Chapter 4 - The Doctor's Verdict
The safehouse on Lake Shore was an old stone manor hidden behind ten acres of dense pine woods and a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence. It was built for war—bulletproof glass, reinforced steel doors, and an underground bunker stocked with enough ammunition to hold off a siege for a month.
By 2:45 a.m., Dr. Vance—a silver-haired man who had been treating the Moretti family’s gunshot wounds for twenty years—stepped out of the guest bedroom on the second floor, closing the door softly behind him.
Matteo was standing in the hallway, leaning against the wood paneling, a freshly lit cigar held between his fingers. He hadn't smoked in three years, but tonight, the burning tobacco was the only thing keeping his temper from detonating.
"How is she?" Matteo asked, exhaling a plume of blue smoke toward the ceiling.
Dr. Vance pulled off his thin latex gloves, his face grave and deeply lined with disgust. "The physical damage is extensive, Matteo. She has three cracked ribs on her left side. Severe soft tissue bruising across her back, hips, and arms. The marks on her wrists are from heavy steel cuffs—she was restrained for at least three days prior to the wedding."
Matteo’s jaw set into iron. "Any internal bleeding?"
"No, thank God," Vance sighed, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "Her ribs are hairline fractures; they'll heal with rest and binding. But she’s severely malnourished and suffering from acute exhaustion. She’s been living on water and bread for a week."
"That bastard," Matteo growled under his breath.
"Matteo," Dr. Vance said quietly, stepping closer to the young syndicate leader. "She told me what happened. She was terrified I was going to report back to her father. I had to give her a mild sedative just to let me bandage her ribs. She’s a child, Matteo. Twenty-one years old, but she’s been treated like a political hostage her whole life."
"She's my wife now," Matteo said flatly.
Vance looked at him carefully through his spectacles. "In name only, I assume?"
"In every way that matters," Matteo replied, his winter-black eyes locking onto the doctor. "Under the law of our people, when a woman enters my house, her blood belongs to my protection. Marco broke the treaty the moment he laid a hand on her after the contract was signed."
"Marco won't accept this quietly," Vance warned. "He expects the consummation papers by nine o'clock tomorrow morning to claim his share of the harbor docks."
"He can come claim them himself," Matteo said, flicking his cigar ash into a crystal tray. "Leo!"
Leo stepped out of the shadows at the end of the hallway, a heavy tactical radio in his hand. "Yes, Boss?"
"Gather twelve men from the North End crew," Matteo commanded. "I want Marco’s estate monitored. Every door, every guard shift, every window. Find out where they are holding her brother, Julian."
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"And Marco?" Leo asked.
"Leave Marco to me," Matteo said, turning back toward the bedroom door. "I'm going to deliver his wedding present in person."
