Chapter 3 - The Mafia Boss’s Confession
The revelation dropped into the bright, antiseptic trauma bay like a tactical explosive.
Nora stared at me, her mouth slightly open, while the resident physician dropped a roll of sterile gauze onto the floor with a soft thud. My own heart hammered frantically against my ribs, not out of shock, but because a hundred terrifying, disparate puzzle pieces of the last seven years suddenly slammed together into a crystal-clear picture of deceit.
“Explain,” I demanded, leaning over the gurney and staring down into Viktor Vance’s dark, calculating eyes. “Explain every word of that right now before I pull this chest tube out.”
Viktor winced, his hand still clamped around my wrist with a grip that defied his massive blood loss. “Easy, Doctor. Adrenaline is a wonderful painkiller, but my ticker is still recovering.” He turned his heavy gaze toward the observation window, where Grant was frantically gesturing for Brianna to turn around and walk away toward the exit.
Too late. Brianna had heard every single syllable. She stood frozen outside the glass, her face twisted in absolute horror as she realized her secret was blowing up in broad daylight.
“Grant Mercer is a coward,” Viktor rasped, coughing up a small trace of bright red blood into a basin held by a nurse. “Three years ago, my boy Leo got tangled up with a cocktail waitress from the harbor club—Brianna. She got pregnant. Leo was reckless, hot-headed, and before we could clean up the mess, Leo wound up dead in a turf war down by pier fourteen.”
A cold shiver raced down my spine. “Leo Vance was killed?”
“Executed,” Viktor corrected grimly, his eyes hardening into flint. “And Grant—ambitious, spineless Grant—came crawling to me looking for venture capital to launch his commercial real estate firm. He wanted millions. I told him money isn't free. I had a grandchild coming into the world without a father, and an inconvenient baby mama who needed a respectable life and a suburban address.”
The pieces clicked into place with horrifying precision.
“So you bought him,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “You gave Grant the capital for his firm on one condition: he had to marry Brianna’s proxy, set her up in secret, and raise your syndicate bloodline under the Mercer name.”
“Not quite, Doctor,” Viktor corrected with a grim smirk. “Grant volunteered. He was terrified of his mother’s judgment about his infertility, and he was even more terrified of my boys if he said no. He wanted the high-society life, the country club membership, and my financial backing. So we struck a deal. He kept you around as the respectable, hardworking surgeon wife to throw off the IRS and the feds, while he played domestic house with Brianna on the side, funded entirely by my offshore accounts.”
Outside the glass partition, Grant finally snapped. He shoved open the trauma bay door, bursting into the room despite Harbor Point’s strict security protocols.
“Shut up! Shut your bloody mouth, you old bastard!” Grant screamed, lunging toward the gurney with his fists clenched. “You’re lying! She’s crazy—they’re both trying to ruin me!”
Security guards tackled Grant before he could reach the bed, pinning his arms behind his back as he thrashed wildly against them like a cornered animal.
“Get him out of my sight,” I said, my voice dropping into a deadly, freezing register that made even the burly security guards hesitate. “Take him out of my trauma bay before I forget my hippocratic oath and let him bleed out right here.”
“Claire! Listen to me!” Grant yelled as they dragged him backward toward the sliding doors, his designer shirt torn and his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “I did it for us! I did it so we could have money! So we could fit in with my mother’s crowd!”
“You did it because you are empty,” I replied, not even turning around to look at his pathetic face. “Get him out.”
As the doors hissed shut behind screaming Grant, Brianna stood alone in the empty hallway outside, looking small, abandoned, and utterly terrified as she clutched her swollen belly in the harsh fluorescent light.
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Viktor Vance watched them go, then looked back up at me with a strange, dark glimmer of respect in his dark eyes.
“So,” Viktor rumbled softly. “What are you going to do now, Doctor? Cut him loose, or finish stitching me up?”
