Chapter 8 - The Boston Hospital Rooftop and the Family Reunion
The private jet touched down at Logan International Airport under a heavy blanket of New England fog. By four o'clock that afternoon, our black SUV was idling in the subterranean parking garage of St. Jude’s Hospital in downtown Boston.
Dominic sat in the back seat, wearing a dark wool overcoat that cleverly concealed the stiff brace holding his injured right shoulder immobile. Despite the pain pills he had stubbornly refused until Leo practically threatened to sit on him, he looked pale, his jaw set in a hard, unyielding line.
"Remember the plan," Dominic said, turning to Leo and me. "We don't cause a scene. We don't flash weapons in a children's hospital. We walk in, verify her identity, and get her out before Marcus's loyalists realize the safehouse documents were recovered."
"And if her loyalists—meaning us—think walking into a hospital full of sick kids with a mafia entourage is a terrible idea?" I asked, adjusting the strap of my medical duffel over my shoulder.
"Then you keep me from passing out," Dominic replied dryly, opening the car door.
We took the private service elevator up to the third-floor pediatric ward. The sterile smell of antiseptic and floor wax replaced the familiar scent of Lemon polish and old blood from the Rossi estate. Children’s colorful drawings and paper snowflakes decorated the walls, a stark contrast to the dark underworld we had left behind.
Leo stopped outside a set of double doors marked Pedia-Cardiology Station.
"That's her," Leo whispered, nodding toward a young woman with dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail, reviewing patient charts at the nurse's station. She had the exact same sharp, intelligent eyes as Dominic, though softened by a lifetime of caring for others.
Dominic froze. For the first time since I met him, the untouchable mafia boss looked genuinely hesitant. The air seemed to catch in his throat as he stared through the glass at the sister he never knew existed.
"Go on," I whispered softly, giving his uninjured arm a gentle nudge. "She's your sister, Dominic. She won't shoot you."
He took a slow, deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and pushed through the double doors.
I stayed back with Leo near the vending machines, watching through the glass. Dominic walked up to the nurse’s station. Maya Vance looked up from her charts, offering a polite, professional smile that quickly faded into sheer confusion as she took in Dominic’s imposing, unsmiling presence and the dark wool coat.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, her voice carrying faintly through the glass.
"Maya Vance?" Dominic asked, his voice unusually hoarse.
"Yes. Are you a patient's father?"
Dominic reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, old-fashioned silver locket—the one Leo had found in the master safe along with the Zurich paperwork. He placed it gently on the counter between them.
Maya’s eyes dropped to the locket. Her breath caught. She reached out with trembling fingers and touched the engraved initials: E.R.
"Where... where did you get this?" she whispered, her eyes flying back to his face. "This belonged to my birth mother. My adoptive parents gave it to me when I turned eighteen."
"It belonged to our mother," Dominic corrected gently, the harshness completely vanishing from his tone, revealing a raw, brotherly vulnerability I had never imagined existed beneath his armor. "I'm Dominic. Your older brother."
Maya staggered back against the counter, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. "My... my brother? But Marcus said—"
Before she could finish the sentence, a sharp click echoed from the hallway behind us.
I spun around just in time to see two men in dark civilian jackets stepping out of the stairwell, their hands sliding swiftly beneath their coats toward concealed firearms.
May you like
Marcus's loyalists. They had tracked the ledger to Boston.
"Dominic! Look out!" I screamed, lunging forward.
