Chapter 3 - Day Four
The experimental unit on the eighth floor of Mount Sinai Hospital did not look like a place for living.
It was a sterile maze of white walls, buzzing monitoring equipment, and heavy glass observation windows. For seventy-two hours, my world was reduced to the sharp bite of intravenous needles, the chemical burn of experimental targeted toxins flooding my veins, and a fever that made the ceiling melt into distorted shapes.
Dr. Falcone stood beside my bed on Sunday evening, checking the digital IV pumps.
"Your liver markers are spiking, Dominic," Falcone said, his face grave beneath his white mask. "The drug is attacking the tumors, but it's also destroying your healthy tissue. Most patients demand to be taken off the trial by hour forty-eight. The pain is unbearable."
I lay against the pillows, my shirt soaked with sweat, my body trembling with a deep, bone-rattling chill. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass.
"Am I going to die this week, Enrico?" I rasped, my throat raw.
"Not this week," Falcone said, leaning over to check my pupils. "Your heart is absurdly strong. I don't know what changed inside you, Dominic, but your body is fighting back like a mad dog."
The door to the private room opened quietly.
Marco stepped in, holding a brown paper bag. Behind him, Lily walked in, wearing her navy wool coat. She stopped at the edge of the bed, staring at the thick clear tubes running into the back of my hands, at the monitors flashing green digits above my head.
"You look terrible," she said.
I managed a faint, dry smile. "Thank you, Lily. You look very polite."
"She refused to sleep at the estate," Marco said, setting the paper bag on the bedside table. "Kept sitting by the front door with her backpack. So I brought her here."
Lily stepped closer to the bed. She pulled something out of her pocket—a small, crumpled piece of paper—and laid it on the tray table beside my medicine cups.
It was a drawing done in black crayon. It showed a large house with a crooked chimney, two figures standing in front of it—a tall man with a cane and a little girl holding a oversized backpack.
"What's this?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"It's day four," she said, looking away toward the window. "You said I had seven days. We spent three days at your house, and now we've spent four days in this smelly hospital. That means I have three days left."
"Lily—"
"I don't like hospitals," she cut in sharply, her small hands clenching into fists at her sides. "My mom went into a hospital and never came out. My dad went into a big warehouse and never came out. Everyone who goes into places with white walls leaves me behind."
She looked at me then, her dark eyes glittering with unshed tears that she was far too proud to let fall.
"If you're going to die, just tell me now," she whispered. "Don't make me wait until day seven."
I reached out, my trembling, IV-marked hand reaching across the bed rail. I held out my palm.
Lily hesitated for three long seconds. Then she reached out and set her small, cold hand in mine. Her fingers closed around my thumb with a fierce, desperate strength.
"I am not going to die, Lily," I swore to her. The words weren't a comforting lie told to a child. They were a blood oath, forged in the iron fire of my own resurgence. "I am going to get out of this bed. I am going to take you home. And when seven days are over, we are going to sign the papers that make you my daughter forever."
Lily stared at me, her lower lip trembling slightly before she pulled her hand back and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "You're a liar."
"Test me," I said.
The door to the room swung open abruptly.
Julian walked in. He was wearing an overcoat dusted with rain, carrying a leather briefcase. His eyes scanned the room—taking in Marco standing near the corner, Lily sitting by the bed, and the flashing monitors showing my stabilizing vitals.
A flash of genuine shock crossed Julian’s face before he quickly smoothed it away with a warm, relieved smile.
"Dominic!" Julian exclaimed, stepping toward the bed. "My god, Enrico told me you took a turn for the worse last night. I came as soon as the commission meeting wrapped up."
"The commission meeting?" I asked, keeping my voice flat. "What was discussed?"
Julian set his briefcase on the sofa. "Just administrative details, Dom. The Lucchese family wants to settle the boundary dispute over the Red Hook terminals. I told them we'd hold off until you were... rested. But the captains are nervous. They see you in a hospital bed, and they start thinking about their own cuts."
He looked down at Lily, his smile tightening into a thin line. "Little girl, why don't you go with Marco to the cafeteria? Get some ice cream. Your 'father' and I need to discuss business."
Lily didn't look at Julian. She looked at me.
"Stay here, Lily," I commanded quietly.
Julian’s smile vanished completely. "Dominic, this is syndicate business. Family business."
"She is my family," I said, sitting up in the bed. The movement sent a blinding surge of pain through my abdomen, but I didn't let a single line on my face twitch. "Anything you have to say about the Moretti family, you can say in front of my daughter."
Julian’s eyes narrowed into slits. The polished corporate executive vanished, revealing the cold, predatory ambition underneath.
"Fine," Julian said softly, leaning over the bed rail so only I could hear his words. "Then let's talk about the paper trail, brother. The feds executed a search warrant on the Red Hook warehouse two hours ago. They found Jimmy Vance's personal notebook. The one detailing every illegal payout from our shipping lines for the last five years."
He smiled—a cold, sickening expression.
"It has your signature on every page, Dominic," Julian whispered. "The grand jury is convening on Tuesday morning. Even if that experimental poison in your veins doesn't kill you, you'll be spending the rest of your four weeks in a federal medical prison."
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He leaned back, adjusting his silk tie with a slow, deliberate movement.
"So I'll ask you again, brother," Julian said aloud for the room to hear. "Sign the power of attorney. Let me handle the lawyers. Let me protect the family name before you destroy everything our father built."
