Chapter 3 - The Gift of Life
Emma didn't hesitate.
She had seen her cousin have an allergic reaction at a park two years ago. She had watched her mother save her own life twice when accidental exposure happened. She knew what a person looked like when their throat closed up and their body ran out of air.
She reached into the front pocket of her pink rabbit backpack and pulled out the clear plastic case containing her single remaining epinephrine auto-injector.
She knelt down on the rug beside the towering man.
Adrian’s dark eyes locked onto hers—terrified, dying, helpless.
“Blue to the sky,” Emma whispered softly to herself, her small fingers uncapping the safety top. “Orange to the thigh.”
She slammed the auto-injector firmly against his outer leg, right through his wool suit trousers.
CLICK!
The spring-loaded needle drove three milligrams of epinephrine deep into his muscle tissue.
“One,” Emma counted out loud, holding it firm.
Adrian’s eyes opened wide, his body tensing in shock.
“Two.”
A surge of liquid adrenaline flooded straight into his bloodstream, instantly constricting his dilating blood vessels and relaxing the smooth muscles in his swollen lungs.
“Three.”
Emma pulled the empty plastic auto-injector away and sat back on her heels, hugging her backpack tightly to her chest.
For fifteen long, terrifying seconds, Adrian lay completely still.
Then, his chest heaved violently. A massive, ragged breath of cool air rushed back into his lungs with a loud, rasping gasp.
“HAHHH!”
Adrian rolled onto his front, coughing violently, his hands pressing into the carpet as air flooded back into his brain. His heart pounded with superhuman speed from the massive dose of adrenaline racing through his veins.
Emma stood up, backed away slowly into the marble hallway, and used her tiny voice to scream at the top of her lungs.
“Somebody help! The sad man is dying!”
Within ten seconds, heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Four broad-shouldered security guards armed with pistols burst into the study, led by Marcus, Adrian’s second-in-command.
“Boss!” Marcus yelled, dropping to his knees beside Adrian. “What happened?! Who attacked you?!”
Adrian raised a trembling hand, waving his guards back as he dragged himself up onto one elbow, gasping for breath.
“Poison...” Adrian choked out, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “The wine...”
Marcus looked at the shattered crystal glass on the floor, then looked down at the empty plastic epinephrine auto-injector lying in the middle of the dark red stain on the rug.
He picked up the small plastic casing, reading the printed prescription label on the side:
EpiPen Auto-Injector. Patient: Emma Carter. Dose: 0.15mg.
Marcus looked over his shoulder toward the doorway.
Little Emma was standing in the hall, clutching her stuffed rabbit, her mother Sophie rushing down the corridor behind her, crying out in terror as she saw armed guards surrounding the room.
“Emma! Oh my God, Emma!” Sophie screamed, dropping to her knees and gathering her daughter into her arms. “What did you do?! Are you okay?!”
Marcus walked over to the doorway, holding the empty plastic tube in his gloved hand. He looked at Sophie, then looked down at the little girl, his tough, hardened face completely pale with shock.
“Ms. Carter...” Marcus said, his voice trembling slightly. “Your daughter just saved Mr. Moretti’s life.”
Ten minutes later, the estate’s private physician, Dr. Evans, arrived in the study with an emergency medical kit.
Adrian sat in a leather armchair, an oxygen mask over his face, while the doctor checked his blood pressure and pulse.
“The epinephrine saved your life, Adrian,” Dr. Evans declared, looking over the lab test results from a quick blood draw. “Without that injection, your airway would have closed completely within sixty seconds. The toxin in that wine was a synthetic nerve derivative designed to cause fatal anaphylaxis.”
Adrian pulled the oxygen mask down to his chin, his dark eyes fixed on Marcus.
“Where is the child?” Adrian demanded, his voice low and raspy.
“She’s downstairs in your private living room with her mother, Boss,” Marcus replied. “My men have locked down the entire estate. Nobody enters or leaves.”
Adrian stood up slowly from his chair. His legs were still slightly unsteady from the adrenaline crash, but his posture was rigid, filled with an intense, terrifying focus.
“Bring them up,” Adrian ordered.
Five minutes later, Sophie and Emma were brought into the grand study.
Sophie was shaking so hard she could barely stand, holding Emma’s tiny hand tightly. She had no idea if her daughter was about to be punished or rewarded—in the world of powerful men like Adrian Moretti, unpredictable events often led to dangerous outcomes.
Adrian stepped away from his desk and walked across the room until he was standing directly in front of the four-year-old girl.
He slowly lowered his towering six-foot-two frame down onto one knee, bringing his dark eyes level with hers.
“You gave me your medicine,” Adrian said softly, his rough voice carrying a gentle tone no one in that house had heard in three years.
Emma nodded solemnly. “Because you were blue.”
“Do you know what that was?” Adrian asked, pointing to the empty plastic casing sitting on his desk.
“It’s my emergency medicine,” Emma explained in her small, sweet voice. “When my throat gets sick.”
Sophie stepped forward, her voice trembling with emotion. “Mr. Moretti... Emma has a severe, life-threatening allergen condition. That auto-injector was her only one. Her refill isn't until Friday because our insurance company wouldn't cover it early...”
Adrian went entirely rigid.
He looked at Sophie, then looked back down at the tiny girl standing before him.
This four-year-old child had possessed a single, lifesaving dose of medicine—the only thing standing between her and death if she had an allergic reaction over the next three days.
And she had willingly used it on a complete stranger lying on the floor.
“You gave me your last one,” Adrian whispered, his throat tightening with an emotion far more powerful than the poison.
Emma reached into her rabbit backpack, pulled out her stuffed rabbit Buttons, and held it out toward him.
“It’s okay,” Emma said innocently, offering him a sweet, comforting smile. “You can hold Buttons if you’re still scared.”
Adrian stared at the little girl.
In her dark, innocent eyes, he didn't see the feared mob boss of New York. He didn't see an empire, or guns, or millions of dollars.
He saw a grieving, sad man who needed help.
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And for the first time in three long, painful years since the day his wife and daughter were taken from him, tears welled up in Adrian Moretti’s dark eyes.
He reached out with a trembling, calloused hand, took the stuffed rabbit from her tiny fingers, and held it against his chest as tears silently streamed down his face.
