Chapter 3 - Blood and Betrayal
Priya didn't waste a single second. "I’m going to prepare an emergency TPN bag myself directly from the uncompromised stock in the trauma unit," she said. "Watch him until I get back."
She slipped out of the room, passing Viktor—Weston’s towering, scarred chief of security—who gave her a subtle nod. Priya rushed down two flights of stairs to the emergency department stockroom, where she bypassed the primary central pharmacy feeds and hand-mixed a concentrated nutrient formula. Her hands were steady, driven by pure adrenaline and professional instinct.
When she returned to Owen’s room, Weston stood beside the incubator like an ancient guardian deity. Priya hung the fresh bag, purged the IV tube, and connected it directly to Owen’s central line.
"How long until we see a change?" Weston asked, staring at the translucent tube now delivering genuine life into his son’s veins.
"His blood sugar should stabilize within two hours," Priya said, adjusting the infusion pump. "By tomorrow morning, his color will return."
"Good," Weston said. He turned to Viktor, who was standing quietly by the door. "Is Voss in the room?"
"Yes, Boss. He thinks he’s attending a private board update," Viktor replied.
Weston looked at Priya. "Come with me."
"Weston, I’m a nurse, not a—"
"You saved my son’s life tonight, Priya," Weston interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’re going to witness the justice."
They walked down the silent, carpeted hallway into the high-end executive lounge. Dr. Voss was sitting nervously on a leather sofa, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee. When the heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind Weston, Priya, and two massive enforcers, Voss stood up, his face draining of color.
"Mr. Kade! What is the meaning of this?" Voss stuttered. "I have critical patients to—"
Weston crossed the room in two swift, terrifying strides, grabbed Voss by the neck, and slammed him against the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the darkened skyline of Chicago. The glass groaned under the force.
"You diluting my son's IV bags," Weston said softly, his tone far more terrifying than if he had been shouting. "Who paid you?"
"I—I don't know what you're talking about! This is assault! I'll call the police!" Voss gasped, clutching at Weston’s iron wrist.
Priya stepped forward, slapping the printed spectral analyses onto the glass next to Voss’s head. "The raw mass-spectrometry from the pharmacy basement doesn't lie, Doctor. You falsified the lab summaries to cover up the missing lipids."
Voss’s eyes darted frantically between the papers and Weston’s dark, merciless eyes. Panic broke through his refined medical facade.
"I had no choice!" Voss sobbed, tears spilling over his cheeks. "They... they said they would kill my daughter! They have her!"
Weston didn't loosen his grip. "Who are 'they'?"
"The Moretti syndicate," Voss squeezed out, choking for air. "Dominic Moretti! He found out Owen survived the car bombing. He paid the head of hospital procurement to switch the nutrient bags, and forced me to clear the lab results! If I refused, they threatened to send my daughter back to me in pieces!"
Priya gasped. Dominic Moretti was the ruthless boss of the rival crime family that had ordered the hit on Weston’s late wife, Genevieve. The bombing hadn't just been an attempt to take out Weston; it had been a systematic effort to extinguish the entire Kade bloodline.
Weston’s expression didn't change, but an aura of absolute violence settled over the room. "Viktor."
"Yes, Boss?"
"Find Dr. Voss’s daughter. Bring her to safety. Once she is secure..." Weston paused, staring down at the whimpering physician. "...take Dr. Voss to the docks. He will answer for every drop of suffering my son endured."
"Please! Mr. Kade! I saved him as long as I could!" Voss shrieked as Viktor pulled him up and dragged him out a side service exit.
Priya stood frozen in the quiet lounge. She was an ordinary woman who spent her days saving infants, now standing in the center of a brutal underworld war. She looked at Weston. His hands were shaking slightly—not from fear, but from the raw rage he was struggling to contain.
"You should leave, Priya," Weston said softly, turning his back to her. "You’ve done your job. I will pay you ten million dollars tonight. Get on a plane. Leave Chicago. It isn't safe here."
Priya walked up to him. Without hesitation, she stepped around him so she was facing him directly.
"I’m not running away," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "Owen still needs constant monitoring for the next forty-eight hours as his body adjusts to the real nutrients. If I leave, Moretti will just find another way through someone else in this building. I’m staying with your son."
Weston stared at her, genuinely stunned. For years, people had approached him with fear, greed, or submission. Nobody had ever looked him in the eye and offered selfless protection for his child.
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"You don't know what kind of monster I am, Priya," he warned softly.
"I don't care about your empire, Weston," Priya replied, stepping closer. "I care about the baby in that glass box. And as long as I’m his nurse, nobody touches him."
