Chapter 7 - The Choice
Dante looked up at his brother, his eyes wide with raw desperation.
"Shoot me if you want, Matteo," Dante pleaded.
"But let her go."
"She needs a hospital."
Matteo stared at the man who had exiled him, the man who had stolen his birthright.
He looked down at Amara, who was pale and gasping for air in the chemical foam.
Matteo slowly lowered his gun.
"There is a syndicate clinic three blocks from here," Matteo said gruffly.
"Take my truck."
Dante scooped Amara into his arms, carrying her as easily as if she weighed nothing.
He didn't care about the ledger lying on the floor nearby.
He didn't care about the Volkov cartel destroying his mansion.
He sprinted to the garage and gently placed Amara in the backseat of the armored truck.
He drove recklessly through the city streets, running every red light.
"Hold on, Amara, please hold on," Dante begged, grabbing her hand from the front seat.
"Don't touch me," she whimpered through the pain, pulling her hand away.
Even in her agony, the betrayal of his ultimatum remained fresh in her mind.
Dante swallowed hard, his jaw tight with regret.
They arrived at the hidden clinic, a heavily fortified building disguised as a warehouse.
Dante kicked the doors open, shouting for a doctor.
Nurses rushed forward with a gurney, wheeling Amara into a trauma room.
Dante tried to follow, but a heavy metal door slid shut, locking him in the waiting area.
He paced the floor like a caged animal, his hands stained with his wife's blood.
Suddenly, the security monitors on the wall flashed red.
May you like
Three black vans pulled up outside the clinic.
Dozens of heavily armed Volkov cartel soldiers poured out, surrounding the building.
