Chapter 4 - The Crimson Tether
A thick, clear tube connected Roman's arm to a bag, which fed through a wall port into the operating theater.
He watched his dark red blood flow out of his body.
It was the same blood that had built a criminal empire.
It was the same blood that had terrified the city's most dangerous men.
Now, it was the only thing keeping an angel alive.
Through a small observation window, he could see the chaotic operating room.
Surgeons were swarming around a surgical table.
He could just barely see a lock of Clara’s sweat-drenched brown hair.
She looked so fragile, so broken.
He remembered the first time he had ever seen her.
She had been playing the piano at a charity gala he was using to launder money.
Her music had been pure, untouched by the corruption in the room.
He had ruined that purity.
He had dragged her into his shadows.
"Keep pumping," Roman told the nurse when the flow seemed to slow.
"Sir, we have to monitor your vitals," she warned.
"Taking too much too fast could cause you to go into cardiac arrest."
"I don't care," Roman spat.
"Take it all if you have to."
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the sterile silence.
It was a cry.
A small, furious, desperate wail.
Roman’s breath caught in his throat.
The doctors in the operating room suddenly stepped back.
A nurse hurried over to a warming table, holding a tiny, squirming bundle.
The child.
May you like
His child.
Tears, hot and unfamiliar, pricked the corners of Roman's dark eyes.
