Chapter 2 - Blood and Sterile Hallways
The black Maybach tore through the rainy streets of downtown Seattle at ninety miles an hour, flanked by two dark SUVs with blacked-out windows. Rain lashed against the armored glass like thrown gravel.
Inside the rear cabin, the silence was suffocating.
Sadi sat pressed against the leather seat, staring down at her lap. Her hands were wrapped in Victor’s heavy cashmere scarf—a gesture he had made without a word the moment she had stepped into the vehicle. The material was soft, warm, and smelled faintly of cedar, expensive tobacco, and rain.
Across from her, Victor sat with his dark legs crossed, looking out the window as the city lights blurred past in red and yellow streaks. His tablet hummed on his lap, displaying a live layout of St. Jude’s fourth-floor pediatric oncology unit.
“He’s sixteen?” Victor asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Sadi jumped slightly, then nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Sam. He... he was diagnosed fourteen months ago. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. The treatments were working, but then our insurance dropped us because my mother died three years ago and the policy was under her name. I... I couldn't let him die, Mr. Costello.”
Victor didn't look away from the window. “Loan sharks don't lend money to save lives, Sadi. They lend money to buy collateral. Mick O’Shea didn't want your sixty thousand. He wanted a leverage point inside my house.”
Sadi lowered her head, fresh tears hot against her eyelids. “I didn't know... I swear on my life, I never said a word about what I saw here. I just needed the money for Sam’s chemo.”
“I know,” Victor said softly. He turned his head, his sharp grey eyes locking onto hers. “If I thought you were selling secrets to O’Shea, we wouldn't be in this car.”
The Maybach screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay of St. Jude’s Hospital, its tires smoking against the wet asphalt. Before the engine even cut out, Matteo and six armed men spilled from the trailing SUVs, forming a tight, lethal perimeter around the vehicle.
Victor stepped out into the rain, holding his umbrella over Sadi’s head as he guided her toward the glass sliding doors.
The lobby of the hospital was quiet, bathed in harsh fluorescent light. Nurses at the front desk looked up in alarm as eight men in tailored suits and heavy coats swept into the room with absolute authority.
“Sir! You can’t—” a security guard began, stepping forward.
Matteo didn't even slow down. He grabbed the guard by his lapels, shoved him gently but firmly back into his plastic chair, and flashed a silver badge that bore the crest of the city’s most powerful private security firm. “Costello detail. Stand down if you want to keep your job.”
They took the private elevator straight to the fourth floor.
When the doors slid open, Sadi ran down the hallway toward Room 412. The sterile smell of rubbing alcohol and bleach filled her nose, but for the first time, she wasn't thinking about work—she was thinking about her brother.
Outside Room 412, a man in a leather jacket was leaning casually against the wall, chewing on a toothpick. It was Declan.
He looked up, his eyes widening as he saw Sadi—and then his face went completely white as he saw the towering figure of Victor Costello walking behind her.
“Mr. Costello—” Declan stammered, reaching reflexively for his waistband.
He never got the chance.
Victor closed the distance in three strides. He grabbed Declan by the throat, driving his back violently into the drywall with a thunderous CRACK. Dust rained down from the ceiling tiles.
“I thought I told Mick to have you out of here,” Victor growled, his grip tightening until Declan’s face turned a mottled purple, his feet dangling an inch off the linoleum floor.
“I... I was leaving... I swear—” Declan choked out.
Victor didn't argue. He signaled Matteo with a slight tilt of his chin. Matteo stepped forward, pulled Declan’s arms behind his back, and dragged him toward the service stairwell without making a sound.
Victor wiped his gloved hands, stepped past the shattered drywall, and pushed open the door to Room 412.
Inside, sixteen-year-old Sam lay in a high-tech hospital bed, his face pale, hair sparse from chemotherapy, but his dark eyes bright and clear as he looked up from a comic book.
“Sadi?” Sam rasped, his voice weak. “What’s going on? Who are these people?”
Sadi threw herself across the bed, burying her face into her brother’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. “You’re okay... oh God, Sam, you’re okay...”
Victor stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light from the hallway. He watched the siblings for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, he turned to the chief oncologist who had rushed into the room, flustered and trembling.
“Doctor,” Victor said calmly.
“Yes—yes, sir?” the doctor stammered.
“Sam Hayes is being transferred to the top floor private suite immediately,” Victor instructed. “Bring in the best specialists from Johns Hopkins. Put him on the experimental immunotherapy protocol. Send every invoice directly to the Costello Foundation.”
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The doctor blinked, stunned. “Directly to... Mr. Costello, that protocol costs hundreds of thousands of dollars—”
“I didn't ask for a price,” Victor said, his tone leaving zero room for debate. “I asked for my orders to be followed. Do it now.”
