Chapter 4 - Shadows Over the Ward
By morning, the results of Priya’s intervention were undeniable. Baby Owen’s skin tone had shifted from a dull, jaundiced gray to a healthy pink. His oxygen saturation levels stabilized at ninety-nine percent, and for the first time in three weeks, he took a full ounce of oral formula without rejecting it.
Weston sat in a armchair beside the incubator, watching Priya work. He hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, but his eyes followed her every move. The gentle way she bathed Owen with a warm cloth, the soft lullabies she hummed under her breath, the expert precision with which she checked his vital signs—it washed over Weston’s hardened heart like a strange, unfamiliar warmth.
"He gained two ounces," Priya announced with a bright, triumphant smile, looking up from the digital scale. "He's fighting back, Weston."
A rare, faint smile touched Weston’s lips. "Because of you."
Before Priya could reply, the heavy reinforced doors of the NICU swung open. Viktor walked in, his face grim. He gave Weston a subtle nod.
Weston stood up. "Stay here with Owen. I’ll be right back."
In the hallway, Viktor reported in a quiet tone. "We found Voss’s daughter in an abandoned warehouse near the river. She’s safe and currently under protection at your estate. But Moretti knows something went wrong. His scouts were spotted near the medical center’s south parking garage ten minutes ago."
Weston’s eyes turned cold. "He knows Owen isn't dying."
"Yes," Viktor said. "Moretti is desperate. With his influence in the city crumbling, he knows if Owen lives to inherit your empire, the Kade family legacy remains unbroken. He will make a move today."
Weston looked through the observation window into the NICU. Priya was leaning over the incubator, stroking Owen’s tiny head with a soft smile. She was innocent, brilliant, and completely exposed in this glass castle.
"We move Owen to my estate in the countryside," Weston ordered. "Prepare the armored transport convoy."
"Boss, moving a premature infant on life support is extremely risky," Viktor warned. "The transport could trigger respiratory distress."
"Leaving him in a hospital filled with Moretti’s hired killers is guaranteed death," Weston countered. He turned and walked back into the room.
"Priya, we’re leaving," Weston said flatly. "In thirty minutes, an armored medical transport will be at the rear loading bay. You're coming with us."
Priya froze. "Weston, moving him now is dangerous! His lungs are still fragile."
"It’s more dangerous here," Weston insisted, stepping close and holding her gaze. "Moretti knows Owen survived the night. This hospital is no longer secure. I have a full mobile NICU set up at my estate in Lake Forest. You will have every piece of equipment you need. I need you to keep him alive during the trip."
Priya saw the desperate truth in his eyes. This wasn't a mobster exerting power; it was a father preparing for war to protect his child. She swallowed her hesitation and nodded. "Alright. Prepare the transport incubator and portable oxygen. I’m packing his medication."
Twenty minutes later, the private elevator descended into the dark, subterranean loading dock beneath St. Jude Memorial. Three black SUV gun-trucks flanked a custom-built, bulletproof medical van.
Priya held the secure, portable incubator close to her chest inside the back of the medical van, her heart hammering. Weston climbed in beside her, pulling a sleek, dark handgun from his shoulder holster and checking the chamber with cold efficiency.
"Are you ready?" Weston asked, looking at her.
May you like
"No," Priya admitted honestly, clutching the baby’s mobile monitor. "But Owen is."
The heavy iron gates of the loading dock rolled upward. As the lead SUV surged out into the foggy Chicago morning, a loud explosion rocked the pavement, throwing the medical van off its shocks.
