Chapter 3 - The Darkest Hour
I collapsed back into the hospital pillows as a guttural, heartbroken scream tore from my throat.
The three tiny babies in the bassinet beside me instantly woke up and began crying in unison.
Vance quickly stepped forward and gently rocked the plastic crib to soothe my terrified children.
My husband was a traitor who had sold our baby, and now he was dead at the bottom of the ocean.
"I have to get my babies out of here immediately," I panicked, desperately trying to pull out my IV lines.
Vance firmly grabbed my wrists to stop me from hurting myself in my frantic state.
"You are in no physical condition to run, and this room is currently the safest place in the city," he insisted.
I sobbed uncontrollably, feeling entirely trapped in a nightmare that simply refused to end.
"How can you possibly protect us from a Russian syndicate?" I challenged him through my heavy tears.
Vance reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy, loaded tactical handgun.
"Because I do not work for your husband anymore," he stated with absolute, chilling confidence.
"I work for you now, and nobody is touching these children while I am still breathing."
Before I could even thank him, the bright fluorescent lights above us suddenly flickered and died.
The room was instantly plunged into a thick, terrifying darkness for a few agonizing seconds.
Then, the dim red glow of the hospital's emergency backup lights slowly illuminated the walls.
A loud, piercing alarm began to echo violently down the normally quiet maternity ward hallway.
Vance immediately raised his weapon and positioned his large body directly between the door and my babies.
"Did the power grid just fail?" I asked, my voice barely louder than a terrified whisper.
Vance checked his earpiece, and his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter.
"My men downstairs just went completely radio silent," he announced grimly.
He quickly rushed to the heavy wooden door and engaged the thick metal deadbolt.
"The syndicate didn't wait for your father to deliver the child," he explained rapidly.
"They hacked the hospital's mainframe to cut the power and disable the security elevators."
I grabbed the heavy metal water pitcher from my bedside table to use as a pathetic makeshift weapon.
Heavy, synchronized footsteps suddenly began echoing ominously right outside our hospital room.
We could hear the muffled, terrified screams of the nursing staff being aggressively pushed aside.
Someone violently jiggled the handle of our locked door, causing the metal mechanism to rattle loudly.
Vance aimed his gun squarely at the center of the wooden frame and braced himself for a brutal fight.
A deep, heavily accented voice shouted from the other side of the door.
"Hand over the boy, and we will let the mother live," the unseen man demanded coldly.
Vance did not reply, keeping his finger perfectly steady on the trigger of his weapon.
Suddenly, a deafening blast shattered the quiet tension as a shotgun blew the hinges entirely off the door.
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The heavy wooden slab crashed violently onto the linoleum floor, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.
Through the thick smoke, three men wearing tactical masks and heavy body armor stepped into our room.
