4:17 PM. ICU. Manhattan General.
Beep.
Beep.
Dante’s heart. 58 BPM. Strong.
My hand on my stomach. 6 weeks, 5 days. Stronger.
“Donna,” Vincent said. Door. Gun drawn. “We got a problem.”
I didn’t look up. “Sinaloa?”
“Worse,” he said. “Cartel remnants. Arturo’s brother. Diego Mendez. 50 men. He doesn’t want peace. He wants blood. Lucia’s blood. For surrendering.”
Lucia. Down the hall. Floor 79. With Rosa. 8 weeks pregnant.
“ETA?” I asked.
“Here,” Vincent said. “Now.”
The lights died.
Gunfire.
Floor 1.
---
4:19 PM. Lockdown.
“Code Silver,” hospital intercom screamed. “Armed intruders. All units—”
Static. Gunshot.
Intercom dead.
“Kenji,” I said. Earpiece. “Report.”
“Ground floor breached,” Kenji said. Calm. 70 years old. Sword out. “20 of mine vs 30 of theirs. We hold. For
