Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD ON THE WHITE SILK SCARF
Enzo grabbed the security man by the collar, slamming him against the steel wall of the elevator.
“Who took her?” Enzo roared. “Where is my wife?!”
The guard coughed, his hands empty and shaking.
“Not Elena,” the guard gasped, wincing in pain. “Dr. Harris. They took the doctor.”
Enzo froze. He released his grip, stepping back as the heavy doors tried to close against his shoulder.
“Why would they take the obstetrician?”
“Leverage,” the guard wheezed, clutching a deep knife wound in his side. “Anthony sent me to secure the perimeter. I found three men dragging the doctor into the stairwell. They left this.”
The guard reached into his pocket with a trembling, blood-stained hand.
He pulled out a white silk scarf.
It was torn, stained with fresh blood, and carried the unmistakable, heavy scent of gardenias.
Enzo knew that scent.
He had smelled it every night for the past three weeks.
It belonged to Bianca.
“Bianca was here,” Enzo whispered, staring at the silk fabric.
The pieces slammed together with sickening clarity. His mother hadn't just hired random hitmen to assassinate Anthony. She had used Bianca—the woman Enzo thought was just a desperate, needy mistress—as the operative.
Bianca wasn't waiting at a hotel. She had been inside the hospital all along.
“Where did they go?” Enzo demanded.
“South stairwell,” the guard replied, sliding down the elevator wall. “They cut the security cameras on the fourth floor.”
Enzo didn't wait. He drew his weapon from his shoulder holster, the cold metal grounding his frantic mind.
He sprinted toward the south stairwell, throwing open the heavy fire doors.
The concrete stairs echoed with silence.
He took the steps two at a time, his heart hammering a brutal rhythm against his ribs.
He reached the fourth floor—a wing currently under renovation, closed to the public.
The air smelled of plaster dust and bleach.
Enzo moved silently down the dark, plastic-draped corridor.
At the end of the hall, a single construction light illuminated an unfinished patient room.
He approached the doorway, his gun raised.
Inside the room, Dr. Harris was tied to a medical chair. Her glasses were broken, her face bruised, but she was alive.
Standing beside her, holding a surgical scalpel, was Bianca.
She wore a dark trench coat over her evening dress. She didn't look like a terrified woman seeking protection. She looked calm. Cold.
“Let her go, Bianca,” Enzo said, stepping into the light, his gun aimed squarely at her chest.
Bianca didn't flinch. She slowly turned her head, a familiar, patronizing smile touching her lips.
“Enzo, darling,” she purred. “You really are predictable. Your mother said you would choose your pride over your empire.”
“My mother is a fool,” Enzo said coldly. “Drop the blade.”
“I don't think so,” Bianca replied, pressing the sharp edge closer to the doctor's neck. “Dr. Harris here is very important. She is the only surgeon in this hospital capable of performing the highly specialized emergency C-section your wife requires to survive placenta previa.”
Enzo’s blood ran cold.
“If she dies,” Bianca continued softly, “and Elena begins to hemorrhage… your wife and your daughter bleed to death before a replacement surgeon can arrive.”
Enzo’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Why are you doing this, Bianca?” Enzo asked, keeping his voice deadly level. “I gave you money. I gave you a penthouse. You had everything.”
“I had scraps!” Bianca snapped, her composed facade finally cracking. “I was a secret. A toy. Your mother promised me that if I helped her eliminate Anthony DeLuca, she would ensure Elena didn't survive the delivery. I would be your only choice for a wife. I would be the queen of this city.”
“You think killing my family makes me love you?”
“I don't want your love, Enzo,” Bianca sneered. “I want your name.”
Bianca reached into her trench coat pocket with her free hand.
She pulled out a small, heavy object and tossed it onto the dusty concrete floor.
It rolled to a stop at Enzo's feet.
It was a silver pocket watch.
Enzo stared at it. The intricate engraving on the back was unmistakable.
It belonged to Anthony DeLuca.
“How did you get this?” Enzo demanded.
“I didn't take it,” Bianca smiled triumphantly. “My men did. While you were playing hero in the stairwell, they breached Elena's room.”
Enzo stopped breathing.
“Anthony is currently bleeding out on the maternity ward,” Bianca laughed. “And your precious, stubborn wife is entirely unprotected.”
The reversal hit Enzo with the force of a freight train.
He wasn't saving the day. He had been lured away. Again.
“You have a choice, Enzo,” Bianca whispered, her eyes dark and manic. “Shoot me, and Dr. Harris bleeds to death. Your wife dies on the operating table without her. Or… put your gun on the floor, walk away, and let my men finish Anthony.”
Enzo looked at the terrified doctor.
He looked at the silver pocket watch on the floor.
Then he looked at Bianca.
He didn't lower his gun.
He simply smiled. A terrifying, predatory smile that reminded the entire Chicago underworld why he was the boss.
“You made one miscalculation, Bianca,” Enzo said softly.
Bianca frowned. “What?”
“Anthony DeLuca didn't come to this hospital alone.”
Suddenly, the heavy plastic sheeting behind Bianca ripped violently open.
A massive, gloved hand shot out of the darkness, grabbing Bianca by the hair and slamming her face-first into the concrete wall.
The scalpel clattered to the floor.
Standing in the torn plastic, holding Bianca against the wall with one hand, was a man Enzo hadn't seen in four years.
Anthony's most loyal captain.
The man looked at Enzo, then at the unconscious Bianca.
May you like
“Anthony sends his regards, Enzo,” the captain grunted. “He said to tell you the maternity ward is secure. He just wanted to see if you would actually pull the trigger for his daughter.”
TITLE: The Fetal Monitor in the Silent Room
