Chapter 3 - The Hospital Room Was EmptyI do not remember grabbing Dominic’s phone.
I only remember his hand closing around my wrist before I could scream into it.
“My mother,” I said. “Take me to her now.”
Dominic was already giving the driver an order.
The SUV swung hard across two lanes. Horns blared. The city outside became streaks of red brake lights and glass towers.
“What hospital?” Dominic asked.
“St. Agnes. Queens. Neurology wing. Room 412.”
He repeated it to his driver, then made three calls in less than a minute.
No panic.
No wasted words.
“Secure the hospital.”
“Find Luca.”
“Pull every camera near Amelia Reed’s apartment.”
I sat rigid beside him, nails digging into my palms.
My mother had been sick for two years. Some days she knew me. Some days she thought I was still fourteen and my father was coming home with oranges from the corner market. She had no enemies. No money. No power.
Only me.
And now, because I had read a page in a room full of monsters, she had become a weapon.
Dominic ended his last call and looked at me.
“I’ll get her back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I said I will.”
Something inside me snapped.
“Do you think your voice makes things true?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Careful.”
“No, you be careful.” My voice shook, but I did not lower it. “I don’t work for you. I don’t belong to you. You dragged me into this.”
“You spoke first.”
“Because you waved ten million dollars at the room like a joke!”
He leaned closer. “And if you had stayed quiet, Constantine would have taken you after your shift.”
That silenced me.
Dominic’s voice lowered. “Marco had your photo before you opened your mouth. This was already moving.”
I looked away.
The worst part was I knew he was right.
At St. Agnes, we did not enter through the front.
Dominic’s men met us near a service entrance. Nurses whispered behind desks. Security guards suddenly found reasons not to ask questions. The elevator ride to the fourth floor felt endless.
When the doors opened, I ran.
Room 412 was empty.
The bed sheets were twisted. My mother’s pale blue cardigan lay on the floor. Her IV stand had been knocked sideways.
And on the pillow was a playing card.
The queen of hearts.
Cut cleanly in half.
I picked it up with numb fingers.
On the back, someone had written in the same black ink as the photo.
TRANSLATE FASTER.
My knees weakened.
Dominic caught me before I hit the floor.
For one second I let him hold me.
Then I pushed him away.
“Find her.”
He nodded once.
A doctor rushed in, pale and stammering. “Ms. Reed, I’m so sorry. They showed transfer papers. Everything looked official.”
“What papers?” Dominic asked.
The doctor hesitated.
Dominic stepped toward him.
The hesitation ended.
“Federal medical transport,” the doctor said. “Signed by Dr. Elaine Porter.”
I frowned.
“I don’t know any Dr. Porter.”
Dominic’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen, then turned it toward me.
A photo had arrived from an unknown number.
My mother sat in a wheelchair in a dim room, eyes closed, a blanket over her legs.
Beside her stood a woman in red gloves.
Her face was hidden.
But around her neck hung my father’s old silver cross.
The one buried with him.
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
Dominic stared at the image. “What?”
“That necklace was in my father’s coffin.”
Dominic looked at one of his men. “Have the grave checked.”
I barely heard him.
A message arrived under the photo.
THE DEAD KEEP BETTER SECRETS THAN THE LIVING.
Dominic took the phone back, but I had already seen enough.
This was not just about money.
Not just about Dominic.
Someone had opened my father’s grave, stolen from his body, watched me, taken my mother, and arranged for me to decode a journal in front of New York’s most dangerous man.
This was personal.
Dominic seemed to reach the same conclusion.
He looked at me differently now.
Not like a waitress.
Not even like a witness.
Like a key.
“We need your father’s research,” he said.
“I don’t have it.”
“Think.”
“I said I don’t have it.”
He stepped closer. “Your father was too smart to die with his only copy.”
Anger flashed through me. “You don’t get to talk like you knew him.”
Dominic’s expression shifted again.
This time the crack was larger.
“I did know him.”
The room went still.
I stared at him.
“How?”
Dominic looked toward the empty hospital bed.
Then back at me.
“Because three years ago, your father came to me for protection.”
My mouth went dry.
“And you didn’t protect him.”
May you like
Dominic did not look away.
“No,” he said. “I failed.”
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