Chapter 3

Ten years. And here I am, standing outside the same kind of operating room.

The floor at my feet is buried under gear.

Portable monitors. Temperature-controlled blood coolers. Backup generators. A full row of the clotting agent we never get to keep in stock.

Three anesthesia teams rotating on standby. Imaging guys hunched over a folding table, muttering at scans.

"It's the Don's kid. Whatever it costs. Whatever it costs."

I stand off to the side and watch the parade, and my throat starts to close.

Ten years ago, my Gianna was wheeled into a back room just like this one.

She had one flickering overhead lamp and a half-empty bag of O-neg.

And she had Dominic's promise.

Today the man can have every piece of equipment in this city wheeled in within ten minutes flat, because the body on the table belongs to him and Sienna.

What about my Gianna?

What was she to them? A stepping stone. A practice cadaver. A name they buried so two of them could climb.

They walked out of that back room with a Famiglia Cross and a hero story. They did the rounds. They took the bow. They got called merciful.

The monitor inside screams again.

The nurse rips the OR door back. Her voice is shaking.

"Pressure won't hold! She's got maybe twenty minutes, Doc. Twenty!"

Marcus is right in front of me.

"Elena. You're already here. Stop stalling."

"Nobody else in this city is going to touch that girl."

I let my eyes drift across the room.

"You've got the best gear. You've got enough blood to fill a river. You've got specialists stacked three deep."

"And the kid's parents? Weren't they the ones who supposedly saved so many lives ten years back? The good Samaritans of the Northside?"

"Sounds like a job for them. Not me."

Sienna's face goes bone white. She wasn't ready for me to drag it up here, in front of everyone.

Her lips tremble. The tears come fast.

"Yes. Yes, I picked up the scalpel back then. But my hand was wrecked after that night. I can't handle a surgery like this anymore."

"Doc. I'll say it. You're better than me. You always were."

Then she drops.

Knees crack against the concrete floor.

"But the kid is innocent. She's ten. She doesn't even know what happened to her. Whatever you want — just save her."

She crawls forward an inch and slams her forehead down.

"I'm begging you. Save my daughter."

The crowd snaps.

"Doc, this is too far."

"She's on her knees, what more do you want?"

"You're a surgeon. Act like one. Don't take it out on a kid!"

Hands grab at my coat. Somebody shoves an equipment cart at the OR doors.

"Move! Get her in there!"

"You're cutting tonight, Doc, end of story!"

In the middle of it, Dominic clamps down on my wrist.

His grip is brutal. Whatever leash he had on himself just snapped.

"Doc, I don't know what your problem is."

"That is my daughter in there."

"You save her and Dominic Vance owes you a life. You hear me? A life."

Through the mask, he still doesn't see me.

I look at him and slowly slide my wrist out from under his hand. My voice comes out wrecked.

"You want me in there that badly?"

The hallway hushes.

"Even if I walk in. Even if I pick up the blade…"

I turn my head, look at the two of them side by side.

"How do you know my hand won't slip? How do you know I won't open her carotid right there on the table?"