Chapter 6 - Delivery in the Dark
The hospital's private wing went from a battleground to a surgical theater within sixty seconds. Dr. Mercer, a steely-eyed veteran surgeon who had patched up Victor's men during the turf wars of the nineties, burst through the reinforced doors with two scrub nurses, pushing a mobile delivery station.
""We can't move her to the main OR,"" Mercer announced, pulling on sterile gloves. ""The power reroutes downstairs caused a surge in the west wing elevators. We deliver right here, right now.""
Victor stood by the foot of the bed, holding Lily against his hip, shielding the little girl's eyes from the blood on the floor while Sarah was lifted onto the examination table. Outside, the rain lashed violently against the cracked ballistic glass, thunder shaking the concrete frame of the hospital.
""Hold my hand, Sarah,"" Mercer instructed, his voice cutting through Sarah’s ragged gasps. ""The sedative Julian gave you has accelerated the contractions, but your heart rate is dangerously high. You need to breathe with me. Slow. In through the nose.""
Sarah screamed, the sound echoing through the sterile suite. Her body convulsed as a massive wave of pain tore through her lower abdomen. ""Dad! Julian... he said the baby wouldn't survive...""
""Julian is dead in every way that matters,"" Victor growled, his deep voice slicing through her panic like a lighthouse beacon. ""You are a Vance. You survived the streets, you survived his poison, and you will bring my grandson into this world. Look at me, Sarah!""
Sarah locked eyes with her father. In those weathered, brutal gray eyes, she found the steel she needed. She bore down, crying out as the monitors shrieked in protest.
""Crowning,"" Mercer muttered, his hands working with practiced precision. ""One more push, Sarah. Give me everything you have left!""
With a guttural sob, Sarah arched her back, digging her heels into the stirrups.
A tense, breathless silence blanketed the room, broken only by the hum of the backup generator.
Then, a sharp, thin wail cut through the air.
Mercer held up the infant, slick and pink, crying with fierce, indignant rage. ""A boy,"" the doctor breathed, clamping the umbilical cord. ""Strong lungs. Perfectly healthy.""
Sarah slumped back against the pillows, her face bathed in sweat and tears. Victor stepped forward, his massive frame trembling ever so slightly as he looked down at the new life. He reached out with one calloused finger, and the newborn’s tiny hand instantly clamped around it with surprising strength.
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Before Victor could speak, the wall-mounted radio on Marcus's belt clicked twice.
""Mr. Vance,"" a surveillance operative’s voice crackled through the static. ""Julian didn't run to the street. He broke into the sub-basement generator room. He has a flare, and he's standing over the primary diesel reserve.""
