Chapter 4 - The Doctor’s Alibi
Before Vincent could reach for the secure intercom on his desk, the heavy oak door of the study swung open without a knock.
Dr. Harrison Blake stood in the doorway.
He wasn't wearing his white medical coat anymore. He wore a dark wool overcoat, leather gloves stretched tight over his fingers, and carried a sleek titanium medical case in his left hand. His silver-streaked hair was slightly ruffled by the autumn wind, and a smug, confident smile played at the corners of his thin lips.
“Forgive the intrusion, Vincent,” Dr. Blake said smoothly, stepping into the room as if he owned the estate. He didn't even glance in my direction. “I forgot my diagnostic tablet on the side table in the boys' room. But more importantly, I need to discuss the adjusted pharmacological regimen for Leo’s morning injections.”
Vincent didn't move. He stood behind his mahogany desk like a statue carved from obsidian.
“You’re leaving, Harrison?” Vincent asked, his voice deceptively soft.
“It’s nearly ten o’clock,” Blake replied, checking an expensive Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. “I have early morning consultations at my Boston clinic tomorrow. You know how delicate Lucas’s metabolic stability is—delaying my return would be… professionally irresponsible.”
“Professionally irresponsible,” Vincent repeated, walking slowly around the corner of the desk.
Dr. Blake finally sensed the shift in the room. The smug smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine confusion as he looked at Vincent’s posture—the coiled-spring tension of a predator preparing to strike.
“Vincent? Is something wrong? Did the boys take a turn for the worse?”
“No,” I spoke up for the first time, stepping out from the shadows near the bookshelf. “The boys are actually going to start getting better. As soon as we turn off the organic solvent pumping through their ventilation shafts.”
Dr. Blake’s face didn't pale. It went entirely grey.
The titanium medical case slipped an inch down his gloved hand before he caught his grip.
“I have no idea what ridiculous conspiracy theory this woman has whispered into your ear, Vincent,” Blake said, his voice rising in practiced indignation as he turned toward the mafia boss. “I am a board-certified pediatrician with thirty years of clinical experience! I have devoted my entire life to saving those children—”
“You devoted your life to keeping them sick,” Vincent interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl.
In one blindingly fast movement, Vincent crossed the distance between the desk and the doorway. His massive hand shot out, grabbing Dr. Blake by the lapels of his wool overcoat and lifting the doctor two inches off the hardwood floor with raw, terrifying physical strength.
“Vincent! Put me down! Have you lost your mind? I’ll call the medical board—I’ll—!”
“You’ll call nobody,” Vincent hissed, his face inches from the doctor's nose. “Marcus!”
The heavy oak doors banged open again. Marcus stood in the threshold, flanked by two armed operatives in dark suits.
“Boss?” Marcus barked.
“Take Dr. Blake down to the basement security suite,” Vincent ordered, his grip on the doctor’s coat tightening until the fabric tore. “Confiscate his phone, his medical case, and his car keys. Strip him down to his skin and check every square inch of his body for encrypted communication devices.”
“You can’t do this!” Blake shrieked, panic finally breaking through his arrogant veneer as Marcus’s heavy hands clamped onto his shoulders. “I’m a protected consultant! The Rossi family will—!”
Dr. Blake abruptly clamped his mouth shut, but the damage was done.
The confession hung in the air, thick and undeniable.
May you like
Vincent’s eyes narrowed into twin slits of pure, unadulterated murder. He slowly lowered the doctor back to the floor, releasing his grip as if touching the man was fouling his hands.
“Get him out of my sight,” Vincent whispered. “Before I forget I’m a father and remember I’m a criminal.”
