Chapter 2 - The Federal ShadowAgent Marcus Vance looked like a man who slept in a suit and woke up ready to audit a funeral. His sharp jawline, slicked-back blonde hair, and tailored navy-blue overcoat screamed federal authority, but his eyes were entirely devoid of warmth.
"Dr. Callahan," Vance repeated, stepping further into the dim room and casually slipping his badge back into his pocket. "I didn't realize Harbor Ridge allowed medical staff to moonlight as bedside confidants for international trafficking suspects."
Claire stood her ground, refusing to shrink back despite the sudden claustrophobia of the room. "I am reviewing his post-operative charts, Agent Vance. Last time I checked, saving a patient's life wasn't a federal offense, even if your department wishes he had died on my table."
Vance offered a thin, humorless smile. "We don't want him dead, Doctor. We want him talking. And right now, the only person he seems interested in speaking to is standing right here." He glanced sideways at Dante, whose eyes had locked onto the federal agent with a cold, venomous fury.
"Well, you're out of luck," Claire said sharply, dropping Dante's chart onto the rolling tray. "He's heavily medicated, his lung is half-collapsed, and if you agitate him into a hypertensive crisis, I will personally throw you and your cheap suit out of this ICU."
Vance chuckled, though his eyes remained hard. "You've got a lot of fire, Dr. Callahan. It's impressive. Most people cower when they realize who’s lying on that bed. They don't bark orders at federal agents."
"I work in a Seattle emergency room," Claire fired back, stepping directly into Vance's personal space. "I see worse things than a wounded mobster and a pompous fed before breakfast. Now, if you'll excuse me, my shift ended three hours ago, and I have a life to get back to."
She turned on her heel, but Vance’s next words froze her blood.
"How is Mia doing?"
Claire’s entire body went rigid. Every drop of blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her skin ice cold. She didn't turn around immediately. She forced her breathing to remain even, counting to three in her head before slowly pivoting back to face the agent.
"What did you say?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave, dangerously low.
Vance smiled, a slow, cat-and-mouse expression that made Claire want to shatter the glass of the medication cart over his head.
"Mia. Six years old. Brown hair, loves drawing imaginary horses named Moonlight," Vance said smoothly, stepping closer. "Lives with her mother in a nice craftsman house on Queen Anne Hill. Great neighborhood. Good schools. But maybe a little too close to the waterfront for safety, don't you think?"
From the bed, a harsh, choking sound broke from Dante's throat. The heart monitor began to beep frantically—beep-beep-beep-beep—spiking past 140 beats per minute.
Dante tried to sit up, his fingers clawing desperately at the sheets, his face turning an alarming shade of gray as he glared at Vance with unadulterated murder in his eyes.
"Stay... away... from them," Dante choked out through the oxygen mask, his voice a guttural roar of pure rage.
"Mr. Moretti, quiet down, your sutures are going to burst!" the larger guard panicked, stepping toward the bed.
"Agent Vance," Claire said, her voice shaking with a terrifying, controlled fury. She stepped between the federal agent and the bed, her eyes burning with a lethal intensity. "If you ever—ever—mention my daughter's name again, I won't just let him bleed on this table. I will pull the plug myself and testify that it was a medical accident. Do you understand me?"
Vance stared at her for a long, tense moment, the smirk slowly fading from his lips as he realized she wasn't bluffing. There was a dark, terrifying resolve in her eyes—the exact same look Dante Moretti had worn every time someone crossed him.
The federal agent raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just doing my due diligence, Doctor. When a ghost like Moretti suddenly resurfaces in Seattle after six years in hiding, we like to know who has a stake in the game."
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"He has no stake in my life," Claire lied, her voice trembling slightly. "And if the FBI touches my family, I will burn your entire investigation to the ground."
Without waiting for a reply, Claire pushed past Vance and stormed out of the room, leaving the federal agent standing in the dim light with a thoughtful, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
