Chapter 4 - Shadows in the WardBack at the private pediatric wing of St. David’s Medical Center, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the interrogation room.
Leo was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, albeit shallow, rhythm. Maya was curled up in a makeshift nest of blankets on the leather sofa, clutching a stuffed bear one of my men had hastily bought from the hospital gift shop.
I sat in the armchair beside Leo’s bed, cleaning my fingernails with a small pocket knife, when the door clicked open.
It was Dr. Harrison, the chief of pediatric trauma. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes telling a story of too many long nights and too many broken children.
“He’s stable,” Dr. Harrison said quietly, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. “The leg fracture is healing incorrectly because it was left untreated for over a month. We’re going to have to re-break it, Thomas. Surgically realign the bone.”
My grip on the pocket knife tightened until my knuckles turned white. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning. He’ll be under general anesthesia, so he won't feel it. But the recovery... it’s going to be painful. He’s going to need physical therapy for months.”
“Get the best specialists in the country,” I said without looking up. “Fly them in from Zurich or Johns Hopkins. I don't care about the bill.”
Dr. Harrison hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Money isn't the issue here, Thomas. You know that. It’s the psychological trauma. When he wakes up... children who have been locked in dark spaces don't just bounce back because they’re in a nice hospital room. He’s going to have night terrors. He’s going to flinch at shadows.”
“He won't have to,” I said softly, snapping the pocket knife shut. “Because the person who created those shadows is never walking the streets again.”
“Is she in custody?”
“She’s in holding. Her brother—the senator—just resigned ten minutes ago. The press is tearing them apart.”
Dr. Harrison sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good. Some people deserve to rot. But listen to me, Thomas... raising two traumatized kids? It’s not like running a syndicate. You can’t intimidate their nightmares away.”
“Watch me,” I muttered.
Just then, a soft rustle came from the bed.
Leo stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, dark bruises stark against his pale skin. He blinked against the dim hospital light, disoriented, searching the room with panic rising in his chest.
“Uncle Thomas?” he whimpered, his small hand groping blindly across the sheet.
I was out of the chair in a second. I didn't use my mob boss voice, or my cold exterior. I dropped to my knees beside the mattress, caught his small, trembling hand, and pressed it against my warm palm.
“I’m right here, Leo,” I said, my voice as gentle as I could possibly make it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath, his fingers curling tightly around mine with surprising strength.
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“Did she... did she find us?”
“Never again,” I promised, looking straight into his frightened eyes. “The door is locked from the outside now, buddy. And I threw away the key.”
