Chapter 4 - The Hospital Call
The intensive care unit on the fourth floor of St. Jude’s Hospital smelled of ozone, rubbing alcohol, and synthetic flowers. The low, rhythmic beep of cardiac monitors echoed down the quiet hallway.
At 6:15 A.M., the sun was barely breaking through the thick grey smog over the river. Adrian walked down the corridor alone, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his dark coat. Marcus, his broad-shouldered security director, waited at the end of the hall, keeping watch over the stairwell.
Outside Room 412, two men in leather jackets were sitting on plastic chairs. They were Malcolm Dane’s lower-tier enforcement—cheap, aggressive muscle with broken noses and faded tattoos. They stood up instantly when Adrian approached, their hands dropping toward their waistbands.
"Voss," one of them spat, his eyes bloodshot. "You've got no business here."
Adrian didn't even slow his stride. "I have business everywhere in this city, Carl. Step aside."
"Victor's in bad shape," the second guy growled, taking a step forward. "The cops said some bitch—"
Before the man could finish the sentence, Adrian’s hand exploded forward, gripping the man’s throat and slamming his head back against the concrete wall with terrifying speed. The second lieutenant drew a gun, but Marcus appeared from behind like a shadow, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it until the bones popped, and snatching the firearm before it hit the floor.
Adrian leaned in close to the man pinned against the wall, his face inches away, his voice a razor-thin whisper. "Speak about my staff like that again, and you won't survive the elevator ride down."
He released the throat and stepped over the unconscious guard Marcus had just dropped to the floor. Adrian pushed open the door to Room 412 and walked inside.
Victor Dane lay in the center of the room, wired to half a dozen medical monitors. His head was wrapped in heavy white bandages, his jaw was wired completely shut, and his face was swollen to twice its normal size, a violent pattern of deep purple and yellow bruising covering his skin.
Adrian stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the crippled mobster with cold disinterest.
"You look terrible, Victor," Adrian said softly, his voice cutting through the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Victor's eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and filled with immediate rage when he recognized his visitor. He tried to speak, but the metal wires holding his shattered jaw together produced only a muffled, agonizing groan.
"Don't try to talk," Adrian advised, pulling a metal chair over and sitting beside the bed. "I know everything. I know about the meeting at the auto body shop. I know about the fifty thousand cash deposit. And I know about the transport schedule for Thursday night."
Victor's heart monitor accelerated rapidly, the beep-beep-beep spiking from seventy to one hundred and ten beats per minute. Panic flickered behind his red-rimmed eyes.
"You made a critical error," Adrian continued calmly, resting his forearm on the edge of the bed. "You thought Evelyn Hart was just an innocent office worker. You thought she was weak. You tried to break her to get to me, and instead, she put you in intensive care with a piece of steel no larger than my pinky finger."
Adrian leaned closer, his dark eyes reflecting no mercy.
"Malcolm doesn't know you traded with my insider yet, does he?" Adrian whispered. "If I tell Malcolm that you tried to bypass him to grab those Swiss bonds for yourself, he'll pull the plug on these machines before lunch. You know how your brother operates. He doesn't tolerate greed within his own bloodline."
Victor let out a desperate, wheezing sound through his nose, his gloved fingers clutching at the bedsheets.
"Here is what is going to happen," Adrian stated, his voice flat and absolute. "You are going to lie here and keep your mouth shut. When your brother asks what happened, you will tell him you were jumped by a street gang near the docks. If you mention Evelyn Hart's name to anyone—if you send a single man near her apartment or my office—I won't kill you. I'll simply hand the security tapes of your meeting to Malcolm."
Adrian stood up, buttoning his coat calmly. He reached down and adjusted the flow regulator on Victor’s IV line, slowing it slightly just to watch the man's eyes dilate in sudden terror, before setting it back to normal.
"Get some rest, Victor," Adrian said smoothly. "You have a long recovery ahead of you."
He walked out of the room, leaving the mobster shuddering against the crisp white sheets.
In the hallway, Marcus was wiping his knuckles with a handkerchief while the two fallen guards remained groaning on the tile floor.
"Is the driver waiting?" Adrian asked without looking back.
"Yes, Boss," Marcus replied. "What's the next move?"
"Call Julian," Adrian instructed, stepping toward the elevator. "Tell him I need an urgent financial audit meeting in my private office at eleven o'clock. Tell him to bring the master ledger for the docklands."
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"And Miss Hart?" Marcus asked softly.
Adrian paused as the elevator doors slid open. "Miss Hart stays in my penthouse under your personal watch. If anyone so much as looks at that building sideways, execute them."
