Chapter 5 - Race to the Hospital
|
The sirens screamed through the night air as the private ambulance tore through Midtown traffic, escorted by two black SUVs clearing the intersections ahead.
Inside the back of the rig, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A paramedic was rapidly attaching heart monitors to my chest while cutting away the torn sleeve of my dress to stabilize my broken arm with a temporary splint.
“Fetal heart rate is elevated! Blood pressure is dangerously high—170 over 110!” the paramedic yelled over the engine roar to the driver. “Tell St. Vincent’s Trauma Unit we have an imminent pre-term delivery with suspected placental abruption!”
I lay on the narrow gurney, gasping for air as every breath felt like swallowed glass. My left arm throbbed with a agonizing, rhythmic pulse, but my mind was completely consumed by the steady beep-beep-beep of the fetal monitor.
It was fast. Too fast.
Vincent sat on the narrow bench beside me. His expensive coat was stained with my blood, but he seemed entirely oblivious to it. His large, calloused hand was wrapped around my right fingers, holding on with a force that betrayed his internal panic.
“Dad?” I whispered, turning my head toward him.
His dark eyes met mine. “I’m right here, Lena.”
“Is she going to die?” Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes, hot and bitter. “Tell me the truth.”
Vincent swallowed hard. For a man who controlled empires with a single word, he looked utterly helpless in the back of that vehicle.
“I don't know,” he admitted softly, his voice trembling slightly. “I don't know, sweetheart. But you have to fight. She has to fight.”
A harsh sob ripped from my throat. “I hated you for so long.”
Vincent went completely still. “I know.”
“I thought you left my mother because you didn't care about us,” I choked out as another wave of pain tightened my stomach. “I spent my whole life thinking I wasn't good enough for a father to stay.”
Vincent squeezed my hand, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Your mother was trying to save you from my life, Lena. She made me swear on her life that I would never bring my world near yours.”
“She told me the truth before she died,” I whispered. “She gave me the black card. She said... she said if I was ever in real danger, to dial the number.”
“And you waited until tonight,” Vincent said, his voice laced with profound guilt. “You suffered with that monster because you were still protecting your mother’s secret.”
“We’re two minutes out!” the paramedic shouted, grabbing a fresh IV bag.
May you like
I looked at Vincent through a blur of tears. “If my baby doesn't survive this... I will never forgive myself.”
“She will survive,” Vincent said fiercely, leaning down until his forehead touched mine. “She has your mother’s blood, and she has yours. She’s a Moretti. She’s too stubborn to give up.”
