Don Vittorio was already outside the vehicle when Felix emerged. The Boss of all Bosses stood in the rain without an umbrella, his silver hair plastered to his temples, his jaw set like carved granite. When he saw Mia's body in Felix's arms, something behind his eyes fractured. It was not a collapse. It was worse. It was the stillness of a man deciding who would pay.
He said nothing. He took her from Felix himself, cradling her against his chest as though she weighed nothing, as though she were still the five-year-old girl who used to fall asleep in his study while he took calls. His overcoat soaked through with her blood as he carried her to the waiting armored SUV. The door was held open by a soldier who could not meet his Don's eyes.
The emergency ward at St. Cecilia's had been transformed into a private fortress. Armed men flanked every entrance. The surgical team, five of the most decorated physicians in the state, stood waiting in their gowns, their faces pale beneath the fluorescent lights. They had all been told the same thing: Save her, or do not leave this building.