Chapter 21
Dez
T wo hours later, they moved Angelina to a private suite on the top floor. The CT scan had shown a moderate concussion with a small subdural hematoma—bleeding between the brain and skull. Not large enough to require immediate surgery, but serious enough that they needed to monitor her closely.
"The blood you saw was mostly from the scalp laceration," Dr. Patterson explained. "Head wounds bleed profusely, even minor ones. We've stitched it up and the bleeding has stopped. But the concussion and the hematoma are our concern now. We need to watch for increased intracranial pressure."
"What does that mean?" I asked, my voice rough.
"It means we monitor her neurological status every hour. If the bleeding increases or if she shows signs of deterioration, we'll need to intervene surgically. But right now, she's stable. Her brain is protecting itself by keeping her unconscious while it heals."
"When will she wake up?"
"Could be hours. Could be a day or two. With head trauma, we can't predict." He met my eyes. "But her vitals are strong. That's a good sign."
"And the baby?"
His expression softened. "The ultrasound showed a strong heartbeat. Six weeks along, based on the measurements. Everything looks normal and healthy. The baby is well-protected in the uterus. The trauma to your wife's head didn't affect the pregnancy."
I sank into the chair beside her bed, my legs suddenly unable to hold me.
"There's one more thing," Dr. Patterson said carefully.
"Because of the head injury and the bleeding, we need to be cautious with medications.
Some pain medications can affect clotting.
We're keeping her on a minimal dose, which means she might experience significant pain when she wakes up.
We'll manage it carefully, but I want you to be prepared. "
"Whatever it takes to keep them both safe," I said.
He nodded and left me alone with my unconscious wife.
Angelina looked so small in the hospital bed.
Her skin was ashen, making the bruises on her face stand out in stark relief.
The bandage on her temple was pristine white against the dried blood they hadn't quite cleaned from her hairline.
An IV dripped fluids and carefully monitored medication into her arm.
But she was breathing. Her heart was beating steady on the monitor. She was alive. They were. I took her hand, careful of the IV, and brought it to my lips.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I promised to keep you safe and I failed. But I swear to you, Angelina—he won't get another chance. I'll end this tonight."
Her fingers twitched slightly in mine.
"That's it, sweetheart," I murmured. "Come back to me. I need you to wake up so I can tell you about our baby. So I can see your face when you find out we're going to be parents."
A soft knock at the door. Matvey entered, his expression grim.
"Status?" I asked without looking away from Angelina.
"Top floor is secured. Only authorized medical personnel with verified credentials allowed up. Her friends are in rooms down the hall. Karla's out of surgery, doing fine. Shoulder wound was clean, no major damage. The others are shaken but uninjured. We've got eyes on all of them."
"Good."
"There's more." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "We found the shooter's car abandoned three blocks from the scene. Stolen plates, wiped clean. But traffic cams caught the driver's face."
He handed me a tablet showing a grainy but clear image of a man in his thirties, tattooed neck, dead eyes.
"Recognize him?"
"No. But I sent it to our contacts in the Seattle PD. They ID'd him as Andre Smith. Former military, dishonorably discharged, now works as muscle for hire."
"And who hired him?"
"Working on it. His last known address was in Tacoma. We've got people on the way."
"When you find him, bring him to me alive. I want to know everything." I looked back at Angelina. "And double the security. If Vincent hired one shooter, he might have hired others."
"Already done. I've got twelve men on this floor, rotating shifts. Nothing gets through."
I nodded, satisfied. With Matvey running security, the hospital was probably safer than Fort Knox.
But still?—
"I want to move her," I said. "As soon as the doctors clear it. Bring her home where I can control the environment completely."
"Dr. Patterson says minimum seventy-two hours. They need to make sure the bleeding doesn't worsen and that she wakes up without complications."
Seventy-two hours. Three days of my wife being vulnerable in a place I couldn't completely control. But I'd make it work. I had to.
Night fell. Angelina's friends came to visit one by one. Charmaine with tears streaming down her face, Lisa pale and shaking, Imani cold with fury, Karla drugged but insisting she needed to see that Angelina was okay despite the bandages on her shoulder.
I let them in for a few minutes each, then sent them back to their rooms to rest under guard.
Nikolai arrived around nine, going straight to Imani's room.
I heard raised voices, her anger, his concern, before it went quiet.
Good. She needed someone right now, and my brother was surprisingly good at being there when it mattered.
My father came and went, updating me on the search for Vincent. No luck yet. The ankle monitor showed him at a hotel in Bellevue, but when our people checked, the room was empty. He'd cut the monitor off and run. Smart but desperate. And now he was in the wind with nothing left to lose.
Around midnight, a nurse came in to check Angelina's vitals, one I recognized from earlier rounds.
"How is she?" I asked.
