Chapter 8 - The Underworld Surgeon
Three months later, the Marchetti fortress on the Amalfi Coast had transformed. The luxury estate now housed a state-of-the-art trauma ICU hidden beneath the cliffside wine cellars, entirely designed and operated by Dr. Arya Vance.
Gone was the gray maid's uniform. In its place was a tailored white lab coat over sharp black designer slacks, her hair pulled back into a severe, professional bun. She was no longer Annie the mute cleaner. She was the most feared and respected medical director in the European underworld—a legend whispered about among hitmen and syndicate bosses alike: The Angel of Death’s Blade.
On this particular evening, Arya stood in her underground lab, reviewing Leo’s latest blood panels. The baby was now a healthy, giggling nine-month-old, sitting on a leather examination table and playing with a gold-plated stethoscope while Rocco watched from a nearby desk.
"His white blood cell count is completely normal," Arya announced, slipping the tablet into her pocket. "The cyanide toxicity has cleared entirely. He's as healthy as a horse."
Rocco exhaled a long breath of relief, setting down a stack of encrypted intelligence reports. "Good. Because we have a visitor arriving in ten minutes."
Arya raised an eyebrow. "Another rival boss trying to poison the family?"
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"Worse," Rocco smirked. "The director of Johns Hopkins Hospital is flying in from Baltimore. He's requesting a private audience with our medical director to discuss a 'lucrative partnership.'"
Arya’s eyes flashed with a cold, brilliant fire. The hospital board that had framed her, ruined her career, and left her to rot in the gutters was now coming to beg her for help.
