Chapter 8
Helena immediately placed the Beretta back on the metal tray. The surge of adrenaline began to recede, leaving her hands shaking violently. She could not allow herself to break down.
Not yet.
“Clamp the transfusion lines,” she ordered, turning back to the patients. “Nicholas is in hypovolemic shock. Dr. Lynn, push 2 L of saline and whatever O negative blood remains in the emergency cooler into his IV. Open it completely. Elevate his legs.”
For the next 2 hours, the Columbia Presbyterian surgical ward remained a fortress. Helena worked continuously to stabilize both mother and son.
Nicholas’s blood pressure had fallen dangerously low. His organs were approaching failure from the massive loss of blood. Caterina, however, continued to stabilize. The fresh, unpoisoned blood from her son had flushed the synthetic anticoagulant from her system, and the new Gore-Tex aorta was holding.
By the time the sun began to rise over the Manhattan skyline, pale light was entering through the frosted windows of the surgical scrub room.
Helena removed her blood-covered gloves. Her muscles ached with profound exhaustion.
The Russo men had disappeared like ghosts, taking the unconscious Vincent with them. They had left a heavily armed guard outside the intensive care unit, where Nicholas and Caterina were recovering beside each other.
Helena walked to the nurses’ station.
NYPD Detective Robert Harrison was waiting for her. He had known Helena since she was a medical student and held a cup of lukewarm hospital coffee in one hand.
“Doc,” Harrison said with a tired sigh. “We received multiple reports of armed men securing the emergency room, a gunshot inside OR 1, and security cameras that somehow malfunctioned at exactly 2:15 a.m. Would you care to tell me what happened?”
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Helena looked at the detective, then down the corridor toward the intensive care unit where Nicholas Russo was sleeping.
She thought about Vincent, the poison, and the syndicate politics that had nearly transformed her operating room into a place of execution. If she told the NYPD what had happened, it could ignite a full-scale Mafia war in the streets of New York. As the principal witness, she would almost certainly be caught in the conflict.
