Chapter 4 - The Traitor’s ReckoningThe subterranean parking garage beneath St. Andrews Medical Center was a vast expanse of concrete pillars, damp pipes, and cold shadows.
A single black SUV sat idling in the center bay, its exhaust pipe puffing white clouds of vapor into the chilled air.
Vittorio Bolaro stood near the driver’s side door, pacing nervously, checking his heavy gold watch every ten seconds. His phone was jammed against his ear.
“Pick up, Sloan, damn you!” Vittorio muttered angrily under his breath. “Where are you?”
“He isn't coming, Vittorio.”
The voice echoed through the concrete garage like a gunshot.
Vittorio spun around, his hand instinctively reaching inside his suit jacket for his revolver.
From behind a concrete pillar twenty yards away stepped Roman Bolaro.
He didn't have his gun drawn. In his arms, held securely against his chest, was the blue transport pod containing his living son. Beside him stood Nurse Elena Cross, holding a emergency medical bag.
And behind Vittorio, stepping out from the shadows of the loading docks, were Marco and six heavily armed Bolaro enforcers, their assault rifles raised, pointing directly at Vittorio’s head.
Vittorio froze, his hand stopping midway inside his jacket. His face turned the color of ashes.
“Roman...” Vittorio stammered, his voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming terror. “What... what is this? Who is that in the pod?”
“You know who it is, cousin,” Roman said, walking slowly toward him, his boots thudding rhythmically on the concrete. “This is Nico Bolaro. The boy you had stolen from his mother’s dying body. The boy you hid in a dusty closet while you fed me lies for nineteen days.”
Vittorio backed away until his shoulders hit the side of his SUV. “Roman... listen to me! It wasn't my idea! It was the Moretti family! They threatened to take the entire territory if I didn't eliminate your heir—!”
“Shut your mouth!” Roman roared, his voice shaking the concrete pillars. “Do not speak my son’s name with your filthy tongue!”
Roman stopped five feet away. He handed the transport pod gently to Elena, who stepped behind the cover of a concrete support beam, shielding the baby with her own body.
Roman pulled his pistol from his holster.
Vittorio dropped to his knees on the cold concrete, throwing his hands into the air, weeping frantically. “Roman! We’re blood! We grew up together in the West Side! Your father was like a father to me! Please... for the sake of the family—!”
“Family?” Roman whispered, stepping right up to his cousin, staring down at him with dark, pitiless eyes. “Lucia loved you like a brother. She made you Nico’s godfather at our dinner table six months ago. And you planted a bomb under her seat, swapped her baby, and watched me starve beside a fake glass cage.”
“Roman... please...” Vittorio begged, clutching at Roman’s trousers.
“You aren't family, Vittorio,” Roman said quietly, his voice dropping into absolute silence. “You are just a disease I forgot to cure.”
BANG.
A single gunshot echoed through the cavernous garage, cutting off Vittorio’s pleas forever.
Vittorio collapsed onto the cold concrete floor, motionless.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Roman stood over his cousin’s body for three long seconds, his breathing heavy, his gun smoke curling into the chilled garage air. He slowly lowered the weapon, slid it back into his shoulder holster, and turned his back on the body without a second glance.
He walked over to Elena, stepping behind the concrete pillar.
He looked down into the clear plastic dome of the transport pod. Little Nico was sound asleep, undisturbed by the sound of the shot, his tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful, steady rhythm.
Roman looked up at Elena.
The cold, ruthless Don who had executed his traitorous cousin vanished, replaced by a father whose eyes were filled with profound relief and deep, quiet respect.
“Is he okay?” Roman asked softly.
“His vitals didn't even flicker,” Elena said, a soft, tired smile breaking across her face. “He’s a fighter, Roman. Just like his father.”
Roman reached out, placing his large hand gently on Elena’s shoulder.
“The SUV at the end of the bay belongs to my personal security detail,” Roman said softly. “My men will escort you home, Nurse Cross. I will ensure Dr. Sloan is turned over to federal authorities with enough evidence to put him away for forty years. You saved my life tonight. You saved my son’s life. You will never have to worry about anything in this city ever again.”
Elena looked at the baby in the pod, then up at Roman.
“I’m not going home, Mr. Bolaro,” Elena said firmly.
Roman raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nico needs a primary neonatal nurse for the next forty-eight hours of his transfer,” Elena said, picking up her medical bag with steady hands. “His lung capacity needs hourly monitoring, and his nutrition intake must be managed carefully. I’m coming with you to Lake Forest.”
Roman stared at her in utter astonishment.
For nineteen days, he had seen doctors, lawyers, and hardened mobsters cower in his presence. Yet this twenty-nine-year-old nurse had stood up to him, defied his enemies, exposed a conspiracy, and was now calmly telling him she was moving into his fortified estate to care for his son.
May you like
A small, genuine smile—the first real smile Roman had felt in months—touched his lips.
“Then let’s go home, Nurse Cross,” Roman said gently.
