Chapter 7 - THE RUMOR IN THE UNDERWORLD|
Over the next three weeks, word spread through Chicago’s criminal underbelly like wildfire: Don Vincent Torino had gone soft. Or insane.
He was missing high-level mafia summits. He delegated multi-million-dollar smuggling operations to his underlings. The most feared man in Illinois was spending twelve hours a day sitting in a pediatric hospital wing, reading children's books and learning how to braid hair.
"Boss," Sal said quietly, entering the hospital coffee shop where Vincent was reviewing financial sheets. "The Commission is getting nervous. The Moretti family is asking why we backed off the northern docks."
"Tell Moretti if he steps foot in my territory, I'll bury him under the pier," Vincent said without looking up from a colorful children's drawing.
"Vincent," a soft voice interrupted from the doorway.
It was Nurse Rosa, a tough, fifty-year-old night nurse who was the only person in the hospital not terrified of Vincent’s men standing guard at every exit.
"Elena’s vitals are spiking," Rosa said urgency in her eyes. "You need to come now."
Vincent dropped his pen and sprinted down the corridor, Sal following close behind.
Inside the ICU, the cardiac monitors were beep violently. Elena’s eyelids were fluttering. Her pale fingers twitched against the white hospital bedsheets, reaching blindly into the empty air.
"Mama?" Sophie called out, running past Vincent toward the bed. "Mama, I’m here!"
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Elena’s eyes slowly opened, unfocused and clouded with pain. She looked at her daughter, then her gaze drifted upward, settling on the massive, shadowy figure standing at the foot of her bed—a man in a blood-stained suit with eyes like cold granite.
"Who... who are you?" Elena rasped, her raw voice barely a whisper. "Where... where am I?"
