Chapter 9 - The Father's Sinking YachtWe took the private elevator down to the courtyard, where an armored town car was idling with the heaters running high.
Marco drove us through the waking streets of Queens, heading straight toward the St. Jude Pediatric Neurological Center.
The city was just beginning to stir beneath the gray morning light—street sweepers clearing the rain debris, delivery trucks unloading at the bodegas, ordinary people rushing to their subway trains, completely oblivious to the war that had raged and ended along their shoreline during the night.
When the town car pulled up to the private executive entrance of the hospital, the chief of pediatric surgery, Dr. Sterling, was waiting at the glass doors to escort us up.
We rode the elevator to the ninth-floor VIP penthouse suite.
The floor was fortified like an embassy—four of Dante’s private security officers stationed at the perimeter, their tailored suits concealing tactical body armor.
Dr. Sterling opened the double wooden doors to Suite 902.
The room was warm, filled with soft morning light, fresh flowers on the sideboard, and the gentle, rhythmic hum of a modern neurological monitor.
Lying in the center of the massive, comfortable bed, propped up against fluffy white pillows, was my twelve-year-old sister, Claire.
Her pale face was calm, her dark curls spread across the pillow, a tray of fresh strawberries and pancakes sitting untouched on the rolling table beside her.
When the door opened, she turned her head.
Her hazel eyes—the exact same color as mine—lit up with pure, disbelieving joy.
“Maya!”
I didn't care about my broken hand. I didn't care about the splints.
I broke into a run across the room, throwing my uninjured arm around my little sister, burying my face into her neck, sobbing with a mixture of overwhelming relief and pure, unadulterated happiness.
“Claire... oh God, Claire...” I wept, kissing her forehead over and over again.
Claire wrapped her small, frail arms around my neck, holding me tight.
“Maya, why are you crying? The doctor told me you had an accident with a door, but that you were okay! Look, they gave me a room with a TV and pancakes!”
Then she noticed the white fiberglass splint encasing my left forearm.
Her eyes went wide with childish concern.
“Maya! Your hand! What happened to your hand?”
Before I could answer, Dante stepped into the room.
He had taken off his overcoat, holding a massive plush velvet teddy bear that he had somehow managed to procure from the hospital gift shop on the way up.
He stopped beside the bed, towering over the room, but the terrifying mafia kingpin had completely evaporated.
Standing beside us was a man whose eyes were filled with profound, breathtaking gentleness.
He offered the teddy bear to Claire with a slight, respectful bow.
“Good morning, Miss Vance,” Dante said softly.
Claire stared at him, her eyes wide with awe. “Who are you?”
“My name is Dante,” he replied, pulling a chair beside the bed and sitting down so his eyes were level with hers. “I’m your sister’s friend. And starting today, I am the man who is going to make sure you never have to worry about doctors, medicine, or hospital bills ever again.”
Claire looked at the massive teddy bear, then at her sister’s face, and finally into Dante’s kind, honest eyes.
A bright, gap-toothed smile broke across her face.
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“Thank you, Dante,” she whispered, hugging the bear against her chest.
Dante looked up at me, his gray eyes shining with an emotion so deep, so pure, that my entire soul felt whole for the very first time in my life.
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