Chapter 3 - The Paralyzed Secret
The basement floor of my brownstone smelled of rubbing alcohol, copper, and damp brick. Dr. Marcus Vance, a trauma surgeon who owed me his medical license and his life after a gambling debt almost got him killed by the Lucchese family, wiped sweat from his forehead.
He pulled off his blood-stained rubber gloves and dropped them into a plastic bin.
"How is she?" I demanded, standing near the door with my arms crossed. Bruno was lying flat under the medical examination table, refusing to leave the child’s side.
"It’s a miracle she survived the embalming process," Vance said, his voice shaking. "Actually, it wasn't a full embalming. Whoever prepared her body at the morgue gave her a massive dose of a synthetic neurotoxin—Tetrodotoxin derivative mixed with a heavy sedative. It slows the heart rate down to one or two beats per minute, drops body temperature, and completely paralyzes the muscular system."
"A medical coma," I said, my eyes narrowing. "They wanted her buried alive."
"Precisely," Vance nodded. "To the naked eye, to a corrupt city coroner checking a pulse for five seconds, she was dead. If you had put her in the ground today, the oxygen in that sealed coffin would have run out in less than two hours. She would have woken up in the dark."
A dark, volcanic rage surged through my chest. I had done terrible things in my thirty years in the Queens underworld. I had broken bones, ordered executions, and seized territories with fire and iron. But burying a seven-year-old child alive to cover up a botched human trafficking shipment was a level of sickness that crossed every line of human decency.
"Can you flush the toxin out?" I asked.
"I’ve already administered an atropine counter-agent and put her on an IV drip," Vance said, pointing to the clear bag hanging from a metal stand. "Her heart rate is stabilizing. She should regain consciousness in a few hours. But Dominic... she’s terrified. Even under the paralysis, her nervous system was active. She heard everything around her while she was trapped in that box."
I looked down at Elena. Her chest was rising and falling in a steady, visible rhythm now. Color was slowly returning to her hollow cheeks.
The heavy iron door at the top of the stairs opened. Tony walked down, his leather jacket slick with rain.
"Boss," Tony said softly. "Tomas and Rosa Vasquez are upstairs. They're losing their minds. I brought them through the alley like you said, no tail."
"Bring them down," I ordered.
A minute later, Tomas and Rosa rushed into the room. Rosa let out a piercing cry, dropping to her knees beside the bed and grasping her daughter’s warm, living hand. Tomas fell against the wall, weeping openly, his shoulders shaking as he stared at the heart monitor flickering with green light.
"How... how can I ever pay you back for this, Don Dominic?" Tomas choked out, dropping to his knees before me, trying to grab my hand. "Anything. My restaurant, my life, my blood—it’s yours."
I stepped back, catching him by the shoulder and dragging him back to his feet.
"You don't owe me anything, Tomas," I said flatly. "Your debt is cleared. But right now, as far as the streets of Queens are concerned, your daughter is dead and buried. If Harlan or Marco find out she’s breathing, they won't use a drug next time. Do you understand?"
Tomas nodded frantically. "Yes, Boss. Whatever you say."
"Tony," I turned to my lieutenant. "Take Tomas and his wife to the safehouse in Montauk. Keep them dark. No phones, no family contacts."
"And Marco?" Tony asked, his eyes darkening.
May you like
I adjusted my watch, checking the time. It was seven in the evening.
"Marco is waiting for me in the basement at the meatpacking plant," I said coldly. "It’s time my underboss told me how much Victor Harlan paid him to sell my soul."
