Chapter 4 - Blood in the St. Catherine Corridors**
Chaos erupted in a matter of seconds.
The serene, quiet atmosphere of St. Catherine’s private wing vanished as emergency alarms began to wail overhead, flashing a harsh, pulsing red light across the white ceiling tiles. Enzo rushed to the door, firing two suppressive shots down the hallway as the sound of shattering glass and heavy automatic gunfire echoed up from the stairwells.
"They bypassed the security gates!" Enzo shouted over the deafening alarm. "We have to move her now! The ICU transport is locked down!"
I tried to sit up, but my stitches pulled with a vicious, fiery pain that ripped a gasp from my lips. "I can't walk, Enzo! Leave me here—"
Before I could finish the sentence, Dominic scooped me straight out of the hospital bed with terrifying ease, cradling my battered body against his chest as if I weighed nothing at all. He didn't hesitate for a single second. He grabbed a heavy submachine gun from Enzo’s outstretched hand, tucking it securely under one arm while holding me tightly with the other.
"Hold onto my neck, Elena," Dominic ordered, his voice steady as a rock amidst the swirling madness. "Do not let go."
We sprinted out into the corridor. The private wing looked like a war zone. Plaster dust drifted down from bullet-riddled walls, and two of Dominic’s guards were pinned behind a heavy medical cart, returning fire down the intersecting hallway toward three masked gunmen wearing tactical vests and black balaclavas.
"Boss, go!" one of the wounded guards yelled, tossing a smoke grenade down the corridor to obscure our retreat.
Thick, blinding white smoke billowed through the hallway, smelling of sulfur and burning rubber. Dominic carried me through the haze with superhuman speed and precision, his boots pounding against the linoleum floor. Every step jarred my injuries, but I buried my face into his shoulder, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, trusting the man who had promised that anyone who came for me would have to go through him.
We burst through the emergency exit doors leading into the private ambulance bay, where a sleek, armored black SUV was idling with its doors thrown wide open. Enzo was already in the driver's seat, his foot hovering over the accelerator.
Dominic tossed me gently into the back leather seat, climbing in right behind me and slamming the heavy armored door shut just as a volley of bullets pinged harmlessly against the bulletproof glass.
"Drive, Enzo!" Dominic barked.
The SUV squealed tires, tearing out of the subterranean bay and launching into the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan just as police sirens began wailing in the distance.
I lay across the back seat, gasping for air, clutching my side where fresh blood was beginning to seep through my hospital gown. Dominic immediately pulled off his suit jacket, pressing it firmly against my wound to stem the bleeding, his face carved from pure, unadulterated vengeance.
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"You're safe," Dominic whispered fiercely, pressing a kiss against my forehead despite the blood and soot staining his skin. "We're going home. And tomorrow, we settle accounts with Victor Costa once and for all."
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