Chapter 2 - The Sound of the Wind
Elena did not look at Dr. Vane. She did not look at the other nurses who had retreated to the corners of the room like frightened animals. Her entire universe narrowed to a single point: the second intercostal space, right at the midclavicular line on the left side of Luca Vescari’s chest.
Her fingers trembled for a fraction of a second as she positioned the long, thick needle.
Don't think about who he is, she told herself. Don't think about the men with guns outside. He is just a patient.
She aimed the needle just over the top of the third rib to avoid the neurovascular bundle that ran underneath the bone. With a sharp, decisive thrust, she drove the needle straight through the skin, muscle, and parietal pleura.
For a terrifying beat of three seconds, there was nothing.
Then, a loud, sharp hiss echoed through the trauma room.
It sounded like a tire being punctured. A sudden, high-pressure jet of trapped air and dark blood sprayed from the hub of the plastic catheter. The smell of old blood and trapped gasses hit Elena’s face, but she didn't flinch. She held the catheter in place, pulling the steel stylet out.
"Oh my god," whispered one of the nurses in the corner.
On the cardiac monitor, the flatline suddenly broke.
The long, unbroken tone sputtered, died, and was replaced by a chaotic, jagged rhythm. Beep... beep... beep-beep...
"Sinus tachycardia," Elena breathed, her fingers checking the carotid artery again. "The heart is filling. The pulse is back. It’s weak, but it’s regular."
"Get a new chest tube," Dante roared, his eyes wide as he watched the green line on the monitor begin to climb. "Now!"
Dr. Vane stood paralyzed, his face a pale mask of shock and humiliation. He looked at the monitor, then at Elena, who was already connecting a high-flow oxygen mask to the wall valve and fitting it over Luca’s face.
"Marlowe..." Vane stammered, trying to regain his composure. "I... the placement of the previous tube must have shifted during transport..."
"The previous tube was placed in the wrong space, Doctor," Elena said, her voice remarkably calm now that the adrenaline was carrying her. "It was bypassed by the pleural dissection. We need a thoracic tray, a size 32 French tube, and a wet suction setup. If we don't secure this lung in the next five minutes, he will arrest again."
Dante turned his terrifying gaze to Vane. "You heard her. Get the tray. And if you make another mistake with my brother, I will personally ensure your death certificate is signed tonight."
Vane scrambled to the supply cabinets himself, his hands shaking so violently he dropped the first sterile package on the floor. Elena took over, her movements precise, clean, and fast. She prepped the skin, assisted Dante in holding his brother’s shoulder steady, and guided the new chest tube into place.
Within ten minutes, Luca’s oxygen saturation had climbed from an unreadable 30% to a stable 92%. The deep blue hue in his lips was slowly receding, replaced by a faint, pale pink. His chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, albeit assisted, pattern.
Dante stood at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving as if he had been the one running a marathon. He reached out, his large, scarred hand gently touching his brother’s cold foot.
"He's stable," Elena said, wiping her brow with the back of her sleeve. "But he’s not out of the woods. He’s lost a massive amount of blood, and his spleen is likely ruptured. He needs to go to the operating room immediately. A real operating room, with a surgeon who knows how to stop internal bleeding."
Dante looked at her, his eyes softening just a fraction. "Who is the best surgeon in this building?"
"Not Vane," Elena said honestly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the chief of trauma. "Call Dr. Sarah Chen. She’s the head of vascular surgery. She’s the only one I would trust with someone this close to the edge."
Dante turned to one of his men in the corridor. "Find this Dr. Chen. Bring her here. If she’s asleep, wake her up. If she’s at home, bring her in a fast car."
He then looked back at Elena. He took a step closer, his shadow falling over her. "What is your name, Nurse?"
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"Elena," she said. "Elena Marlowe."
"Elena," Dante repeated, the name sounding heavy in his low voice. "You didn't just save my brother’s life tonight. You saved this entire city from a war. Because if Luca had died in this hospital, we would have burned it to the ground."
