Chapter 6
Nicholas’s fresh, untainted blood moved through the new aorta. The heart monitor changed from a frantic and irregular pattern to a strong, steady rhythm.
“She’s stable,” Helena said, stepping back as sudden weakness entered her knees. “The bleeding has stopped. The graft is secure.”
Nicholas released a shaking breath. His head fell back against the table, and a faint, triumphant smile appeared on his pale face.
The moment lasted only a second.
“Stop the transfusion.”
The voice came from the other side of the room.
Helena looked up. Vincent had drawn his weapon. It was not pointed at her. The barrel of his pistol, fitted with a suppressor, was aimed directly at Nicholas, who remained incapacitated and bleeding on the adjacent table.
“Vincent,” Nicholas whispered. He was too weak to move, but his eyes widened with recognition and betrayal.
“The boss of the Russo family cannot be weak, Nicholas,” Vincent said, tightening his finger around the trigger. “You let a woman tear this family apart. You let your mother dictate our business. The poison was supposed to be quiet. A heart attack. A tragedy. But you had to bring her here.”
“You poisoned her,” Helena said.
“And now the tragic narrative continues.” Vincent smiled coldly. “The great Nicholas Russo, dead from cardiac arrest caused by blood loss while trying to save his mother. Very poetic.”
Vincent raised the gun to finish the killing.
In his moment of triumph, he had forgotten one detail. When Nicholas surrendered his authority to Helena, he had placed his Beretta on the surgical tray beside her right hand.
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For Helena, the next second seemed to slow.
She had spent a decade training her hands to heal, to stitch delicate tissue, and to draw life back from the edge of death. She had taken the Hippocratic oath to do no harm. As she looked at Vincent, however, she saw a man prepared to kill his own boss and an innocent elderly woman while both lay helpless on operating tables.
