Chapter 2 - The St. Jude Clinic
The St. Jude clinic occupied an unassuming brick building on the industrial outskirts of Chicago, officially registered as a private philanthropic wellness center, but financed entirely by the Marino syndicate’s offshore medical trusts.
With Maso clearing the way using his captain’s signet ring and Leah walking beside me in her blood-flecked scrubs to pass as a consulting specialist, we bypassed the front security desk without a single question.
—Room 312, —Maso murmured, his hand resting reassuringly near the holster hidden beneath his coat. —The two guards outside are loyal to Alessandro’s uncle, Victor. If Victor’s men find out what’s inside that ring before we talk to Camila, she won't see tomorrow morning.
—Let them try, —I said, pushing open the heavy swing door of the recovery ward.
Room 312 smelled of sterile iodine and old copper. Camila Marino lay propped up against a stack of white pillows, her face pale as parchment, the skin around her left eye bruised a deep, angry violet. Her left wrist was wrapped in thick white gauze, soaked through with a fresh circle of crimson.
When the door clicked shut behind us, she flinched violently, her eyes darting toward the window like a trapped bird.
—I didn't give it to them, —she whispered, her voice cracking from severe dehydration. —I swallowed the digital key backup, but they took the ring. How did you...
She stopped, finally recognizing me. Her eyes widened with genuine terror. —Adriana? Why are you here? If Alessandro finds out you came to see me—
—Alessandro is in Zurich, —I interrupted, walking calmly to the side of her bed and pulling up a metal chair. I placed the cleaned platinum ring on the bedside table, letting it click softly against the plastic tray. —And your cover was blown the second you walked into my birthday party wearing a target on your back.
Camila stared at the ring, her lower lip trembling. A tear carved a clean path through the dust on her cheek. —I didn't have a choice, Adriana. They have my little brother, Leo. He’s fourteen. Uncle Victor took him from our apartment three months ago. They said if I didn't carry the syndicate ledger out of Chicago hidden inside a wedding band, they’d send him back to me in pieces.
Leah stepped forward, her professional instincts overriding her anger. She checked Camila’s IV drip, adjusting the saline flow with practiced efficiency. —Her pulse is thready. She’s losing blood from a torn radial artery where they tried to carve the ring off her finger. If we don't get her out of this clinic within the hour, Victor's cleaners are going to finish the job.
—We aren't leaving her, —I said, standing up. I looked down at Camila, whose eyes were filled with an agonizing mix of shame and despair. —You lied to me. You let my husband use you to humiliate me in front of hundreds of people.
—I’m sorry, —Camila choked out, clutching the edge of her blanket. —I swear I didn't want to hurt you. Alessandro... Alessandro didn't even know about the ledger.
That sentence stopped me cold.
—What did you say? —I demanded.
—Alessandro brought me to that dinner because he was trying to protect me, —Camila whispered, closing her eyes as fresh tears spilled over her lashes. —He found out Victor was using my brother to blackmail someone inside his inner circle. He put me on his arm so Victor’s men wouldn't dare touch me in public. He was using himself as my armor, Adriana. He never touched me. We were never lovers.
The silence in the hospital room grew so heavy I could hear the rhythmic beep-beep of the heart monitor in the corner.
Everything I thought I knew about that night—about my broken marriage, about the cold, calculating cruelty of the Mafia boss who had discarded me—shattered into dust.
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Alessandro hadn't betrayed me with another woman. He had staged a public humiliation to keep a terrified girl alive under the very noses of the men plotting his assassination.
And by walking out, by handing that ring to Camila, I had unwittingly handed the syndicate’s ultimate weapon directly into the hands of the enemy.
