Chapter 8 - Born Under Fire
There are moments when fear becomes too large to feel.
The gunshots outside the delivery room should have terrified me.
The emergency lights.
The pounding footsteps.
The knowledge that someone wanted my premature son’s blood badly enough to invade a private medical clinic.
Instead, all I could think was:
He’s coming.
Too early.
Too small.
But coming.
Dr. Shaw moved quickly.
“We don’t have time to transfer.”
Vivian dragged equipment toward the bed.
“I can assist.”
“You trained?”
“Combat medicine.”
Michael gave her a look from the door.
“Of course you did.”
Adrian stood near me with a gun.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
He looked down.
“Stay.”
“Elena—”
“I don’t care what’s outside that door. Stay.”
His face changed.
He handed the gun to Michael.
Then he came to my side.
I took his hand.
Not forgiveness.
Not reconciliation.
Survival.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I hate when people say that during labor.”
Despite everything, he laughed.
A real laugh.
Then another contraction hit.
I screamed.
The next several minutes blurred.
Dr. Shaw’s calm voice.
Vivian checking monitors.
Michael and two clinic guards holding the hallway.
Adrian wiping hair from my face.
My body doing what it had to do.
Then Dr. Shaw said, “One more.”
I pushed.
Pain tore through me.
And suddenly—
A sound.
Tiny.
Angry.
Beautiful.
My son cried.
I started sobbing.
Adrian stopped breathing.
Dr. Shaw lifted a baby so small he seemed impossible.
“He’s here.”
I reached for him.
But he needed oxygen.
A neonatal nurse rushed in during a brief break in the gunfire.
They moved him to the warmer.
“He’s breathing on his own,” Dr. Shaw said. “That’s good.”
“How much does he weigh?”
“Three pounds, fourteen ounces.”
Too small.
My heart broke.
Adrian stood beside the warmer.
He touched one finger to our son’s hand.
The baby grasped it.
Adrian’s face crumpled.
I had never seen my husband cry.
Not at funerals.
Not when his father died.
Not when we lost Sofia.
He cried now.
Silently.
Then Vivian shouted.
“Wait.”
Everyone froze.
A nurse had lifted the cord-blood collection kit.
Vivian stared at her.
“I canceled that order.”
The nurse went pale.
“I was told—”
“By whom?”
“A doctor.”
“What doctor?”
She looked toward the doorway.
A man entered wearing surgical scrubs.
Mask.
Cap.
Something about his eyes felt familiar.
Michael raised the gun.
The man fired first.
The nurse screamed.
Glass shattered.
Adrian threw himself over me.
Michael fired back.
The man disappeared into the hall.
Vivian grabbed the cord blood bag.
“Someone already collected some.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
A small vial was missing.
Michael ran after the intruder.
Adrian stood.
“No.”
He looked torn.
Our son.
The attacker.
Me.
I saw the choice.
“Go.”
“Elena.”
“Get it back.”
He hesitated.
“Go!”
He kissed my forehead.
Then ran.
Vivian locked the door again.
Dr. Shaw continued treating me.
The baby was moved into a portable incubator.
I kept my eyes on him.
“Is he okay?”
“So far, yes.”
“What about infection?”
“We’ll monitor everything.”
Vivian stood near the window holding the remaining blood.
I looked at her.
“You slept with my husband.”
Not the obvious subject for the moment.
She looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She almost laughed.
“Now?”
“I just gave birth during a gunfight. I’ve earned answers.”
Dr. Shaw pretended not to listen.
Vivian looked at the floor.
“I loved him.”
Simple.
Painful.
“And he loved you?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“He cared about me. Desired me. Trusted me in certain ways. But no.”
“You stayed anyway.”
“For a while.”
“Then helped him investigate his father.”
“Yes.”
“And tonight you came into my house knowing he would tell me to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
Vivian looked at me.
“At first.”
I appreciated the honesty.
“Why?”
“Because I spent years watching Adrian choose you.”
“He was sleeping with you.”
“He still chose you.”
“That sentence is ridiculous.”
