Chapter 4 - The False Savior at the Door
Before Luca could respond to my diagnosis, the private penthouse elevator chimed softly.
A single, melodious ding that echoed through the luxurious, high-ceilinged hallway like a funeral bell.
Luca’s head snapped toward the foyer, his hand instantly clearing his jacket and drawing a suppressed 9mm Sig Sauer with terrifyingly smooth muscle memory.
“Nobody visits at one in the morning,” Luca whispered, his eyes locked on the mahogany double doors.
“Except the people who want to finish what they started.”
“Hide your weapon,” I commanded quietly, securing Gabriel’s IV drip line to the metal pole.
“If they know we've discovered the truth about the second scar, shooting our way out won't work if Gabriel's heart gives out first.”
“What do we do?” Luca asked, his knuckles white around the grip of his pistol.
“Act like nothing has changed,” I said, walking swiftly out of the master bedroom and pulling the heavy door half-shut behind me.
“Play the panicked, overwhelmed nurse who is about to quit.”
The heavy foyer door buzzed, followed by the soft, polite rapping of knuckles against polished wood.
I took a deep, steadying breath, ruffled my dark hair slightly to look flustered, and walked across the marble-tiled entranceway.
I swung the door open.
Standing in the private elevator landing was a tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal designer suit, wire-rimmed glasses, and holding a sleek aluminum medical briefcase.
Dr. Adrian Vale.
His face was the picture of calm, professional concern, framed by neatly parted silver-streaked hair.
“Good evening,” Dr. Vale said smoothly, stepping forward with an easy, authoritative stride.
“I am Dr. Adrian Vale.”
“I received an automated alert from Mr. Moretti’s biometric monitoring system indicating a severe temperature spike.”
“I came as quickly as I could.”
He tried to step past me into the penthouse, but I planted my feet firmly on the threshold, blocking his entry.
“You’re trespassing, Doctor,” I said, my voice dripping with ice-cold disdain.
Dr. Vale paused, his polite smile faltering just a fraction of a millimeter as his sharp eyes assessed me.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.
“I am Gabriel Moretti’s attending physician of record for this recovery phase.”
“And who, may I ask, are you?”
“I’m the nurse who just found the second set of stitches on his lower back,” I replied, staring directly into his deceitful eyes.
The air in the hallway instantly plummeted to freezing.
Dr. Vale’s professional facade didn't crack completely, but the micro-twitch in his left eye betrayed him instantly.
“You must be delirious from the long shift, young lady,” Dr. Vale said, his voice dropping its warm veneer, turning sharp and clinical.
“There was only one surgical site from the gunshot wound.”
“Step aside before I have security remove you.”
“Security is already standing right behind me, Doctor,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the shadows of the hallway.
Luca Ferraro stepped out into the dim lighting, his suppressed pistol raised and leveled squarely at the center of Dr. Vale’s chest.
The doctor’s gaze flicked to the gun, then back to Luca, but remarkably, he didn't tremble.
“Luca,” Dr. Vale said smoothly, raising his empty hands in a placating gesture.
“Put that ridiculous weapon down before you make a catastrophic mistake.”
“Vincent sent you to finish the paralysis, didn’t he?” Luca growled, his finger tightening incrementally on the trigger.
“Vincent sent me to check on his beloved cousin's recovery,” Vale replied smoothly, taking a slow step forward.
“Gabriel is dying of a severe post-operative infection, Luca.”
“Let me administer the proper antibiotic injection from my case, and this all goes away quietly.”
“That injection isn't an antibiotic, it's a finishing dose of potassium chloride or neurotoxin,” I said, stepping closer to block his path entirely.
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“You didn't come to treat him.”
“You came to harvest a corpse.”
