Chapter 6 - The Lion's Den
The air in the room instantly turned to sub-zero ice. Kieran pulled back from me smoothly, his expression snapping into the terrifying mask of the Blackwood syndicate's supreme leader.
"Did he bring weapons into the lobby?" Kieran asked, his voice disturbingly calm.
"Concealed," the guard replied. "He's claiming he's here for a 'peaceful wellness visit' to see an old friend. He brought half his senior crew. He knows you're here, boss. He thinks you're isolated."
"He thinks I came to a hospital alone to die," Kieran murmured with a deadly smirk.
Panic seized my chest. I grabbed Kieran's forearm, clutching his wool sleeve. "Kieran, no! Please don't start a war in this hospital! Leo is here—there are hundreds of sick children on these floors!"
Kieran looked down at my hand, then placed his palm over mine, squeezing gently. "Nobody is shooting inside this hospital, Saraphina. I promise you that. But Vincent Moretti made a mistake thinking he could corner me when I'm defending what is mine."
He turned to his lead guard. "Lock down this floor. If anyone without a Blackwood security clearance steps out of the stairwells or elevators, put them down instantly. Saraphina, stay in the room with Leo. Keep the blinds drawn."
"Where are you going?" I asked, terrified.
"To teach Vincent Moretti some manners in the cafeteria," Kieran answered coldly.
I watched him walk out, his towering figure exuding a wave of authority so intense that the hospital nurses instinctively scattered out of his path. I locked the heavy suite door from the inside, pulled the thick velvet curtains shut over the Central Park view, and sat on the edge of Leo's bed, holding his small, warm hand while he slept peacefully under the sedation.
Down on the ground floor, Kieran walked into the hospital's private executive lounge where Vincent Moretti sat sipping an espresso. Vincent was older, gaunt, with greasy slicked-back hair and a reputation for sadistic cruelty. Four of his armed goons stood flanking the leather armchairs.
"Kieran," Vincent sneered, not bothering to rise. "What a surprise to find New York's king of shadows playing Florence Nightingale in a children's ward. Word on the street is you've gone soft over a little maid."
Kieran didn't take a seat. He walked directly up to the table, towering over Moretti like an impending storm.
"You brought four hitmen into a pediatric hospital, Vincent," Kieran said, his tone devoid of any human emotion. "That violates the Five Families council charter."
"The charter?" Vincent laughed, setting his cup down with a clatter. "The charter was written by your father, and your father is dead. We know you transferred two million dollars of syndicate liquidity to this hospital today. The council thinks you're laundering money behind our backs. Or worse... that you're losing your mind over a stray girl."
Kieran leaned forward, resting both knuckles on the wooden table. The sheer menace in his eyes made Vincent's goons involuntarily rest their hands on their holstered weapons.
"Every dollar I spent today came from my personal, audited holdings," Kieran said quietly, his voice vibrating with absolute lethality. "Not one cent belonged to the commission. But let me make something abundantly clear to you, Vincent. If you so much as breathe the name Saraphina Torres again, I won't call a council meeting. I won't ask for permission. I will wipe your entire bloodline off the face of this earth, burn your ports to the ground, and bury you in a ditch in Jersey."
Vincent swallowed hard, his arrogant smirk beginning to falter under Kieran's terrifying, unflinching glare.
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"You're threatening a made boss over a domestic servant?" Vincent hissed.
"She is not a servant," Kieran snarled, each syllable striking like a hammer. "She is the future Mrs. Blackwood. And if you touch a hair on her or her brother's head, God Himself won't be able to save you from what I'll do to you."
