Chapter 7 - The Smuggle
"You cannot move him," Dr. Sarah Chen said, her arms crossed as she stood at the foot of Luca’s bed. "He is less than twenty-four hours post-op from a major splenic repair. If he moves too fast, the arterial sutures will tear, and he will bleed to death before you can get him back to an operating table."
"He stays here, and he dies anyway, Dr. Chen," Dante said, his voice flat. "Matteo’s men will realize Silas failed. They will send more. Next time, they won't send one man with a silencer—they’ll send ten men with automatic rifles."
"I can't let you do this," Sarah insisted. "As his doctor, I am forbidding this transport."
"I'm going," Luca said.
His voice was quiet, but it carried an absolute finality that ended the argument. He looked at Elena. "You're coming with me."
Elena gasped. "Mr. Vescari, I am a hospital nurse. My shift—"
"Your shift ended twelve hours ago, Elena," Dante said gently. "And if you stay here, Matteo’s men will find you. You’re the witness. You’re the one who killed his top assassin. You are safer with us than you are anywhere else in this city."
Elena looked at her hands. She was a nurse. She was supposed to be safe, neutral, a healer. But she looked at Luca’s gray eyes, filled with a strange, protective warmth, and she realized her life had changed forever the moment she pressed her fingers against his neck.
"I’ll need transport monitors," Elena said, her voice steadying. "A portable oxygen concentrator, two bags of O-negative blood, a rapid infuser, and a full emergency drug kit. If his pressure drops on the way, I need to be able to run a central line."
Dr. Chen sighed, shaking her head in defeat. "I’ll get the equipment from the private recovery bay. But if he dies in that van, his blood is on your hands."
"It’s already on my hands, Doctor," Elena said, looking at the blood drying on her sleeve.
By 2:00 a.m., the transport was ready.
Luca was dressed in a simple gray track suit, his incisions tightly bound with abdominal binders to prevent tension on the sutures. They wheeled him down to the basement laundry elevator, bypassing the main lobby entirely.
A black, unmarked Mercedes sprinter van was waiting in the loading dock.
The interior of the van had been completely retrofitted into a mobile ICU. It had a gurney, a transport monitor, and three shelves of medical supplies.
Elena climbed into the back, sitting on the small bench beside Luca’s gurney. Dante sat opposite her, his weapon resting on his knee, while two of his most trusted men rode in the front cabin.
As the van pulled out of the hospital garage and into the dark, rainy streets of the city, Elena connected the cardiac leads to Luca’s chest. His heart rate was 98—fast, but stable.
"You're doing well, Mr. Vescari," she said, checking the IV line.
"Luca," he said, his eyes locked on hers. "My friends call me Luca."
"I don't think we're friends, Mr. Vescari," Elena said softly. "I'm just your nurse."
"You're the woman who saved my life twice in twelve hours," Luca said, his voice a low, soothing vibration beneath the hum of the van’s engine. "That makes you more than a friend, Elena. That makes you family. And in my world, family is everything."
Suddenly, the van swerved violently.
May you like
The sound of screeching tires echoed through the cabin, followed by the deafening, metallic thud of a bullet hitting the armored side panels of the sprinter.
"We’ve got company!" the driver yelled from the front. "Two black SUVs on our tail! They’re shooting!"
