Her Doctor Secretly Sent Photos of Her Bruises to the Mafia Boss at Midnight—His Response Was Immediate

Inside the container, thirty-six women were huddled together under thin wool blankets, sitting on the cold wooden floorboards.

"It's okay," Selene said, her voice warm, steady, and clear as she dropped her medical bag onto the floor. "I'm a doctor. You're safe now."

She quickly moved down the line, checking pulses, shining a penlight into dilated pupils, pulling thermal blankets over shivering shoulders. Most were suffering from moderate hypothermia, but thanks to the rapid breach, none had crossed into irreversible cardiac distress.

Outside, the heavy sound of a fist hitting bone echoed off the concrete walls, followed by Preston's desperate groan.

Selene stepped out of the container to grab more saline bags from the supply crate.

Preston was on his knees in front of Damen. Blood was pouring from his nose, dripping onto his expensive leather shoes. Damen stood over him, holding a small, dark leather notebook he had pulled from Preston's coat pocket.

"This is the distribution ledger," Damen said, flipping through the handwritten pages with cold precision. "Names, bank accounts, delivery routes... and the names of four city council members who took payoffs to ignore the docks."

"I gave you what you wanted!" Preston sobbed, looking up at Damen with swollen, bloodshot eyes. "Take the ledger! Take the girls! Just let me go!"

Damen closed the book and slid it into his inner pocket. He looked down at Preston as if he were looking at a stain on a rug.

"You beat your wife until her ribs broke," Damen said softly. "You sold human beings for whiskey money. And then you brought weapons to a medical clinic."

Damen pulled his gun from his shoulder holster.

"No, please!" Preston shrieked, scrambling backward on his hands and knees. "Selene! Tell him! You're a doctor! You took an oath! Don't let him kill me!"

Selene froze, holding two bags of saline against her chest. She looked at Preston—the man who had battered Ivy, the man who had terrified her clinic, the man who had sold dozens of lives without a second thought.

Then she looked at Damen.

Damen didn't look at Preston. He was looking directly at Selene, his gray eyes steady, waiting.

"Is he worth saving, Dr. Mercer?" Damen asked quietly.

The question hung in the freezing air of the silo like a blade.

Selene felt her heart pounding in her ears. She remembered her father dying on the kitchen floor while she stood helpless with a cup of juice. She remembered why she had become a doctor—to preserve life, to stand between human pain and the void.

"If you shoot him here," Selene said, her voice shaking but firm, "you become no better than the men who bought those containers."

Silence settled over the chamber. Viktor watched her with narrowed eyes.

Damen held her gaze for three long seconds. Then, slowly, he clicked the safety back onto his firearm and lowered his arm.

"Viktor," Damen commanded softly. "Tie him to the container doors. Call the Federal Bureau of Investigation from an untraceable line. Give them the coordinates and the ledger."

Preston let out a breathless sob of relief.