Chapter 4 - The Shattering
The most feared man in Chicago fell apart in the back of a speeding ambulance.
Marco Duca held Lena’s lifeless hand, his chest heaving with ragged, desperate breaths. His tailored suit was ruined, saturated in her blood. Caruso sat opposite him, holding a gauze pad to his own wounded shoulder, staring at his boss in absolute shock.
He had seen Marco lose millions in contraband without blinking. He had seen Marco bury his own father with a dry, cold jaw. But right now, Marco was trembling. His hands—hands that had strangled hitmen and signed death warrants—shook violently as he pressed a blood-soaked towel against Lena’s chest wounds.
"Stay with me," Marco whispered, his voice cracking, stripped of all its cold authority. "You don't get to die for my family. Do you hear me? You stay here!"
When the doors burst open at Chicago Mercy Hospital, Marco didn't let the orderlies touch her until Caruso physically pulled him back.
"We need to clear the trauma bay, sir!" a terrifyingly brave attending surgeon shouted, pushing a gurney forward.
Marco grabbed the surgeon by the scrubs, pulling him inches from his face. His dark eyes were wild, red-rimmed, and terrifying. "If her heart stops, I burn this hospital to the ground. You save her. Do whatever it takes."
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"Boss," Caruso said softly, placing a hand on Marco’s arm. "Let them work. The police are coming. We need to secure the perimeter."
Marco released the doctor, watching as the doors to surgical bay three swung shut, locking him out. He collapsed into a plastic waiting room chair, burying his face in his blood-stained hands. A single, ragged sob ripped from his throat. The soldiers standing guard at the end of the hallway turned their faces to the wall, unable to bear the sight of their king broken in half.
