Chapter 4 - The Recovery
The tenth floor was supposed to be a state-of-the-art medical research facility. Tonight, it became a battleground.
Sandro’s men moved through the carpeted hallways like shadows, neutralizing Vance’s private security guards quietly and efficiently without firing a single loud shot.
Nora walked right beside Sandro, holding a medical kit and a portable oxygen unit. Fear clawed at her throat, but the thought of a helpless, stolen newborn locked in a cold room kept her feet moving forward.
They reached the end of the corridor—Room 1008, marked under a fake corporate alias: Vance Bio-Tech Holdings.
Sandro kicked the heavy oak door open.
Inside, standing near a high-tech portable incubator, was Dr. Holt, furiously packing vials of blood into a steel briefcase. Standing beside him was Julian Vance himself—a slick, arrogant man in a tailored grey suit, holding a glass of scotch.
In the incubator behind them, a healthy, dark-haired newborn baby was sleeping peacefully, a tiny yellow ribbon tied around his wrist in a distinct, double-looped bowline knot.
"Sandro?!" Vance gasped, dropping his glass. It shattered against the hardwood floor. "How... how did you get up here?!"
Dr. Holt went pale as paper, dropping his briefcase. "Mr. Moretti... I can explain—"
Sandro didn't say a word. He stepped into the room, grabbed Dr. Holt by his lapels, and slammed him against the wall with enough force to rattle the light fixtures.
"You took my son from his mother's dying arms," Sandro growled, his voice vibrating with pure, lethal fury. "You put a dying child in his place and told me to prepare for his funeral."
"It was Vance!" Dr. Holt shrieked, weeping in terror. "He paid me three million dollars! He promised me a seat on the board! Please, Moretti! Don't kill me!"
"Get out of my sight before I change my mind," Sandro spat, throwing the cowardly doctor into the arms of Reyes, who dragged him screaming into the hallway.
Julian Vance backed away toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, reaching for a firearm inside his jacket. "You think you've won, Moretti? You're a broken man! Your empire is falling!"
Before Vance could pull his gun, Sandro moved with terrifying speed. He closed the distance, grabbed Vance’s wrist, twisted it until the bone popped, and slammed him face-first onto the marble desk.
"My empire isn't falling, Julian," Sandro whispered into Vance's ear, snapping handcuffs around his wrists. "It's just beginning. Federal agents are already waiting in the lobby. You're going to spend the rest of your life in a supermax facility for kidnapping, conspiracy, and murder."
While Sandro's men secured Vance, Nora rushed straight to the incubator.
She opened the door, gently sliding her hands beneath the baby boy. She checked his breathing, his pulse, his skin tone—he was healthy, strong, and completely unharmed.
"He's okay," Nora breathed, tears of relief spilling down her cheeks as she cradled the baby against her chest. "Sandro... he's perfectly healthy."
Sandro walked over slowly, his lethal rage melting away in an instant. He looked down at the tiny bundle in Nora’s arms.
The baby opened his eyes—striking, deep hazel eyes, identical to Sandro’s.
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Sandro’s hands trembled as he reached out, his thumb gently caressing the baby’s soft cheek. A single tear escaped his eye, dripping onto his son's yellow ribbon.
"Leo," Sandro whispered, his voice cracking with immense love. "Your name is Leo."
