Chapter 2 - The Serpent’s MaskRoman stepped out of the consultation room first, his expression completely smooth, his posture relaxed, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets.
To anyone watching, he looked like a tired father who had just received another routine, depressing medical explanation.
Vittorio was pacing near the nurses' station, his phone pressed against his ear. He hung up immediately as Roman stepped into the hall.
“What was that about?” Vittorio asked, his eyes darting between Roman and Elena, who followed a few paces behind carrying a stack of blank charts.
“She was explaining the fluid numbers,” Roman said smoothly, walking over to the glass partition of the primary incubator room. He placed his hand against the glass, looking at the decoy infant inside. “She says the baby’s kidneys are failing now. Sloan was right. It’s over, Vittorio.”
Vittorio’s shoulders visibly dropped half an inch. A tiny, almost imperceptible breath of relief escaped his lips before he quickly arranged his face back into a mask of solemn grief.
“I’m sorry, Roman,” Vittorio said, stepping closer and resting a comforting hand on Roman’s back. “God knows I prayed for a miracle. But at least... at least he won't suffer much longer. I talked to Sloan. He said we should consider pulling the respiratory support tonight. Let him go peacefully.”
Roman felt the skin on his back crawl where Vittorio’s hand touched him. It took every ounce of his legendary iron willpower not to turn around and tear his cousin’s throat out with his bare hands right there in the middle of the hallway.
“Tonight,” Roman repeated softly. “Yes. You’re right, cousin. We shouldn't let him suffer. Go down to the garage. Get the car ready. I want to clear the side entrance so we can leave quietly when Dr. Sloan finishes the paperwork.”
Vittorio hesitated. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No,” Roman said, turning to look Vittorio straight in the eyes with a warm, bitter smile. “You’ve done enough, Vittorio. You’ve been... remarkably thorough. Go down to the car. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes.”
Vittorio smiled back—a cousin’s affectionate smile—and nodded. “I’ll be in the SUV downstairs.”
Vittorio turned and walked down the hallway toward the elevator bank, his heels clicking rhythmically on the floor.
The moment the elevator doors slid shut behind Vittorio, Roman turned to his chief security guard, Marco—a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his ear to his jaw, who had stood guard at the end of the hall.
“Marco,” Roman said in a low, fierce tone.
Marco stepped forward instantly. “Boss?”
“Vittorio is a traitor,” Roman whispered cold. “He staged the swap. My real son is alive in the basement isolation wing.”
Marco’s eyes widened in horror. “Mother of God... Marco, what do you need?”
“Take three men,” Roman ordered, his voice sharp as a surgical blade. “Follow Vittorio to the garage. Do not let him leave the perimeter. Do not let him draw a weapon. Disable his vehicle, cut his phone comms, and hold him in the subterranean loading bay. If he resists, shoot his legs.”
“Understood, Don Roman,” Marco said without a single second of hesitation. He gestured to two armed men standing by the stairwell, and the three men disappeared down the emergency exits.
Roman turned back to Elena.
“Where is Sloan?” Roman asked.
“His office is on the second floor, adjacent to the administrative suites,” Elena replied, pulling a master keycard from her pocket. “He keeps the physical access logs locked in his private safe.”
“Show me,” Roman said.
They moved quickly, avoiding the main elevators and taking the service stairs down to the second floor. The corridor was dark, illuminated only by emergency exit signs, as the administrative offices were closed for the night.
Outside Dr. Adrian Sloan’s corner office, a light flickered beneath the frosted glass door.
Roman didn't knock. He didn't turn the handle. He simply raised his heavy Italian leather boot and kicked the door right beside the lock mechanism.
BANG!
The wooden frame splintered instantly, the door flying open and slamming against the wall.
Dr. Sloan spun around behind his mahogany desk, a stack of paper medical files dropping from his hands, scattering across the carpet. His face went white as paper.
“Mr. Bolaro!” Sloan stammered, backing away until his chair hit the window frame. “What is the meaning of this?! This is an administrative—!”
Roman crossed the room in two long strides, grabbed Sloan by the lapels of his expensive white lab coat, and slammed him against the glass window so hard the pane rattled in its aluminum frame.
“Where is my son, Adrian?” Roman growled, his voice vibrating with lethal violence.
“He... he’s upstairs! In the incubator!” Sloan gasped, his hands clawing uselessly at Roman’s iron grip around his throat. “Mr. Bolaro, please! You’re under immense stress—!”
Roman drew a silenced 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster, pressing the cold steel barrel directly beneath Sloan’s chin, forcing the doctor’s head backward against the glass.
“Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic excuse for a man,” Roman whispered, his dark eyes burning into Sloan’s soul. “Nurse Cross found him. I know about the basement. I know about the footprint. I know about the deleted logs. If you lie to me again in the next three seconds, I will blow your jaw through that window and go get my child myself.”
Sloan’s knees buckled. Tears of terror spilled down his cheeks, wetting the barrel of the gun.
“It... it was Vittorio!” Sloan sobbed, completely breaking down. “I owed twelve million in gambling debts to the Moretti syndicate! Vittorio bought the debt! He said if I didn't help him swap the baby, he’d kill my daughters! I didn't harm the child! I swear to God, I kept him alive downstairs! I gave him nutrients! I just needed the decoy baby to die so Vittorio could claim the estate!”
Elena stepped into the room, her voice sharp and urgent. “Who is the decoy baby, Sloan?”
Sloan gulped, shaking violently. “An... an abandoned preemie from the county hospital... born with severe genetic organ failure... he was going to die anyway... I’m sorry... Oh God, I’m sorry!”
Roman stared at the weeping doctor with pure disgust. He didn't pull the trigger. Death was too quick, too clean for what this man had helped execute.
Roman jammed the butt of the heavy pistol across Sloan’s temple. The doctor groaned and collapsed onto the carpet, unconscious.
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Roman turned to Elena, tossing his gun to his left hand.
“Lead the way to my son,” Roman said.
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