Chapter 8 - The Price of BloodAdrian did not shout.
That was how I knew Vittorio had truly wounded him.
With street enemies, Adrian’s anger had edges. With traitors, it had ice. But with his father’s voice coming through that phone while I lay bleeding and our newborn daughter fought for stability in the NICU, Adrian became perfectly still.
A son becoming a wall.
“You have ten seconds,” Adrian said, “to give Dr. Sloan what she needs.”
Vittorio laughed softly. “Still pretending power is volume? I taught you better.”
“You taught me many things I had to unlearn.”
“And yet you kept the name.”
Adrian looked at me.
There was shame in his eyes, but not surrender.
“Yes,” he said. “Long enough to end what you built.”
“My granddaughter belongs to the Moretti line.”
“She belongs to her mother.”
“She belongs to legacy.”
“She is seven minutes old.”
“She is leverage from her first breath. All children are.”
Lucia’s face hardened with a hatred so old it no longer needed fire.
Rebecca leaned close to Adrian. “Keep him talking. We need details.”
Adrian understood.
“What did you give Sienna?”
Vittorio sighed. “Always business with you.”
“What compound?”
“You have doctors. Let them work.”
“She dies, the child stays with me.”
“Not if the Covenant is invoked.”
“It has no legal standing.”
“In public court? Perhaps not. But court is not the only place custody is decided.”
Adrian’s hand tightened around the phone.
My vision dimmed at the edges.
“Adrian,” Rebecca said urgently.
He looked at me and the last of his restraint cracked.
“If she dies,” he said into the phone, “there will be no grave deep enough.”
For the first time, Vittorio’s voice lost its amusement.
“You threaten your father?”
“I am warning a dead man who forgot to stay buried.”
A pause.
Then Vittorio said, “She signs guardianship to Lucia as neutral custodian. The child is moved to my care for protection. In exchange, the antidote profile is delivered.”
Lucia recoiled. “No.”
Vittorio chuckled. “Hello, my wife.”
“I stopped being your wife the night you ordered our son beaten for refusing to shoot a man.”
The room went silent.
Adrian’s face emptied.
I had never heard that story.
I did not think he wanted me to.
Vittorio’s voice cooled. “You always were sentimental.”
“And you always mistook cruelty for strength.”
Rebecca pressed harder near my abdomen. I bit down on a cry.
Adrian heard anyway.
His eyes snapped to mine.
I tried to speak.
No sound came.
Rebecca grabbed the phone. “This is Dr. Sloan. If you have information that can save my patient, you will provide it now.”
Vittorio sounded almost amused. “Doctor, I admire competence. I will give you one clue. Long-acting anticoagulant. Modified delivery. Repeated low-dose exposure.”
Rebecca looked at a nurse. “Get hematology now. Ask about LAAR protocols. Vitamin K, PCC, plasma, full panel.”
The nurse ran.
Adrian took the phone back. “Where are you?”
“Closer than you want. Farther than you think.”
“You won’t touch them.”
“I already have.”
The line went dead.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then Rebecca exploded into action.
The clue was enough.
Not perfect.
Not complete.
But enough to change the treatment.
They pushed new medications into my IV. More blood products arrived. Hematology called in orders. Rebecca spoke in fast medical language while Adrian held my hand and Lucia stood near the door, watching the hall like she expected ghosts to walk through it.
Time lost shape.
At some point, the bleeding slowed.
Not stopped.
Slowed.
Rebecca’s shoulders dropped a fraction.
“She’s responding,” she said.
Adrian closed his eyes.
I had never seen gratitude look painful before.
Hours later, when the surgical suite finally released me to intensive recovery, dawn had begun to lighten the Chicago sky.
They placed me in a secured room between maternity and the NICU. Adrian refused to leave the hallway until Rebecca threatened to sedate him along with me.
Lucia sat in a chair near the window, turning the old silver medal over in her hands.
“Where is Isabella?” I asked.
Adrian moved to my side. “NICU. Stable. Small oxygen support. Strong lungs.”
A weak laugh escaped me. “She cried like she was offended.”
His mouth curved slightly. “She is definitely ours.”
For a moment, peace almost entered the room.
Then Nico returned.
His face told us it would not stay.
“The townhouse safe was open,” he said.
Lucia stood. “No.”
“Documents gone. Painting cut from the frame. Whoever got there knew exactly where to look.”
Adrian looked toward his mother.
Lucia shook her head. “Only three people knew.”
“You. Me. Sienna.”
“No,” Lucia whispered.
The room chilled.
She turned toward the door.
“Four.”
Adrian understood before I did.
“Who?”
Lucia’s eyes filled with a grief that looked almost like guilt.
“Your brother.”
I stared at Adrian.
“You don’t have a brother.”
He did not answer.
Lucia closed her eyes.
“He was not supposed to survive.”
The words settled over the room like smoke.
Adrian stepped back.
“What did you say?”
May you like
Lucia opened her eyes and looked at her son.
“His name is Matteo. And if Vittorio is moving openly, then Matteo is already in Chicago.”
