Chương 10 - The Siege at Gulf Regional
Twenty minutes later, three black armored SUVs tore through the gates of the Gulf Regional Medical Center, their tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
The rain had begun to fall again, heavy and gray, sweeping across the clinic’s parking lot.
Inside the third-floor private dialysis suite, the air was dead silent.
Lena’s father, Thomas Maro—a pale, white-haired man in his late fifties—sat in a reclining leather armchair, three clear plastic tubes running from his forearm into a large blood-filtration unit humming beside his bed.
Standing near the window was Julianna Vance, holding an open umbrella, her green eyes fixed on the door.
Standing beside Thomas’s bed was Sal Moretti, holding a pair of heavy surgical shears inches from the plastic arterial line carrying Thomas’s blood.
Thomas looked up at Sal with weak, confused eyes. "What... what is this? Who are you people?"
"Shut up, old man," Sal sneered, adjusting his coat.
The heavy double doors of the treatment room exploded inward.
The lock shattered with a deafening CRACK, the wood splintering as Marcus and four armed guards flooded into the room, their submachine guns raised and aimed directly at Sal Moretti’s head.
"DON'T MOVE!" Marcus screamed.
Sal froze, the steel shears hovering two inches from the plastic tube.
Julianna gasped, stepping back against the window, her silk dress rustling as her composure shattered into panic.
Behind the guards, the crowd parted.
Lena rushed into the room first, throwing her body over her father’s chair. "Dad! Dad, are you okay?"
"Lena?" Thomas stammered, looking at her in shock. "What’s happening? Who are these men?"
"You're safe, Dad," Lena wept, pressing her face against her father’s shoulder. "You're safe."
Then came the smooth, heavy rolling sound of rubber wheels against linoleum.
Dante Vale rolled through the splintered doorway.
He wore his dark charcoal coat, his Sig Sauer held casually in his right hand, resting across his lap. His face was a mask of cold, absolute death.
Behind him walked Victor Vance, flanked by two of Marcus’s men who were holding Victor’s arms pinned behind his back, a thick trail of blood trickling from Victor’s broken nose.
Julianna’s eyes went wide as saucers as she saw her father dragged into the room like a prisoner.
"Father!" Julianna shrieked. "Dante... what have you done?!"
Dante brought his wheelchair to a stop five feet from Sal Moretti.
He didn't look at Julianna. He didn't look at Victor.
His eyes were fixed entirely on Sal—the man he had trusted as his underboss for six years.
"Sal," Dante said, his voice dropping into a quiet, terrifying whisper. "Drop the shears."
Sal’s hand trembled. He looked at Marcus’s submachine gun, then at Victor’s bloody face, and finally at Dante’s cold gray eyes.
Sal dropped the shears onto the floor. They hit the linoleum with a metallic clatter.
"Dante, listen to me," Sal begged, taking a step back with his hands raised. "It was Victor’s idea! He promised me thirty percent of the dock revenues if I helped him take over the shipping lines! I was just following orders—"
BANG.
A single, deafening gunshot echoed through the room.
Sal Moretti stiffened, a neat red hole appearing in the exact center of his forehead. He collapsed backward onto the floor, his body going limp against the base of the medical cabinet.
Julianna screamed, covering her ears, dropping to her knees beside the window, her body shaking violently in terror.
Thomas gasped, hiding his face against Lena’s shoulder.
Lena didn't look away. She stood beside her father’s chair, her arm wrapped protectively around her father’s chest, her dark eyes fixed on Dante.
She saw no hesitation in him. She saw no remorse.
She saw a man who had protected her family with absolute, devastating violence.
Dante lowered his gun, resting it back on his lap. He slowly turned his chair to face Julianna, who was sobbing hysterically on the floor.
"Julianna," Dante said calmly.
Julianna looked up through her tears, her face pale as a sheet. "Dante... please... don't kill me... please!"
"I’m not going to kill you, Julianna," Dante said coldly. "You and your father are going to sign over one hundred percent of the Vance Shipping Corporation to the Vale Syndicate by six o'clock tonight."
He pointed toward the door.
"And then you are going to take your bags, leave the Gulf Coast, and if I ever see your face within two hundred miles of New Orleans again... I will give Marcus permission to finish what we started today."
Victor Vance bowed his bloody head in complete, total surrender. "We sign," he rasped out through his broken nose. "We sign."
"Get them out of here," Dante ordered.
Marcus and the guards dragged Victor and Julianna out of the room, leaving the treatment suite quiet except for the hum of Thomas’s dialysis machine.
Dante turned his chair toward Lena and her father.
The cold, murderous expression on his face dissolved, replaced by a soft, anxious look as he searched Lena’s face.
"Are you hurt?" he asked her softly.
Lena walked over to his chair, knelt down beside him on the blood-spotted floor, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
"No," she whispered into his ear, her body trembling against his chest. "No... thank you."
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Dante’s arms wrapped around her lush, soft waist, pulling her close against his heart, his hand resting on her back with possessive, absolute warmth.
"I told you," he whispered into her dark hair. "Nobody touches what belongs to me."
