Chapter 3 - The Breach of Room 402 and the Shocking Reunion
The service elevator shaft echoed with the metallic clanking of old cables as we descended into the bowels of Ashwood Nursing Home.
There were four of us now: Andrew, Marcus holding a heavy tactical shotgun, Julian scanning the corners with a suppressed pistol, and me riding piggyback on Andrew’s broad back, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
The air down here smelled like antiseptic, old bleach, and damp concrete.
It didn't feel like a place where sick people came to heal.
It felt like a cage.
“Fourth floor,” Marcus whispered, tapping the control panel with the barrel of his gun.
The rusty doors slid open with a screech that sounded like metal tearing flesh.
We stepped out into a dimly lit hallway lined with identical white doors.
Every single door had a heavy steel padlock bolted from the outside.
“This isn't a nursing home,” Julian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he checked room numbers.
“It’s a black site. Sterling has been using this wing to stash political prisoners and rivals for years.”
“Keep moving,” Andrew ordered quietly, his footsteps making no sound on the linoleum floor.
“Room 402 is at the very end of the hall.”
As we rounded the final corner, two guards in gray suits stepped out from an alcove, holding heavy riot batons.
They didn't even have time to raise their weapons.
Marcus moved like a freight train crashing through brier bushes, slamming his shoulder into the first guard and sending him flying against the drywall with a sickening crunch.
Julian swept the legs out from under the second guard, pressing his boot heel directly into the man’s throat until his eyes rolled back in submission.
“Clear,” Julian hissed.
Andrew didn't slow down.
He reached room 402 and stared at the heavy iron padlock hanging from the hasp.
Without a word, Andrew pulled a heavy tactical combat knife from his belt, jammed the tip into the locking mechanism, and twisted with a surge of raw, terrifying muscle.
SNAP.
The iron shackle shattered like dry glass.
Andrew shoved the door open and stepped inside the pitch-black room.
I held my breath, burying my face against his shoulder.
The room smelled terribly—like sour sweat, expired medicine, and despair.
A single faint ray of moonlight filtered through the barred window, illuminating a narrow metal cot in the corner.
On the cot lay a figure so thin and frail he looked like a skeleton draped in gray hospital rags.
A white beard covered most of his hollow cheeks, and his chest barely rose and fell.
Andrew dropped to his knees by the bedside, his breath catching in his throat.
“Daniel?” Andrew choked out, his massive hands trembling as he reached out to touch the emaciated shoulder.
The figure on the bed stirred slowly.
A pair of tired, haunted eyes fluttered open.
They were the exact same piercing, ice-blue color as Andrew’s.
The old man stared up at the towering Mafia Boss, blinking through decades of darkness and pain.
“Andy…?” a raspy, dry voice croaked out like dry leaves scraping across pavement.
“Is that… is that you, or am I finally dying?”
Andrew buried his face in his brother’s skeletal hands, his broad shoulders shaking with silent, agonizing sobs.
“It’s me, little brother,” Andrew wept, pressing Daniel’s knuckles against his forehead.
“I’m here. You’re safe. I swear to God, nobody will ever touch you again.”
Daniel managed a weak, heartbreaking smile, his thumb weakly brushing against Andrew’s cheek.
“You’re late… took you nine years… brother.”
“I know,” Andrew whispered fiercely, lifting Daniel effortlessly into his arms like he weighed no more than a feather.
“But I brought someone with me. Look, Daniel.”
Andrew turned slightly so Daniel could see me sitting on the floor nearby.
“This is Ivy,” Andrew said softly.
“And her mommy is the one who saved your life.”
Daniel looked at me, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Thank you, little angel,” Daniel whispered.
“Where is… where is she now?”
Before anyone could answer, a loud, blaring alarm shrieked through the entire building.
Red emergency strobe lights flashed to life overhead, painting the sterile hallway in bleeding crimson.
Over the loudspeaker, a cold, metallic voice echoed:
“Intruder alert on floor four. Secure the VIP suite immediately. Protect the bride at all costs.”
Andrew’s head snapped toward the doorway, his grief instantly morphing back into the cold, merciless wrath of the Brooklyn underworld.
“Sterling,” Andrew snarled, laying Daniel gently back down on the cot behind Marcus’s protective shield.
May you like
“He’s moving your mother to the penthouse for the ceremony,” Andrew told me, his eyes burning with absolute fury.
“Stay here with Daniel and Marcus. Julian and I are going to crash a wedding.”
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