Chapter 4 - The Sovereign of the South Side
The male paramedic, a burly man with a mustache named Miller, stood up quickly, his hand automatically dropping toward his radio as he took in the sight of Roman Velez. Roman didn't look like a standard neighborhood resident; his white shirt was soaked with sleet, his posture radiated an absolute, lethal authority, and the massive, scarred driver standing behind him in the hallway made it clear that this wasn't an ordinary domestic call.
"Sir, who are you?" Miller asked, stepping between Roman and the children. "This is a restricted medical scene. Unless you're immediate family—"
"I am the family," Roman said. His voice didn't rise, but it carried the weight of an iron vault closing shut. He didn't look at the paramedic; his eyes were locked on Camila’s pale face as the female medic began to secure a cervical collar around her neck. "What’s her status?"
"She’s suffered a severe concussion, possibly a subdural hematoma from the impact with the cabinet," the female medic answered, recognizing something in Roman’s demeanor that suggested cooperation was safer than bureaucratic resistance. "Her vitals are unstable. We need to transport her to County General immediately."
"No," Roman said coldly. "Not County. Jonah, call St. Jude’s Private. Tell Dr. Mercer to clear the neurological wing. I want the chief of surgery waiting at the ambulance bay."
Paramedic Miller frowned, his professional pride bristling. "Sir, County General is the designated trauma center for this district. We operate under city protocol. We can't just reroute a critical patient to a private facility on your say-so."
Roman finally turned his head, his amber eyes fixing on Miller with a cold, unblinking intensity that made the larger man step back an inch.
"The city protocol doesn't apply to me, officer," Roman said softly. "You are going to load my wife into that rig, and you are going to drive her to St. Jude’s with your lights on. If you have a question about the legality of it, you can call Superintendent Alvarez. Tell him Roman Velez is standing in the room."
The name dropped into the small apartment like a live grenade.
Miller’s face went pale. Every city worker from the Loop to the farthest reaches of Cook County knew the name Velez. He was the ghost that the state attorney’s office couldn't catch, the man who owned the shipping docks, the unions, and three-quarters of the aldermen on the city council.
"I... I'll check with dispatch," Miller muttered, his throat bobbing as he reached for his radio, his tone instantly shifting from authoritative to deeply deferential.
Roman didn't wait for him to finish. He dropped to his knees on the cheap linoleum, completely unbothered by the grease and blood that stained his custom trousers. He reached out, his massive, calloused hand gently sliding into Camila’s limp palm. Her fingers were ice-cold, smelling faintly of dish soap and cheap coffee.
"Camila," he whispered, his chest heaving as he pressed her knuckles against his forehead. "You stupid, stubborn girl. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you hide them from me?"
A tiny hand touched his shoulder.
Roman turned his head. Luz was standing beside him, her amber eyes wide and luminous through her tears. She didn't look afraid of the scars on his knuckles or the dark world that followed him. She looked like she had finally found the missing piece of a puzzle she had been carrying her entire life.
"Is Mommy going to die?" she asked.
May you like
Roman reached out with his other arm, pulling both Luz and Valeria into his chest, his large frame wrapping around them like an iron shield. For the first time in fifteen years, the most feared man in Chicago felt a tear break from his eye, running down his cheek to lose itself in his daughter's dark curls.
"No," Roman said, his voice cracking with a terrifying, absolute certainty. "Mommy is not going to die. Nobody dies while I'm alive. I promise you."
