Chapter 2 - The Ambush at Floor Four
The sharp sound of elevator bells echoing down the corridor shattered the standoff. Sal didn't flinch. Decades of surviving turf wars, betrayals, and federal indictments had turned his pulse into ice water.
""Marco, take the nurse into the side office and lock the bolt,"" Sal ordered calmly, pointing toward the trembling nurse who was still frozen beside the empty bassinets. ""Frank, watch the double doors. Nobody enters with a pulse unless I say so.""
Julian scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with manic desperation. ""Let me leave. I gave you the name! I gave you the car! Let me walk out the service stairs!""
Sal grabbed Julian by the scruff of his neck, his grip ironclad, and slammed him against the adjacent drywall. ""You stay right where I can see you, worm. If a single stray bullet scratches my grandson, you won't live long enough to regret it.""
From out in the hallway came the heavy thud of tactical boots against tile, followed by the muffled groan of a hospital security guard being silenced. Elena collapsed to her knees beside the bassinet, wrapping her trembling arms around the plastic frame. ""Dad, take the baby. Just take him and run. I made the mistake. Take Leo and go!""
""Nobody runs from my family,"" Sal growled.
The frosted glass doors at the end of the ward shattered inward in an explosion of white powder and flying shards. Two masked figures in tactical black swept in, suppressors raised. Frank stepped into the center corridor, bringing up a customized Colt .45. Two thunderous cracks echoed through the hall, and the first assailant dropped instantly, clutching his chest.
The second intruder sprayed automatic fire across the ceiling, tearing apart acoustic tiles and sending a shower of plaster dust onto the pristine floor. Sal drew a matte-black Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster with fluid, lethal grace. Peering around the doorframe, he squeezed the trigger once. The second intruder collapsed in a heap of nylon and blood.
Silence descended, save for the wailing of the fire alarm and the crying of baby Leo.
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Sal stepped out into the smoke, stepping over the fallen bodies. He knelt beside the second shooter, ripping the ski mask away. The man had a serpent tattoo coiled behind his left ear—a mark Sal hadn't seen in over twenty years.
Sal’s eyes hardened into flint. ""These aren't Varga street thugs,"" Sal whispered to himself. He stood up, turning his glare toward Julian, who was cowering behind the sofa. ""This mark belongs to the Syndicate in Chicago. Who else did you sell my family to?""
