Chapter 7 - The Race Against Time
The midnight air of Chicago was biting as Vincenzo’s town car tore through the empty Loop streets, running red lights with impunity. Marco sat in the passenger seat, his wounded shoulder bandaged crudely, holding a tactical radio as he coordinated the remaining Russo loyalists across the city.
“The hospital perimeter is locked down by Marcone’s cleanup crew,” Marco reported, his voice tight with pain. “They’ve taken over the 4th-floor respiratory ward where Mateo is staying.”
Vincenzo gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. He glanced sideways at me, seeing my silent tears streaming down my face.
“Listen to me, Lucia,” Vincenzo said, his voice unusually gentle amidst the chaos. “Your brother is alive. Marcone’s men are desperate; they use threats because they lack power. We will get him out.”
“If anything happens to him—” I choked out, unable to finish the sentence.
“Nothing will happen to him,” Vincenzo swore, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I built this empire to protect what was mine. I will burn Chicago to the ground before I let anyone touch your family.”
When the black town car screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay of Northwestern Hospital, the doors flew open. Two of Vincenzo’s elite enforcers were already waiting, having secured the service entrance.
“Status?” Vincenzo demanded as we jogged through the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors.
“Floor is compromised,” the enforcer replied, handing Vincenzo a suppressed pistol. “Two guards at the elevator, three more inside the hallway leading to Mateo’s room. They cut the primary oxygen line; he’s on emergency tank backup, but it won’t last ten minutes.”
Panic threatened to swallow me whole. I wanted to run ahead, but Vincenzo grabbed my shoulder, pulling me behind him as he stepped around the corner.
The brief firefight was over almost before it began. Two silenced pops echoed down the linoleum hallway, and Marcone’s guards crumpled silently to the floor.
Vincenzo kicked open the door to Mateo’s hospital room.
My brother lay pale and breathless in the hospital bed, the emergency oxygen tank hissing weakly, its gauge hovering dangerously close to empty.
I rushed to his side, grabbing his cold hand. “Mateo! Mateo, can you hear me?”
Mateo’s eyes fluttered open, a weak cough rattling his chest. “Lucia...? What’s happening...?”
Before I could answer, a cold voice spoke from the doorway behind us.
May you like
We turned to see a masked operative standing in the frame, holding a detonator with a blinking red light, blocking the only exit out of the room.
“Drop the gun, Russo,” the operative sneered. “Or I press this button and the entire wing goes up in smoke.”
