🖤 The Maid Whose Dying Brother Made the Mafia Boss Claim Everything

Chapter 08 - The Clinic in Albany

The abandoned clinic outside Albany did not look abandoned.

That was the first thing Sadi noticed when Victor's convoy stopped beyond a line of winter trees. The windows were dark, but the grounds were too clean. The snow near the side entrance had tire marks cut through it. Someone had salted the steps within the last hour.

Places did not stay ready by accident.

"They've used it recently," Paul said.

Victor checked the magazine of his pistol, then slid it beneath his jacket.

Sadi's stomach clenched.

"You said no bodies."

He looked at her.

"I said I would get your brother."

"That's not the same promise."

His eyes softened by a fraction.

"No. It isn't."

Mara stepped from the second vehicle and pulled her coat tighter against the wind.

"There are records inside. Richard kept copies here before he moved everything digital. Voss helped him decide which patients were useful and which families could be controlled."

Sadi felt sick.

"Useful."

Mara met her eyes.

"I know."

"Why didn't you come out sooner?"

It was not kind, but grief rarely asked permission before speaking.

Mara accepted the blow.

"Because I woke up in a motel outside Cleveland with no ID, a broken jaw, and a note saying my little brother would disappear if I ever said Preston's name. Because I was twenty-three. Because nobody believed poor girls with bad records over senators' sons. Because surviving took everything."

Sadi looked away first.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Anger is useful if you point it in the right direction."

Victor motioned to Paul.

"Cameras?"

"Old system, but active. We looped the exterior for ninety seconds."

"Then we use ninety."

Sadi stepped forward.

Victor stopped her with one look.

"No."

"My brother is inside."

"And you are untrained, injured, and emotionally involved."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think love makes people brave and reckless. Tonight I only need one of those from you."

She stared at him.

"Which one?"

"Brave."

He handed her to Mara, not like property, but like responsibility.

"Stay with her. If we don't come out in twelve minutes, go to the federal contact. Not police. Not hospital administration. Federal."

"And you?" Sadi asked.

Victor looked toward the clinic.

"I go get Sam."

The waiting was worse than the phone call.

Mara and Sadi crouched behind a low stone wall near the service lot. Wind cut through Sadi's coat. Her cracked hands throbbed beneath the gloves. Somewhere beyond brick and glass, her brother was frightened, sick, maybe cold.

Sadi began counting breaths.

In for four.

Hold for four.

Out for four.

She reached twenty-seven before a light flared in a second-floor window.

Mara touched her arm.

"Don't move."

A shadow passed behind frosted glass.

Then another.

A door banged open on the north side of the building.

Paul emerged first, dragging a man in hospital scrubs. Adrian followed with another guard. Then Victor stepped into the light carrying Sam.

Sadi's knees almost failed.

Sam's arms were around Victor's neck. His face was pale, but his eyes were open.

"Sadie," he croaked.

She ran.

Victor lowered Sam carefully onto the back seat of the SUV, and Sadi climbed in beside him, touching his face, his cap, his hand, needing proof of every bone.

"Did they hurt you?"

Sam shook his head.

"They took my IV out. I got mad."

"You got mad?"

"I told them their van smelled like regret."

Sadi laughed through tears.

Victor stood outside the open door, watching them as if the sight cost him something.

Then a shot cracked through the night.

Glass exploded above the windshield.

Victor shoved the door closed.

"Down!"

Sadi threw herself over Sam.

Men shouted outside. Tires screamed. Another shot struck metal.

The SUV lurched, then roared backward.

Sadi held Sam so tightly he gasped.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said weakly. "This is still better than hospital oatmeal."

Outside, chaos moved in controlled bursts.

Victor's men returned fire only enough to cover retreat. Sadi saw Victor through the rear window, standing in the clinic entrance with blood on his sleeve.

Her breath stopped.

He looked directly at the SUV and made one sharp gesture.

Go.

The driver obeyed.

"No," Sadi said. "No, we can't leave him."

Mara, beside the driver, turned back.

"He gave an order."

"He's hurt."

"He's Victor Costello."

"That doesn't make him bulletproof."

Mara's expression changed.

"No," she said softly. "It doesn't."