.”
Amelia swallowed the cool water, her mind racing backward through the fragments of the evening. The diner. Derek Lawson slamming his fist on table nine. The demand for his money back because he claimed the service was slow. Her telling him to pay his tab and get out.
Then... the white explosion of light.
“Derek,” Amelia whispered, her eyes widening in sudden panic as she tried to push herself up against the pillows. “Where is he? Did he pay? If he didn't pay, Mr. Castellano is going to—where’s Vincent?”
“Relax, Amelia,” Angela said gently, pressing her back down onto the mattress. “Derek isn't bothering anyone anymore. And Mr. Castellano handled it.”
Amelia stared at her, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Handled it how? Angela, Derek runs with the North End crew. He’s got connections, he’s dangerous—”
“Not as dangerous as Vincent Castellano,” Angela replied with a dry, knowing smile. “Vincent went down to the basement with him about twenty minutes after the ambulance left. Last I saw of Derek, Vinnie and Sal were carrying him out to his own truck feet first, and he looked like he’d rather wrestle a grizzly bear than spend another second in Vincent’s company.”
Before Amelia could process the terrifying implications of that statement, the door to the private hospital room clicked open.
Vincent stood in the doorway. He had removed his long black coat, leaving him in his pristine white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, corded muscle and a faint scar across his left wrist. He held a small paper bag from the bakery down the street—the one that made Amelia’s favorite apple turnovers.
“You’re awake,” Vincent noted, his voice losing its usual icy edge as he walked toward the bed.
“Mr. Castellano,” Amelia murmured, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment at lying in a hospital bed looking like she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion. “I’m... I’m so sorry about the diner. The mess, the broken coffee pot... I’ll pay for the glass out of my next three paychecks—”
Vincent raised a single hand, stopping her mid-sentence. He pulled the chair closer to the mattress, sat down, and placed the bakery bag gently on the nightstand.
“The coffee pot cost twelve dollars, Amelia,” Vincent said quietly. “Your face is priceless. We aren't discussing inventory right now.”
Amelia looked down at her hands, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. For three years, she had lived in constant, quiet terror that her past would catch up to her—that Raymond Fletcher’s old partners would find her, or that some random brute like Derek Lawson would peel back the layers of her carefully constructed anonymity.
“He knew,” Amelia whispered, her voice trembling. “Derek... he called me a stubborn bitch before he hit me. He said I thought I was untouchable just because I worked for you.”
Vincent’s eyes darkened, the warmth vanishing from his expression instantly. “He was wrong about that. You aren't untouchable because you work for me. You’re untouchable because you belong to this community. And anyone who forgets that pays a price they cannot afford.”
Amelia looked up, meeting his steady, unwavering gaze. For the first time in three years, the cold knot in her stomach began to loosen.
May you like
“Will he come back?” she asked softly.
“Derek Lawson is currently driving south on Interstate 81,” Vincent replied calmly. “He has a bruised ego, a broken rib or two courtesy of my associates, and strict instructions never to cross the county line again. If he ever sets foot in my city, the fish in the Hudson River will have a new tenant by morning.”
