Chapter 3 - THE AMBUSH
We rushed out of the breakroom, following two sprinting hospital security guards down the concrete stairwell leading into Sector 4.
The air inside the underground parking garage was cold, damp, and thick with the smell of gasoline and burning rubber. The fluorescent overhead lights flickered erratically, casting long, sinister shadows across the concrete pillars.
When we reached Sector 4, my breath caught in my throat.
Evelyn’s silver sedan sat in the middle of the aisle. Every window had been shattered into thousands of glistening fragments. The tires were slashed, and painted across the driver-side doors in thick, crimson red paint were three words:
YOU DIE NEXT.
Standing beside the wrecked vehicle was a lone figure wearing a long black leather trench coat. He was leaning casually against a concrete pillar, tossing an iron crowbar from hand to hand.
It wasn't Dante.
It was Marco "The Reaper" Moretti—Vincent Romano’s chief lieutenant, a notorious underworld fixer whose name was whispered with terror across the South End of Boston.
The two hospital security guards drew their tasers, their hands trembling violently. "Sir! Drop the weapon! Put your hands on your head!"
Marco didn't even look at the guards. He slowly turned his head toward Evelyn, a slow, terrifying smile spreading across his scarred face. He dropped the crowbar onto the concrete with a loud, ringing CLANG.
"Dr. Evelyn Carter," Marco said, his voice sounding like gravel grinding in a blender. "Don Romano sends his regards."
Evelyn stepped past the security guards, stopping ten feet away from the hitman. She didn't look at her destroyed car; she kept her eyes locked on Marco's face.
"Tell Vincent Romano that if he wants to communicate with me, he can do it through the State Prosecutor," Evelyn said coldly. "And tell his pathetic son that his stitches need to come out in seven days, though I suggest he finds a vet to do it."
Marco let out a low, terrifying chuckle. "You got mouth, lady. I'll give you that. Little Dante was crying to his father about how a weak hospital girl embarrassed him in front of his crew. Don Romano doesn't like his son looking weak."
Marco pulled a thick black envelope from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the hood of Evelyn’s ruined car.
"That's a formal invitation," Marco stated flatly. "Tomorrow night at 9:00 PM. The Romano Estate in Milton. Don Romano wants to have dinner with you. Just a quiet conversation between civilized people."
"And if I refuse?" Evelyn asked.
Marco leaned closer, his dark eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits.
"If you refuse, doctor... the next time an ambulance brings a patient into your ER, it won't be a stranger," Marco whispered, glancing menacingly toward me and Dr. Vance. "It'll be your friend Claire. Or your chief Vance. Or that little fourteen-year-old boy you worked so hard to save tonight. Don Romano has a very long reach."
My blood ran ice-cold. I looked at Evelyn, terrified.
Evelyn stared at Marco for three agonizing seconds. Then, she walked forward, picked up the black envelope from the hood of her car, and slid it into her purse.
"Tell Vincent Romano I'll be there," Evelyn said, her voice steady as iron. "And tell him to prepare an extra plate."
Marco grinned, tipping his hat in a sarcastic bow, before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the lower parking levels.
Dr. Vance collapsed against a pillar, clutching his chest. "Evelyn... you can't go to his estate! It’s a trap! Nobody goes into the Romano Estate and comes out alive unless Vincent allows it!"
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Evelyn turned to me, her green eyes burning with an intense, unyielding light.
"Call my legal contact, Claire," Evelyn whispered softly so Vance couldn't hear. "Tell him to initiate Phase Two. It's time to show the Romano family who they are really dealing with."
