Chapter 4 - The Threat of the Past
The emergency entrance of Northwestern Memorial Hospital was a hive of flashing red lights and white-coated doctors when we arrived.
Before the SUV had even come to a complete stop, the rear door was thrown open, and a team of four nurses and a senior resident in green scrubs rushed forward with a yellow gurney.
"We got the call from Dr. Sloan!" the resident shouted, his hands already moving to guide Adrian as he lifted me out of the vehicle. "Is she still contracting?"
"Yes," Adrian said, his voice raw as he laid me onto the gurney. "They're coming every ninety seconds now. She says she feels pressure."
"We need to get her to Labor and Delivery on the tenth floor immediately!" the resident ordered, his team turning the gurney and pushing it through the automatic sliding doors into the warm, bright lobby of the hospital.
Adrian ran beside me, his hand locked in mine, his long coat flapping behind him like a cape. But as we reached the secure elevators that led to the maternity ward, three men in dark suits stepped out of the shadow of the security desk.
They weren't hospital security.
I recognized the lead man—a tall, pale Russian named Viktor who worked for the Voronin syndicate, the family that had been trying to muscled Adrian out of the Chicago docks for the last two years.
"Moretti," Viktor said, his voice carrying a thick, mocking accent. "What a surprise to see you here. We heard your little bird had flown the nest, but it seems she flew right back into your cage."
Adrian stopped.
The change in him was instantaneous. The frantic, terrified father vanished, replaced by the cold, ruthless underboss of the Moretti family. He let go of my hand, stepping in front of the gurney, his body completely blocking Viktor’s view of my stomach.
Behind him, Marcus and Leo drew their weapons, the quiet click of their safety locks echoing in the sterile hallway. The hospital security guards behind the desk instantly dropped to the floor, reaching for their phones to call the police.
"Viktor," Adrian said, his voice dropping to a level that was almost a growl. "You have exactly three seconds to get out of my way."
"We just want to talk, Adrian," Viktor said, his fingers twitching near his pocket. "Our bosses in Moscow think it’s time we settled our little dispute over the shipping lanes. And what better place to negotiate than a nice, quiet hospital?"
"If you or any of your men take another step toward my wife," Adrian said, his hand slowly reaching inside his cashmere coat, "I will paint this lobby with your blood. I don't care about the docks, Viktor. I don't care about the shipping lanes. If you get in the way of my daughter's birth, I will hunt down every single person who shares your name and erase them from this city."
The intensity in Adrian’s voice was so pure, so terrifyingly absolute, that Viktor actually stepped back. He looked at the two armed bodyguards behind Adrian, then at the security cameras in the ceiling, and finally at the cold, black promise in Adrian’s eyes.
He knew Adrian wasn't bluffing. A man who had nothing to lose was dangerous, but a man who had everything to protect was a monster.
"We will talk later, Moretti," Viktor said, raising his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender as he and his men backed toward the sliding exit doors.
"Marcus," Adrian commanded, his eyes never leaving the glass doors as the Russians disappeared into the gray Chicago afternoon. "Stay here. If you see them again, kill them. Don't ask questions. Just clear the lobby."
"Yes, Boss," Marcus said.
Adrian turned back to the gurney, his face softening instantly as he grabbed my hand again. "I’m sorry, Clara. I’m so sorry."
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"Just get me to the room, Adrian," I sobbed, another contraction seizing my abdomen, making my head thrash against the pillow. "Please. I can't do this here."
The nurses pushed the gurney into the secure elevator, the door closing on the chaos of the lobby, leaving us in a silent, rapid ascent toward the tenth floor where our daughter was waiting.
