Chapter 3 - Blood on the Marble Floor of Michigan Avenue
The heavy steel security gates of Dr. Mercer’s subterranean clinic slid open just as the Escalade screeched to a halt on the concrete ramp.
Before the engine had even stopped idling, Enzo kicked the rear passenger door open and stepped into the sharp glare of the halogen lights.
He carried Elena in his arms like she weighed nothing, her dark blood dripping off his boots onto the pristine white concrete floor.
Dr. Arthur Mercer, a former military trauma surgeon who owed Enzo his life and his license, rushed out with a team of four nurses and a gurney.
“Get her onto the board! Now!” Dr. Mercer shouted, checking Elena’s thready pulse in her neck.
Enzo laid her down gently, but he refused to let go of her left hand as the medical team began pushing the gurney down the hallway.
“She’s in severe hypovolemic shock, blood pressure is seventy over forty!” a nurse yelled, ripping open Elena’s trench coat with trauma shears.
“Fetal heart rate is dropping! It’s down to eighty beats per minute!” another nurse called out, placing an ultrasound transducer onto her stomach.
Dr. Mercer glanced at the ultrasound screen, his face hardening as he looked across the gurney at Enzo.
“Lorenzo, she’s lost too much blood, and the placenta is showing signs of partial abruption,” Mercer said, his voice clipped and serious.
“If I don't perform an emergency Cesarean section within the next ten minutes, you will lose both of them.”
Enzo grabbed Mercer by the collar of his surgical scrubs, pulling the physician until their noses were inches apart.
“Save them both, Arthur,” Enzo whispered, his voice vibrating with a quiet, lethal promise.
“If she dies, my life ends tonight. If my child dies, yours does.”
Mercer didn't flinch; he simply nodded once and slapped Enzo’s hand away.
“Then get out of my surgical suite and let me do my job!” Mercer barked.
The double steel doors slammed shut in Enzo’s face, locking him out in the cold, sterile hallway.
Enzo stood alone in the quiet corridor, staring at the thick glass window of the operating room as nurses moved frantically inside.
He looked down at his hands, covered in Elena’s wet, dark blood, feeling the cold air of the basement facility chill his skin.
Frankie walked up behind him, carrying a fresh leather holster and two fully loaded high-caliber pistols.
“Boss,” Frankie said quietly, handing over the weapons. “The perimeter is locked down. My boys are surrounding the block.”
Enzo took the guns, racking the slide of the primary weapon with a heavy, metallic clack that echoed down the empty hallway.
May you like
“Call the inner council,” Enzo commanded, his eyes fixed on the surgical lights.
“Tell them the Great Lakes Syndicate is officially at war.”
