Chapter 2 - The Mask Comes Off
By 2:00 PM, Metro General Hospital’s West Wing had quietly transformed into an impenetrable fortress. To the nurses and staff, the dozen tall men in tailored charcoal suits standing quietly near the elevators looked like high-end private security guards hired by a wealthy executive. In reality, they were the most feared enforcers in the Midwest, armed with suppressed automatic weapons concealed beneath their jackets.
Inside the private room, I sat beside Emily’s bed, holding her cold, limp hand. Noah had been transferred to a specialized warming incubator. His condition had stabilized after receiving three rounds of pediatric IV fluids, but the doctors warned that the next twenty-four hours were critical for his brain development.
The heavy oak door swept open.
Dominic stepped into the room, carrying a long, black garment bag and a leather briefcase. His rugged, scarred face was grim as he set the items on the sofa.
"Report," I ordered without taking my eyes off Emily.
"Richard, Beatrice, and Marcus Vance were arrested three hours ago at your house," Dominic reported, pulling a stack of financial documents from his briefcase. "The police forensic unit found two empty vials of industrial chloral hydrate hidden inside the trash can in your master bathroom. They also found unwashed infant formula bottles contaminated with spoiled tap water and high concentrations of salt."
My hand tightened around Emily’s fingers. "They were feeding my son saltwater to accelerate his dehydration."
"It gets worse, Boss," Dominic said, his voice dripping with venom. "I had our intelligence guy, Leo, hack into Richard Vance’s private emails and offshore accounts. Richard owes four hundred thousand dollars to a loan shark operating out of the West Side—a scumbag named Frank 'The Hammer' Rossi. Rossi isn't one of ours; he's a rogue operator running illegal gambling dens in the Flats."
"Go on," I snapped.
"Rossi gave Richard a deadline: pay the four hundred grand by midnight tonight, or Rossi’s boys break Richard's legs and take his house. So Richard came up with a plan. He knew that Emily’s parents' two-million-dollar trust fund opened up the moment Noah was born. If Emily died of 'postpartum complications' and the baby died of 'sudden infant death syndrome,' the entire two million dollars would immediately revert to Richard Vance as the surviving legal head of the Vance estate."
"They didn't just neglect them," I murmured, a terrifyingly calm smile spreading across my face. "They executed a calculated, slow-motion assassination attempt inside my own home."
"Yes, Boss," Dominic said, opening the garment bag. "The police have them in Interrogation Room B at the 3rd Precinct right now. But Richard's lawyer—a slimeball named Harrison—is already there. He's claiming that Richard and Beatrice were simply 'overwhelmed caregivers' who didn't recognize the medical emergency, and that the chloral hydrate was a prescription Emily was taking herself. The police might not be able to make the attempted murder charges stick without a direct confession."
"The police operate under the law, Dominic," I said softly, standing up from my chair. "I do not."
I walked over to the garment bag and unzipped it. Inside was a hand-tailored, double-breasted midnight-blue suit made of Italian wool, complete with a silk tie and a pair of custom leather shoes. Tucked inside the inner holster pocket was my personal firearm—a custom blacked-out Kimber 1911 with an ivory grip bearing the Moretti family crest.
I stripped out of my plain, cheap driver's uniform—the dull grey slacks and faded polo shirt I had worn for four years to play the humble role of Vincent the chauffeur. I threw the clothes onto the floor and stepped into the bespoke suit. I buttoned the jacket, adjusted my cufflinks, and checked my reflection in the dark glass window.
The quiet, meek chauffeur was gone.
Standing in his place was Vincent Moretti—the shadow king of the city.
"Dominic," I said, leaning over to gently kiss Emily’s forehead, then placing my hand against the warm glass of Noah’s incubator. "Have Leo cut the power grid to the 3rd Precinct's security cameras for twenty minutes starting at 4:00 PM. Have our precinct contacts ensure Detective Miller takes an extended coffee break."
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Dominic smiled, a dark, wicked glint in his eyes. "And what about Frank Rossi? The loan shark who's been pressing Richard for the money?"
"Tell Marco to pick Rossi up from his gambling den in the Flats," I replied, walking toward the door. "Bring him to the underground holding facility at Pier 42. I want the loan shark and the parasites in the same room before sunset."
