Chapter 7 - The Faulty Valve
The morning of the parlay, chaos descended, but not from the underworld.
It started with a piercing, high-pitched alarm.
Elena dropped her coffee mug, shattering it on the kitchen tiles, and sprinted toward the east wing. She burst into Leo’s room to find him clutching his chest, his lips tinged blue, gasping for air. The green line on the monitor was erratic, spiking and crashing in a lethal rhythm.
"Leo!" Elena screamed, dropping to her knees, frantically fumbling with his oxygen mask.
Julian wheeled into the room seconds later, followed closely by Victor. The boss of the Rossi syndicate took one look at the boy’s blue lips and barked a command that echoed like a gunshot.
"Victor! Get the medevac chopper on the lawn. Now. Call Dr. Aris at Mass Gen. Tell him if he doesn't have an operating room prepped in ten minutes, I will buy the hospital and fire him."
"Julian, we can't take him to a public hospital, Callahan's men are watching—" Victor started.
"I don't care if the entire Irish mob is in the lobby!" Julian roared, lifting his own paralyzing weight out of the chair with terrifying strength, grabbing the heavy oxygen tank and dragging it toward the door. "Move!"
Within minutes, the estate’s private helicopter was tearing through the Boston sky. Julian sat next to Elena, holding her trembling hand in a vice grip.
"He needs a new valve," Elena sobbed over the roar of the rotors. "They told me two years ago, but he was too far down the transplant list. We didn't have the money."
"He has the money now," Julian said, his voice cold, absolute steel. "He has my name. He gets the valve today."
At the hospital, Julian’s terrifying reputation parted the medical staff like the Red Sea. He secured the top pediatric cardiovascular surgeon in the country. As they took Leo into surgery, Elena collapsed into a plastic waiting room chair, weeping into her hands.
Julian maneuvered his chair next to her. He pulled her into his lap, ignoring the strain on his own recovering spine, wrapping his massive arms around her. "He is fighting, Elena. Like his mother. He will win."
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"You're supposed to be at the parlay in an hour," she whispered into his shoulder.
Julian looked at the clock on the wall. "I know."
