Chapter 4 - The Best Doctors & The Worst Enemies
By noon, St. Catherine’s Children’s Hospital looked less like a medical facility and more like a fortified federal installation.
Dante’s private security detail had taken over the stairwells, the service elevators, and the entire perimeter of the building. Inside Room 417, Dr. Vance from Johns Hopkins—who had arrived via private chopper two hours earlier—confirmed the best possible news: Leo’s fever had finally broken, and the bacterial counts in his spinal fluid were dropping.
“He’s stable,” Dr. Vance announced, wiping his brow as he clicked his pen shut. “The antibiotics are holding. If he continues like this for another twenty-four hours, we can move him out of intensive care.”
I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for three days. My knees buckled slightly, but a pair of strong, steady arms caught me before I hit the floor.
Dante pulled me gently against his chest. For a second—just one foolish, exhausted second—I allowed myself to lean into him, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar, sharp cologne, and cold rain.
“See?” Dante murmured into my hair, his voice vibrating against my cheek. “He’s a fighter. He gets that from his mother.”
I pulled away gently, stepping out of his embrace before the warmth could trick me into forgetting the last two years. “He gets his stubbornness from you, Dante.”
Before Dante could reply, his secure satellite phone buzzed sharply in his breast pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the encrypted caller ID, and pressed accept.
“Report,” Dante commanded.
I watched his face as he listened. The hard lines of his jaw deepened, and his eyes turned into chips of black ice.
“Where is he?” Dante asked, his voice dropping an octave. “...Good. Keep him contained. I’m on my way.”
He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket. He looked at me, his expression unreadable.
“They found Marcus Vance,” Dante said quietly.
“Where?”
“Boarding a private corporate jet at O’Hare bound for Zurich,” Dante replied, buttoning his suit jacket. “He figured out we traced the Zurich accounts. He’s running.”
“You’re going after him,” I stated. It wasn't a question.
“I have to,” Dante said, stepping closer to me, his dark gaze locking onto mine with absolute intensity. “Not just for what he did to me, or what he stole from my company. But because he tried to destroy my family. No one touches what is mine and walks away.”
“Dante, wait,” I said, reaching out to touch his sleeve. “Be careful. If he’s running, he’s desperate. Desperate men do stupid things.”
Dante looked down at my hand resting on his arm. A flicker of something impossibly tender crossed his harsh features. He reached up, covering my hand with his own large, warm palm, his thumb gently stroking my knuckles.
“I always come back, Elena,” he promised. “Watch Leo. I’ll be back before he wakes up.”
With that, Dante turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his long coat billowing behind him like the cloak of a modern-day executioner.
Through the glass wall, I watched him march down the corridor, flanked by Calo and two tactical enforcers, disappearing into the private elevator bank.
May you like
I turned back to the hospital bed. Leo was sleeping peacefully now, his breathing deep and regular, the angry flush fading from his cheeks. I pulled a chair close to the mattress, took his tiny, cool hand in mine, and whispered a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
We were safe. For now.
