Chapter 8 - Whispers Behind Closed Doors
Smoke billowed through the shattered corridors of the hospital’s administrative wing, carrying the sharp, acrid scent of scorched electrical wiring. Clara coughed violently, wrapping a damp section of her scrub top around her nose and mouth as she navigated the smoke-choked hallway. She should have run for the exit stairs when the shooting started, but she couldn't leave Bruno behind.
The massive Cane Corso was limping slightly from the stun baton blow, but his fierce loyalty kept him moving right beside her, his head low and his nose sniffing the air for Dante’s scent.
Suddenly, a door to one of the private administrative offices clicked open, and a hand shot out from the gloom, grabbing Clara by the arm and yanking her inside before she could scream.
“Quiet,” a smooth, familiar voice hissed.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the roar of the fire alarms outside. Clara stumbled against a mahogany desk, her heart pounding in her throat as she spun around. Standing in the dim light of the shuttered office was not a tactical operator, nor was it Voss. It was a woman in a sharp grey executive suit, her silver-streaked hair tied back in a professional bun, holding a encrypted tablet computer.
“Director Vance?” Clara whispered in sheer disbelief, recognizing the head of hospital administration and oversight board member. “You’re... you’re part of this too?”
Director Vance didn't blink. She looked down at Clara with a cold, analytical gaze, sliding her tablet onto the desk. “I am preservation, Clara. Marchesi’s era is a liability. The board voted unanimously to restructure the facility’s oversight to integrate with the new syndicate leadership under Voss. Unfortunately, your little heroic medical intervention upstairs disrupted a very clean transition.”
Clara backed away until her spine hit the filing cabinets. “You tried to murder a patient in his bed! That goes against every oath—”
“Oaths don't keep the hospital funded, Clara. Ten million dollars in anonymous offshore grants do,” Vance interrupted smoothly, stepping closer with an unsettling calm. “And now, you’ve seen things that make you an unacceptable loose end. Just like Dante.”
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Before Vance could reach for the weapon concealed inside her blazer, the window behind her shattered inward with an explosive crash. A massive dark shadow leaped through the frame, sending glass flying in all directions.
Before Vance could turn, Bruno the Cane Corso slammed her directly into the mahogany desk, pinning her instantly beneath eighty pounds of snarling muscle and white-hot fury.
