Chapter 2 - The Hospital Protocol
Dominic stood up from the pavement, his charcoal coat catching the freezing wind coming off the river. His eyes were no longer those of a man who had just survived a court trial; they were the eyes of a wolf whose territory had been invaded by snakes.
"Leo," Dominic called out.
Leo hurried down the steps, his weapon drawn, keeping his body positioned between Dominic, the girl, and the street. "Bomb squad is three minutes out, boss. We need to move. The marshals are going to secure the whole block."
"Get the SUV out of here—have the bomb squad disarm it on-site," Dominic ordered crisply. "Take Victor to the warehouse on 14th Street. Don't touch him until I get there. Just keep him breathing."
"Where are you going, boss?"
Dominic looked down at Sophia, who was clutching his coat sleeve as if it were an anchor in a hurricane. "I'm going to Cook County Hospital. And I want twenty of our best men on the ICU floor within ten minutes. If a single nurse so much as looks at this child's mother without my permission, break their legs."
"Understood," Leo grunted, pulling out his encrypted phone to make the calls.
Dominic picked Sophia up in his arms. She was shockingly light, like a bird made of twigs and paper. She buried her face into his neck, shivering violently, exhausted from the sheer terror of what she had accomplished on the courthouse steps.
"It's okay, Sophia," Dominic murmured as his secondary vehicle—a bulletproof black Cadillac—pulled up to the curb with its tires screaming. "Nobody hurts your mother. Not while I'm breathing."
Ten minutes later, the three-vehicle convoy tore through the emergency lane of Cook County Hospital.
The hospital was a massive, sprawling brick complex that smelled of floor wax, bleach, and old suffering. Dominic moved through the lobby like an invading general. Four heavily armed men in dark suits walked ahead of him, clearing the hallway, while four more covered the rear.
Nurses looked up in shock, and a hospital security guard stepped forward to intercept them.
"Sir, you can't bring private security into the—"
Leo stepped up, flashed a badge that carried far more authority than any municipal permit, and gently pushed the guard back against the wall. "Federal business. Stand down if you like your job."
They reached the fourth-floor Intensive Care Unit. Room 412.
Dominic pushed the door open.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the rhythmic green pulses of heart monitors and intravenous pump displays. Lying in the bed was a young woman, no older than twenty-eight, her face pale as linen, a breathing tube taped to her mouth. Her hair was dark, damp with cold sweat, spreading across the white pillow like silk thread.
A heart monitor beeped steadily: 72 beats per minute.
Dominic walked to the side of the bed, holding Sophia in his left arm. The little girl reached out a tiny hand and laid it on her mother's cheek.
"Mommy," Sophia whispered. "I found him. I told him about the tape."
Dominic looked at the medical chart hanging at the foot of the bed. Patient: Claire Miller. Age: 28. Diagnosis: Severe toxin-induced liver failure / Acute chemical encephalopathy.
Dominic frowned. He read down the line of doctor's notes.
Admitted 48 hours ago following sudden collapse at work. Toxicology screen pending.
"She works for Hale & Associates," a quiet voice spoke from the corner of the room.
Dominic turned his head instantly.
Sitting in the vinyl visitor chair was a middle-aged woman in a nurse's uniform, her hands folded in her lap. She didn't look frightened by Dominic's armed guards. She looked tired.
"Who are you?" Dominic demanded.
"I'm Dr. Sarah Chen," she said, standing up. "I'm the head of the ICU. And I'm the one who gave Sophia her visitor badge and let her leave the hospital an hour ago."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "You sent an eight-year-old child onto the streets of Chicago alone?"
"I didn't send her to the street," Dr. Chen said, her voice filled with quiet rage. "I told her to run to the police station across the park because two hours ago, a man wearing an expensive suit walked into this room, presented a legal power-of-attorney document signed by Victor Hale, and demanded we convert Claire to a palliative comfort care protocol."
"Meaning what?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
"Meaning turning off her life support," Dr. Chen said flatly. "He claimed her family had no funds, that her insurance had been canceled yesterday, and that the firm was her sole guarantor. When I refused to pull the plug without a court order, he told me that if I didn't comply by noon, the hospital's research funding from the Hale Foundation would be pulled."
Dominic looked from the doctor to the dying woman on the bed, and then to the small girl clinging to his coat.
The pieces were falling into place with terrifying clarity.
Claire Miller wasn't just a victim of circumstance. She was Victor Hale’s legal secretary. She had seen something she wasn't supposed to see—likely the wire transfers, the hit contracts, or the communications between Victor and the rival crime families trying to eliminate Dominic Moretti.
Victor hadn't just tried to blow Dominic up today. He had poisoned his own secretary to cover his tracks, and when she didn't die fast enough in the ICU, he had sent a hit squad—and threatened a little girl—to finish the job.
Dominic reached into his jacket, pulled out his personal phone, and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years.
"Dr. Aris," Dominic said when the line connected. "This is Dominic Moretti."
"Dominic," a cultured, elder voice replied over the speaker. "It has been a long time. Are you calling for legal advice?"
"I need the entire pediatric toxicological team from Northwestern Memorial transferred to Cook County ICU within twenty minutes," Dominic said. "I want the best liver specialist in North America standing in Room 412 before the hour is out. I don't care if you have to charter a jet from Johns Hopkins."
"That will cost upwards of half a million dollars, Dominic," Dr. Aris noted quietly.
May you like
Dominic looked at Sophia, whose tear-stained face was buried against her mother's arm.
"Transfer a million to the Northwestern research fund," Dominic ordered. "Tell them if Claire Miller dies, I'm burning down every medical board in the state."