"Stable. Blood pressure is good, heart rate steady. No signs of increased intracranial pressure, which is excellent." She made notes on her chart. "Dr. Patterson will be by in the morning to do another neuro assessment."
"No other tests tonight?"
"Not unless something changes. We're just monitoring for now." She smiled kindly. "Try to get some rest, Mr. Moretti. She's in good hands."
She left and I settled back in the chair, my hand returning to Angelina's. I must have dozed off because I jerked awake to the sound of the door opening.
A doctor I didn't recognize entered. Asian, maybe early forties, wearing scrubs and a white coat with a hospital ID badge clipped to the pocket.
"Mr. Moretti," he said with a professional smile. "I'm Dr. Kim, neurology. I've been reviewing your wife's case."
Something felt off. I couldn't pinpoint what. Just a whisper of instinct that had kept me alive in this business for years.
"Dr. Patterson is her attending," I said carefully.
"He is. But I'm the neurosurgeon on call tonight. Dr. Patterson asked me to evaluate Mrs. Moretti's subdural hematoma." He moved to the monitors, studying them. "Her latest neuro checks show some concerning signs. I'd like to get another CT scan, just to make sure the bleeding hasn't increased."
"What concerning signs? The nurse just said she was stable."
"Subtle things. Pupil response time, slight changes in her reflexive movements." He pulled out a small penlight. "Nothing immediately dangerous, but with head trauma, we don't take chances. The CT will only take twenty minutes. Better safe than sorry."
Every instinct screamed at me that something was wrong.
"I'll come with her," I said.
"I'm afraid you can't. CT rooms have strict protocols, only essential medical personnel can be present." He moved to unlock the brake on Angelina's bed. "But I can have security wait right outside radiology if that makes you more comfortable."
"My security goes with her."
"Of course."
He pressed the call button and another person entered—wearing scrubs, a surgical cap, face mask. Could have been male or female, I couldn't tell.
"We're taking Mrs. Moretti down for an urgent CT," Dr. Kim said. "Let's move quickly."
They started wheeling the bed toward the door.
I stood, that uneasy feeling intensifying. "Wait."
Dr. Kim paused. "Mr. Moretti, every minute counts with a potential bleed."
"Show me your hospital ID."
His expression flickered. Just for a second. But it was enough.
"Mr. Moretti, I don't have time for–"
I was already moving, pulling out my phone to call Matvey, when the person in scrubs pulled a gun from beneath their clothes.
"Don't," female voice, cold and professional.
Dr. Kim's friendly demeanor vanished. "We're taking your wife, Mr. Moretti. You can cooperate and live, or resist and die. Your choice."
"You won't make it out of this building." I pressed the button on my phone but never lifted it to my face.
"We already have." He gestured to the window where I could see—fuck—an ambulance in the parking lot below, positioned beneath the window. "Special delivery."
The door burst open and two of Matvey’s men rushed in, weapons drawn.
The woman fired twice, silenced shots that barely made a sound. Both men went down.
"Anyone else dies, it's on you," Dr. Kim said. "Now step back."
I calculated odds. Two armed professionals. My wife unconscious and vulnerable. Matvey’s team responding but not fast enough.
If I fought now, Angelina could get caught in the crossfire.
"Where are you taking her?" I demanded.
"Somewhere your money can't reach." He started wheeling the bed again. "Vincent sends his regards."
They moved quickly, out the door, down the hall past the bodies of two more guards I hadn't heard go down.
Professional. Coordinated. This wasn't amateur hour.
I grabbed a gun from the guard on the ground and ran after them.
I followed, keeping my distance, my mind racing through options.
They hit the elevator, but instead of going down to radiology, they went up. To the roof.
Of course.
I took the stairs, calling Matvey as I ran. "They're extracting by helicopter. Roof access, now!"
"Boss, we're coming?—"
The stairwell door to the roof was locked. I kicked it open just as the helicopter descended, its searchlight blinding.
Dr. Kim and the woman were loading Angelina's gurney into the chopper. She was still unconscious, still so vulnerable.
"STOP!" I shouted, drawing my weapon.
But they were already lifting off, the wind from the rotors nearly knocking me back. I got one clear shot at the tail rotor—missed. I continued firing and it seemed to do nothing as the chopper raised and pulled off. And then they were gone, disappearing into the night.
I stood on that roof, breathing hard, my weapon still raised, and felt something inside me break. Vincent had taken her. And I had no idea where they were going. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking with rage, and made the call that would unleash hell.
"Find him," I told my father. "They’re gone… Fucking find him!”
"We’re trying…"
I hung up and stared at the empty sky.
Hold on, Angelina.
Just hold on.
I'm coming for you. As soon as I fucking find out where you are.
I shouted into the sky feeling completely and totally helpless. In the moment, everything good in me seemed to die and I didn’t regret it. That’s when I realized that nobody was off limits. If he could come after my family, I could do the same.