Chapter 12 - The Poison in the Well
The realization hit the room like a shockwave.
Vincent walked over to Dr. Evans, his steps silent, his face completely devoid of expression. He took the syringe from the doctor’s gloved hand, holding it up to the emergency red light.
“Who prepared this tray?” Vincent asked. His voice wasn't loud. It was a flat, dead whisper that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Nurse Collins,” Dr. Evans stammered, his eyes wide with terror. “She… she’s been on my private surgical staff for six years, Mr. Moretti! I brought her from Northwestern! I swear to God, I didn't know—”
“Where is she?”
Sal stepped toward the adjoining bathroom, his weapon raised. He kicked the door open with a loud bang.
Empty.
“The service elevator in the back pantry,” Sal realized aloud. “It leads directly down to the underground garage!”
Vincent didn’t speak. He handed the lethal syringe to Sal, turned around, and walked out of the room at a dead sprint.
“Vincent!” I shouted, but he was already gone, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor like a wrathful phantom.
“Stay with the girl!” Sal yelled to Dr. Evans, clicking his radio on as he chased after Vincent. “Lock down the sub-level! Cut the garage hydraulic lifts! Do not let any vehicle leave the basement!”
I sat on the edge of Lily’s bed, my entire body shaking with a mix of fury and sickening terror. Lily was clinging to my shirt, her little fingers knotted into the fabric, her tears wetting my chest.
“Mama, I’m scared,” she whimpered, her voice tiny, fragile, barely audible over the distant thunder shaking the house. “The bad men made loud noises.”
“I know, my sweet angel,” I whispered, kissing her burning forehead, rocking her back and forth. “The bad men are gone. Your daddy is taking care of them. Nobody is going to touch you. I promise you, nobody is ever going to hurt you again.”
Downstairs, through the thick concrete floors, the muffled roar of an engine echoed, followed by the screech of burning rubber and a deafening crash of metal colliding with metal.
In the underground parking structure, Nurse Collins had sprinted to an unmarked black Audi sedan. She had tossed her medical coat into the passenger seat and slammed the ignition, throwing the car into reverse.
The garage’s heavy steel blast door was slowly descending, emergency sirens flashing yellow overhead. She slammed the gas pedal to the floor, aiming to clear the gap before the barrier sealed her in.
Suddenly, a massive black Escalade blindsided her from the side corridor.
The impact sounded like a bomb going off. The Audi was violently shoved sideways, its chassis crumpling against the reinforced concrete pillars of the garage. Glass shattered across the floor; the side airbags deployed with a loud *pop*, filling the cabin with white powder.
Nurse Collins, her face bloody from the impact, kicked her door open and scrambled out onto the wet concrete. She reached into her handbag for a snub-nosed revolver, her fingers slick with sweat.
A heavy boot stepped directly onto her wrist, pinning it to the floor.
The bone snapped with a sickening crunch.
The nurse screamed in agony, dropping the gun. She looked up through her tear-blurred vision into the face of Vincent Moretti.
Vincent looked down at her, his hazel eyes completely black in the dim garage light. He didn’t have his gun drawn. He didn't need it.
He leaned down, grabbed her by the front of her medical scrubs with one hand, and hoisted her off the floor, pinning her against the shattered hood of her car.
“You touched my daughter’s medicine,” Vincent whispered.
“Please!” she shrieked, clutching her broken wrist to her chest. “They have my son! Julian Rossi… he said if I didn't switch the vials, they would kill my seven-year-old boy! I had no choice!”
Vincent’s expression didn't change by a millimeter.
“Everyone has a choice,” Vincent said, his voice cold as a frozen grave. “Where is Julian taking Marco?”
The nurse gasped, spitting blood onto the concrete. “He… he isn't taking Marco! Marco was never locked in the vault! Julian killed the two guards outside the cellar twenty minutes ago! Marco is already gone!”
Vincent’s grip tightened until her feet dangled off the ground. “Where?”
“The airstrip!” she sobbed, completely broken. “The private airstrip in Waukegan! Nikolai Tarasov sent a private transport! They’re flying Marco to Montreal tonight! Once he leaves the country, the Russians are going to level this entire estate with heavy artillery! Please, that’s all I know! God, please don't kill me!”
Sal came jogging down the concrete ramp, his assault rifle ready, followed by three heavily armed Moretti enforcers.
“Boss!” Sal called out, taking in the scene. “She telling the truth?”
Vincent dropped the nurse to the floor. She collapsed into a sobbing, pathetic heap against her shattered tire.
“Sal,” Vincent said, turning his back on her. “Send a team to secure her son. Pull him out of whatever hole Julian’s men are holding him in. Put him in a safe house.”
Sal blinked, surprised by the mercy. “And the nurse, Boss?”
Vincent didn’t look back as he walked toward the heavy elevator.
“Turn her over to the police for the hit on the guards. Let her spend the rest of her life in a maximum-security cage, knowing she tried to murder a child.”
He stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the main floor. The doors slid shut, cutting off the sound of her weeping.
When the elevator opened into the grand foyer, I was standing there waiting for him. I had left Dr. Evans and two guards stationed inside Lily’s room, locking the blast shutters.
Vincent looked at me, his knuckles bloody, his chest streaked with grease and grime.
“Marco escaped,” I said, having heard the chatter over the guard’s radio.
“He’s at the Waukegan airstrip,” Vincent replied, walking toward the gun vault in his private study. “He’s meeting Nikolai Tarasov’s extraction team.”
“Vincent, you can't go after him,” I pleaded, rushing after him into the study. “The transplant! You heard Dr. Evans! Lily’s blood is being cleaned right now, but she needs your marrow at dawn! If you go to that airstrip, if you get shot, if you don't come back—”
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Vincent stopped in front of the open steel cabinet, pulling out a tactical vest and two fresh magazines. He turned around, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned the air between us.
“I’m not going to that airstrip to start a war, Claire,” he said fiercely. “I’m going to end it. Because as long as Marco Moretti draws breath on this earth, our daughter will never, ever be safe.”
