Chapter 2 - Code Blue and Confessions
The neon lights overhead buzzed like a swarm of angry hornets as Gideon dragged a hyperventilating Sloane out of the surgical waiting area. Beatrice sank into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, weeping quietly into her hands. I stood entirely paralyzed, the clinic documents burning a hole through my palms.
Elena was dying inside that operating room. The woman I had vowed to protect. The woman I had coldly blamed for our empty home, when all along she had been the victim of a calculated, monstrous conspiracy. The guilt was a physical weight on my chest, crushing the oxygen out of my lungs.
A nurse ran out of the double doors, clutching a clipboard against her scrubs. “We need blood! O-negative, stat! The blood bank is five minutes out and she doesn't have five minutes!”
“Take mine!” I roared, stepping directly into her path. “I’m O-negative. Drain me completely dry if you have to, just keep her heart beating.”
The nurse looked terrified of my sheer size and intensity, but she nodded sharply, motioning for a phlebotomist. As they hooked a thick gauge needle into my arm right there in the waiting area, I closed my eyes and prayed to a God I hadn't spoken to since I was a child. Take my money, take my casino, take my life, I bargained silently. Just let her breathe.
Time stretched into a torturous, never-ending abyss. Two hours passed. Every time the double doors swung open, my own heart seized in my chest. Finally, Dr. Aris, the lead surgeon, walked out. His surgical scrubs were stained dark with blood.
I ripped the IV from my arm, ignoring the blood that trickled down my forearm, and rushed him. “Where is she?”
Dr. Aris pulled down his mask. His face was grave, lined with exhaustion. “Mr. Vance, the situation was catastrophic. Her heart failure was advanced. We had to perform an emergency classical C-section under extreme duress.”
“And?” The word felt like swallowing crushed glass.
“You have a son, Mr. Vance. He is premature, weighing barely four pounds, and his lungs are underdeveloped. He is currently in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit on a ventilator.”
My knees nearly buckled. A son. I had a son. “And Elena?”
“She survived the surgery, but she is in a medically induced coma to reduce the strain on her failing heart. The next forty-eight hours are critical. If her heart doesn't stabilize on its own, she will need a transplant, and given her condition, she might not survive the waitlist.”
I pushed past him, my vision blurring with unshed tears. “Take me to her.”
The ICU was sterile, freezing, and unnervingly quiet, save for the rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator. When I saw Elena, a strangled sob tore from my throat. She looked so incredibly fragile amidst the tangle of wires and tubes. Her beautiful, vibrant face was ghostly pale, her lips tinged blue. I pulled a chair to her bedside and took her cold hand in mine, pressing my forehead against her knuckles.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the tears I had held back for years finally falling freely, staining the white sheets. “I am so damn sorry, mia luce. I was a blind fool. I let them lie to us. I let them break our family. But I swear on my life, I will burn the world down to fix this.”
For three hours, I didn't leave her side. I simply sat there, transferring every ounce of my strength into her hand. But the syndicate required its blood debt. Leaving four of my most heavily armed enforcers outside Elena’s door, I took the private elevator down to the subterranean parking garage.
Sloane was handcuffed to the heavy metal grab handle inside my armored SUV, her face streaked with ruined makeup. Gideon sat in the front seat, staring straight ahead, completely unfazed by her sobbing.
I opened the back door and climbed inside, bringing the freezing aura of the ICU with me. “Let's have a conversation, Sloane.”
“Cassian, I did it for us!” she sobbed, straining against the cuffs. “You were so unhappy! She couldn't give you what you needed, and I loved you! I just wanted to secure your empire!”
“You bribed a medical professional to falsify my wife's lab results,” I stated flatly, my voice devoid of any human emotion. “You forged my signature to destroy the embryos we had created. You orchestrated the collapse of my marriage. And then, miraculously, you got pregnant just three months after my divorce.”
I leaned closer, the scent of her expensive perfume now making me violently nauseous. “I underwent a private medical screening last week for a life insurance policy. The doctor noted that my sperm count has drastically dropped due to the stress medications I’ve been taking. It's nearly impossible for me to naturally conceive right now. So, I am going to ask you one time, and if you lie to me, Gideon is going to take you out to the desert.”
Her eyes widened in absolute, primal terror.
“Whose baby are you carrying?”
Sloane clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head. I sighed, reaching over and unbuckling my suit jacket. “Gideon. Start the car. Head toward the dunes.”
“Wait! Wait!” she screamed, thrashing against the door. “It's Roman! It's Roman’s baby!”
The name hit me like a physical blow to the chest. Roman was my underboss. My trusted second-in-command for the southern territories of my syndicate.
“Roman,” I repeated, the pieces rapidly falling into place. Roman had always resented my rise to power. He knew that without an heir, my grip on the syndicate was vulnerable. If he could plant his own child in my house, pretending it was mine, he would eventually control the entire empire through Sloane.
“He paid the fertility doctor,” Sloane whimpered, tears pouring down her chin. “He arranged the offshore wire transfers. He told me that if I seduced you and got pregnant by him, we would rule the city together. I'm sorry, Cassian! He made me do it!”
May you like
I stared at her in absolute disgust. “You are a parasite. But luckily for you, I don't kill pregnant women.”
I stepped out of the SUV and looked at Gideon through the rolled-down window. “Drive her to the state line. Dump her at a bus station with nothing but the clothes on her back. Cancel all her cards. If she ever steps foot in Las Vegas again, bury her.”
