Chapter 1 - The Blood on the Mop HandleThe air in Room 412 of Lenox Hill Hospital tasted of ozone, copper, and sterile fear. Gabriel Moretti stood frozen for only a fraction of a second, his mind calculating variables with the lethal precision that had kept him alive atop New York’s underworld for over two decades.
"Elena Cruz," Gabriel repeated her name, letting it settle on his tongue. He looked down at the shattered wooden mop handle still gripped in her bloodstained hands. Her knuckles were raw, skin torn where she had driven the splintered edge against stone or tile to defend a child who wasn't even hers.
"Mr. Moretti!" Vincent Kane burst through the shattered doorway, his Glock raised, scanning the corners of the pediatric suite. Behind him, two armed enforcers swept the perimeter. Vincent’s eyes locked onto the unconscious medical equipment, the blood on the floor, and then onto Elena. "Boss, the stairwell on the east side is clear. We caught one of them trying to slip out through the laundry chutes. He’s secured."
Gabriel didn't look at Vincent. His dark, cold eyes remained fixed on Elena, who was swaying slightly on her feet, the adrenaline finally beginning to wear off, leaving her exposed to the shock of her injuries. A deep laceration above her eyebrow was weeping crimson into her eyelashes, staining her blue cleaning uniform dark at the shoulder.
"Get a doctor in here right now," Gabriel ordered, his voice a low, vibrating growl that commanded instant obedience. "Not a hospital resident. Get Dr. Harrison from the private wing. Now."
"I'm... I'm fine," Elena breathed, her voice cracking as she lowered the splintered wood. The moment the tension left her arms, her knees buckled.
Before she hit the hard linoleum, Gabriel moved. With a speed that defied his imposing frame, he caught her by the uninjured shoulder, pulling her weight against him. She smelled of industrial bleach, lemon cleaner, and metallic fresh blood. He lowered her gently into the visitor’s armchair beside Daniel’s bed.
"You're not fine," Gabriel said quietly, pulling a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressing it firmly against the cut above her eye. "You took a beating protecting my son. In my world, actions have weight. You just bought yourself a debt I never fail to pay."
Inside the bed, six-year-old Daniel stirred, letting out a weak, frightened whimper. The heart monitor beside him beeped in a slightly steadier rhythm, but the blue tint around his lips remained a terrifying reminder of how close they had come to the edge.
May you like
"Dad?" Daniel whispered, his tiny eyelids fluttering open. "Is that you?"
Gabriel dropped to his knees beside the hospital bed, his tough, scarred hands trembling ever so slightly as he brushed fine brown curls away from his son’s sweaty forehead. "I'm here, Danny. I'm right here. Nobody is ever touching you again. I swear it on my life."
Related Stories
