Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Crown
Dominic unleashed a merciless hail of bullets upon the remaining Russian mercenaries in the clinic.
He moved with the lethal precision of a man who had absolutely nothing left to lose.
Within sixty seconds, the hallway was completely silent, littered with the bodies of his enemies.
Dominic dropped the empty rifle, his dislocated shoulder screaming in agony as he rushed toward his mother.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, helping Margaret to her feet while checking her for wounds.
"I am fine, go to your wife," Margaret ordered, pointing a trembling finger toward the operating room.
Dominic limped heavily toward the titanium doors, his heart hammering violently against his fractured ribs.
He slammed his fist against the reinforced glass window, desperate to see what was happening inside.
The lead surgeon looked up, his surgical mask covered in tiny splatters of blood.
The doctor shook his head slowly, pointing down toward the operating table with a grim expression.
Dominic felt the air completely leave his lungs as a terrifying silence stretched between them.
He bypassed the security lock by shooting the keypad with a dropped pistol, forcing the doors open.
He stumbled into the freezing surgical suite, his eyes immediately finding Carrie’s pale, lifeless face.
She was unconscious, her chest barely rising as machines breathed for her.
"Where is my child?" Dominic demanded, his voice cracking with unbearable terror.
A nurse stepped out from behind a warming incubator, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a white blanket.
"She is very small, Mr. Marino, but she is breathing on her own," the nurse said softly.
Dominic fell to his knees on the sterile floor, tears freely washing the blood and dirt from his face.
He had a daughter.
He reached out with a trembling, broken hand, gently touching the tiny fingers of his newborn baby.
"I am so sorry," Dominic whispered to his unconscious wife, completely breaking down in front of his staff.
He vowed in that moment to destroy every criminal tie he had, promising to become a man worthy of this child.
The tender moment was violently interrupted by the slow, mocking sound of clapping hands.
Vanessa stepped out from a supply closet in the corner of the surgical theater, holding a scalpel to a nurse’s throat.
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She had sneaked in during the chaos, waiting perfectly for her moment to strike.
"How incredibly touching," Vanessa sneered, pushing the terrified nurse aside and grabbing the baby’s incubator.
