BLOOD AND BOURBON: THE ECHOES OF BOSTON

"Medic! Now!" my voice tore through the dilapidated apartment, echoing off the water-stained walls. Dominic was instantly at the door, barking into his radio for the trauma team we kept on standby in the third SUV.

I scooped Elena into my arms. She weighed almost nothing. The vibrant, fiery woman who used to go toe-to-toe with me in arguments and outshoot half my men at the range was now a fragile shell, burning up with a life-threatening infection. I ignored the dead assassin bleeding out on the cheap linoleum floor, though I made a mental note of the tattoo peaking out from his collar—a coiled serpent. The mark of the Moretti syndicate.

"Move!" I snarled at the two enforcers blocking the hallway. They scrambled out of the way as I carried her down the four flights of stairs. The storm outside had intensified, thunder shaking the very foundations of the city. It felt like the sky was tearing itself apart, matching the chaotic storm raging inside my own chest.

We burst through the front doors. The street was locked down by my men, heavy weapons drawn, keeping the terrified locals peering from their windows at bay. The medic, a former combat surgeon named Silas, already had the back of the medical SUV open, a gurney waiting.

I laid her down gently. Silas immediately went to work, cutting away the sleeve of her worn sweater to gain access to a vein. "Her core temp is pushing 104, Boss," Silas reported, his hands moving with practiced, frantic efficiency. "Heart rate is erratic. She’s severely dehydrated and suffering from septic shock. We need to get her to the underground facility at the estate, right now, or she won't make it."

"Drive," I commanded the driver, climbing into the back with Silas while Dominic took the front. "If you hit the brakes, I'll put a bullet in you."

The armored behemoth roared to life, its siren wailing as we blasted through the flooded streets of Boston. I held Elena’s cold, clammy hand, my thumb tracing the familiar scar on her knuckles.

Five years. For five years, I had believed she was ashes in a collapsed warehouse. I had personally tortured and executed the men I thought responsible. I had built an empire of blood in her name, turning myself into a monster because the only light in my life had been extinguished. And yet, here she was. She had survived. She had birthed our daughter in secret, raised her in poverty, and hidden from me.

Why? The question clawed at my sanity. “The man who bombed your car… he’s in your house, Julian.” Her final words before passing out echoed in my mind. She hadn't run from the Morettis. She had run from someone within my own inner circle. She had realized that the greatest threat to her and our unborn child wasn't my enemies—it was my allies.

"Stay with me, Elena," I murmured, pressing her hand to my lips. "Don't you dare die on me now. You owe me a lifetime of explanations."

We hit the gates of Blackwood Estate twenty minutes later. The massive iron structures swung open, revealing the heavily fortified mansion surrounded by lush, storm-battered gardens. The SUV bypassed the main entrance, heading straight for the hidden ramp at the back of the property that led to my private underground bunker and medical bay.

The moment we parked, a team of nurses was waiting. They wheeled Elena into the sterile, brightly lit trauma room. I tried to follow, but Silas put a firm hand on my chest.

"Let us work, Boss. You need to give us room, or you're going to distract my team. I promise you, I will pull her back."

I wanted to break his arm, but I knew he was right. I stepped back, running a hand over my face, wiping away rain and sweat. I watched through the observation window as they hooked her up to monitors, the steady, alarming beep of the heart monitor filling the silence.

"Julian." Dominic stepped up beside me, holding a tablet. His suit was dripping wet, his face grim. "I ran facial recognition on the body we left at the apartment. His name is Alexei Volkov. Freelance hitman, but heavily tied to the Moretti family. He's the guy they call when they need something done quietly."

"The Morettis don't know about her," I said, my voice dangerously low. "If they knew she was alive, they would have sent twenty men to take her alive and use her against me. Volkov was sent to silence her quickly. Someone tipped them off."

"Only a handful of people knew you even received that resume tonight," Dominic pointed out, his eyes scanning my face carefully. "Harold. Me. Vincent. The gate guards."

"Harold brought me the resume. He could have read the name." I turned away from the window, the gears in my mind shifting from panicked lover to ruthless mob boss. "Where is the child?"

"In the East Wing. Harold is stationed outside her door with the men, just as you ordered."

I started walking toward the elevator that led up to the main house. "Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves. Nobody makes a phone call. Jam all cellular and radio frequencies in a five-mile radius. Bring Vincent to my study. And Dom?"