“I know.”
Tears appeared in her eyes.
“I hated you for having the part of him I wanted.”
“What part?”
“The part that was still human.”
I looked toward my son.
“That part lies.”
“Yes.”
“Controls.”
“Yes.”
“Destroys people.”
“Yes.”
She gave a small smile.
“But he looks at you like the world exists because you’re standing in it.”
I didn’t want to hear that.
Not tonight.
Maybe ever.
“Why warn me about Michael?”
“Because I didn’t know Gabriel asked him to impersonate him. I thought Michael had lost his mind.”
“Reasonable.”
She nodded.
“And the note in my coat?”
“Adrian.”
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Who poisoned my vitamins?”
Her face hardened.
“I’m trying to find out.”
The emergency lights flickered.
Then normal power returned.
My phone buzzed.
A video call.
Unknown number.
I should not have answered.
I did.
The man from the delivery room appeared.
Mask removed.
My heart stopped.
“Thomas.”
Adrian’s security chief smiled.
Thomas Reed.
The man who had stood outside my hospital room after Sofia.
The man who knew every door in our house.
Every driver.
Every doctor.
Every schedule.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Romano.”
I felt cold.
“You poisoned me.”
“I followed instructions.”
“Whose?”
He smiled.
“You still think Carlo runs this.”
My breath caught.
“Who does?”
“Someone who has waited a very long time to meet your son.”
The camera moved.
A hospital bed appeared.
An elderly man lay beneath blankets.
Thin.
Pale.
Connected to machines.
I didn’t recognize him.
Then he opened his eyes.
They were Adrian’s eyes.
Almost exactly.
“My God,” Vivian whispered.
She knew.
“Who is he?”
Her voice shook.
“Vittorio.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
Adrian’s father was dead.
Adrian had killed him.
I had attended the funeral.
Thomas smiled.
“Adrian killed a man that night.”
The elderly man lifted his head.
“But not his father.”
My blood turned to ice.
Vittorio Romano was alive.
He spoke slowly.
“Elena.”
I wanted to throw the phone.
Instead, I stared.
“Where is my husband?”
“Looking for me.”
“What do you want?”
His eyes shifted toward the incubator.
“My grandson.”
“No.”
“You misunderstand. I don’t want the child.”
“Then what?”
“Only what he can give me.”
His blood.
“Why?”
Vittorio smiled.
“Because your son carries what my doctors have spent thirty years trying to create.”
“What?”
“A compatible immune profile.”
Vivian whispered, “The disorder.”
Vittorio nodded.
“My organs are failing. Your son’s cells may buy me years.”
“He’s premature.”
“A complication.”
“You caused this.”
“I accelerated it.”
Rage burned through me.
“You killed Sofia.”
His expression barely changed.
“Sofia was unfortunate.”
I stopped breathing.
Vivian grabbed the phone.
“You monster.”
“Vivian. Your father used to say the same thing.”
Michael entered at that exact moment.
Blood on his sleeve.
He heard the voice.
His face froze.
Vittorio smiled at the screen.
“Michael Mercer.”
Michael approached.
“You killed my father.”
Vittorio’s smile deepened.
“No.”
“What?”
“I employed him.”
Silence.
“Daniel is alive too.”
Michael’s face emptied.
Vivian whispered, “No.”
Vittorio continued.
“In fact, he is standing beside me.”
The camera turned.
A second man entered the frame.
Older.
Gray-haired.
But unmistakably the prosecutor from the photographs.
Daniel Mercer.
Vivian’s father.
Michael’s father.
The founder of The Circle.
Alive.
Daniel looked into the camera.
“Children.”
Vivian dropped into a chair.
Michael looked as though someone had shot him.
Daniel’s gaze shifted toward my incubator.
Then he said the words that changed everything again.
“The baby isn’t for Vittorio.”
Vittorio’s smile vanished.
Daniel looked at him.
May you like
“He still thinks he’s the patient.”
Then Daniel Mercer pulled out a gun and shot Vittorio Romano in the chest.
