Chapter 8 - The Trap in Room 404
The blinking red light on the detonator cast an eerie, rhythmic pulse across the sterile white walls of Mateo’s hospital room.
Vincenzo didn’t drop his weapon. Instead, his posture shifted into that terrifying, absolute stillness I had first witnessed in the penthouse.
“You think a bomb in a hospital wing scares me?” Vincenzo’s voice was dangerously calm. “Marcone is bleeding out on the floor of my penthouse, and his empire is currently being dismantled block by block. If you press that button, you die with us, and for what? A dead boss?”
The operative hesitated, his finger trembling over the trigger of the detonator. He was a mercenary, not a fanatic. He hadn't expected Vincenzo Russo to call his bluff with such cold indifference.
“Don’t listen to him!” I cried out, keeping one hand wrapped tightly around Mateo’s cold fingers while using my other hand to adjust the failing emergency oxygen valve. “Mateo is suffocating! Please, just let us take him out of here!”
Vincenzo took half a step forward, his eyes locked onto the operative’s twitching thumb. “Drop the detonator, and I let you walk out of this hospital with your life. Take three seconds to think about whether Marcone is worth dying for.”
The operative’s eyes darted toward the hallway, calculating his chances. He looked at the gun in Vincenzo’s hand, then down at the blinking red light.
With a muttered curse, the man dropped the detonator onto the linoleum floor and raised his hands, backing slowly out of the room until Marco grabbed him from behind and slammed him against the wall, neutralizing him instantly.
“Get the portable backup tank from the supply cart!” Vincenzo ordered Marco, never taking his eyes off the doorway until Mateo’s new oxygen line was hooked up and his breathing visibly steadied.
As the rhythmic hiss of steady oxygen filled the room, the color slowly returned to Mateo’s cheeks. He looked up at me, confused and terrified by the men in suits standing around his bed.
“Lucia... who are these people?” Mateo whispered, his voice raspy.
“They’re friends, buddy,” I lied softly, stroking his dark hair. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”
Vincenzo stepped away from the bed, holstering his weapon, and looked down at me with an expression that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken confessions.
“He’s stable,” Vincenzo said quietly. “But we can’t keep him here. Marcone still has loyalists scattered across the city who will try to use him to get to us.”
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“Where can we go?” I asked, looking up from my brother’s bedside. “Every hospital in Chicago is tied to the syndicate.”
Vincenzo’s jaw tightened. “My estate in Lake Geneva. It’s isolated, heavily fortified, and completely off the grid. Pack whatever he needs. We leave in ten minutes.”
