Ten days. That was all the doctor believed my six-year-old twins had left, and for the first time in my life, all the money, guns, fear, and power I had built as one of Chicago’s most feared mafia bosses meant absolutely nothing. By three that afternoon, while death waited inside my mansion, a penniless woman stood outside my gates refusing to leave, and I had no idea she was about to change everything.

The protective seal of the isolation chamber was completely and permanently destroyed.

Dr. Yates dove to the floor, covering his head to avoid the dangerous shower of broken glass.

He scrambled to his feet and screamed that the twins were now fully exposed to airborne pathogens.

He stated frantically that we only had a few hours before their nonexistent immune systems succumbed to fatal infections.

I rushed into the room, grabbed Viktor by his bleeding collar, and dragged him violently out into the hallway.

I punched him brutally across the jaw, knocking him completely unconscious onto the floor tiles.

Elara carefully picked up the glowing blue syringe from the floor, ensuring the glass was still intact.

She looked at me with a soft, determined smile and immediately injected the antidote into her own neck.

Dr. Yates yelled for us to move the twins and Elara into the backup surgical theater down the hall.

We carefully wheeled the children's beds through the debris while Elara prepared for the painful extraction.

Dr. Yates began the highly complex medical procedure, warning me that it would take at least an hour to complete.

I grabbed my assault rifle from the floor and dragged a heavy medical cart to barricade the hallway doors.

I could hear the heavy, thudding footsteps of Viktor's remaining heavily armored reinforcements marching down the stairs.

I stood completely alone in the corridor, promising myself that no one would pass this point while I still drew breath.

The Volkov mercenaries breached the barricade, and a massive, deafening firefight erupted in the narrow hallway.

I fought with the desperate, unyielding fury of a father protecting his dying children.

I dropped man after man, the floor becoming slick with blood and empty brass casings.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

The metallic click of an empty magazine suddenly echoed from my rifle, signaling I was completely out of ammunition.

The towering leader of the Volkov reinforcements stepped over the bodies and aimed his heavy shotgun directly at my chest.

Chapter 9 - The Ticking Clock