Chapter 8 - The Syndicate's Reach
Before Mia could formulate a response, the heavy oak door of the mezzanine swung open without warning.
A man in a blood-stained trench coat stumbled into the private room, panting heavily. It was Leo, one of Nick’s primary lieutenants.
"Boss," Leo rasped, clutching his side where a dark crimson stain was rapidly spreading across his shirt. "The dock warehouses in South Chicago. The Moretti family hit us an hour ago. They bypassed the primary security relays."
Nick’s entire demeanor shifted in a microsecond. The calm, attentive gentleman vanished, replaced instantly by the ruthless, calculating mafia leader who controlled the city's dark veins.
His slate-grey eyes locked onto Leo. "Who was on perimeter watch?"
"Miller," Leo wheezed, stumbling against the credenza. "He... he sold us out."
Nick stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. He pulled a sleek, suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster with fluid, lethal ease, checking the magazine before slipping it back into place.
He turned back toward the table, his eyes landing on Mia, who had frozen in her chair, her medical training instantly kicking in as she stared at the gunshot wound on Leo's side.
"Stay here," Nick commanded, his voice cold and absolute.
"He's bleeding out," Mia said, standing up from her chair, her voice overriding her fear as the surgeon inside her took complete control. "The bullet missed the hepatic artery, but if you don't pack that wound right now, he's going into hemorrhagic shock within ten minutes."
Nick stared at her, weighing the risk in a fraction of a second.
"Can you do it without sterile instruments?" Nick demanded.
May you like
"I'm a surgeon," Mia said, stepping past him toward the bleeding man, unbuttoning her silk jacket and rolling up her sleeves with a calm, terrifying precision. "I can operate in a parking garage if I have to. Bring him to the table, and hand me your pocketknife and a bottle of high-proof whiskey."
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