Chapter 14 - WING FOURThe sterile white corridors of St. Jude’s Prison Hospital smelled of antiseptic, bleach, and slow, agonizing decay.
The heavy steel security doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a room bathed in the harsh, flickering glare of fluorescent lights. Machines beeped rhythmically in the corner, keeping time for a man who looked like a hollowed-out ghost of the ruthless kingpin he used to be.
Adrian Moretti sat propped up in a hospital bed.
His once-imposing frame was withered, his skin stretched taut and pale over sharp cheekbones. Deep, dark hollows framed eyes that were no longer burning with fiery rage, but flickered with a dull, desperate exhaustion.
When the heavy door clicked shut behind me, his head turned slowly toward the sound.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the steady, mechanical hiss of his oxygen tank.
"You came," Adrian whispered, his voice raspy, cracking like dry parchment.
"I did," I replied, stopping a few feet away from the bed. I didn't take off my coat. I didn't sit down. I stood tall, looking down at the man who had once tried to cage me. "You look terrible, Adrian."
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped his cracked lips, ending in a sharp cough that rattled his frail chest.
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"Karma... is a brutal bitch," he wheezed, wiping a thin line of blood from the corner of his mouth with a trembling hand. "I heard you're doing well. Geneva... mountains... living like a queen."
"I am living a peaceful life," I corrected him coldly. "Something you could never comprehend."
