She Jumped Into the River to Save a Drowning Boy and Learned Too Late Why the Mafia Boss Thought She Had Pushed Him In

Glass rained down like jagged diamonds across the linoleum floor as chaos erupted around the nurses' station.

"Move!" Roman barked, grabbing Claire by the wrist and yanking her behind a heavy stainless-steel medication cart just as a burst of automatic gunfire chewed through the wall behind them, sending plaster dust billowing into the air.

Claire crouched low, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was instantly overwhelmed by the sharp, acrid stench of cordite and burning gunpowder.

"They’re not here for the patients," Claire gasped, clutching her knees as another volley of bullets ricocheted off the metal cart. "They’re here for us!"

"They’re here to tie up loose ends," Roman corrected, his voice preternaturally calm even as he checked the magazine of his pistol. His dark eyes flicked toward the end of the hallway where the three masked operatives were advancing methodically, firing suppression rounds into every doorway. "Whoever set you up didn't plan on you surviving the river. And they certainly didn't plan on you surviving my interrogation."

"Then what do we do?"

"We fight our way to the service elevator," Roman said. He glanced down at her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense, unflinching clarity. "Can you run?"

"I don't have a choice!"

"Good."

Roman leaned out from behind the cart, raised his pistol with both hands, and fired three rapid, calculated shots down the corridor. A sharp cry echoed from the darkness as one of the operatives stumbled backward, dropping his weapon.

"Now!" Roman roared.

He pulled Claire up by her arm, shielding her with his own body as they sprinted toward the laundry service corridor. Bullets clipped the doorframe inches from their heads, showering them with wood splinters.

They slammed through the heavy swinging doors into the maze-like basement laundry facility of Lakeview General. Massive commercial washing machines hummed in rows, casting long, eerie shadows across the damp concrete floor.

"Keep moving," Roman ordered, keeping his gun raised as he scanned the rows of industrial linen carts. "Toward the loading dock."

Before they could reach the exit, heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell ahead of them. Two more armed operatives stepped out from behind a stack of uniform bins, blocking their path.

Claire stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat.

Without hesitation, Roman shoved Claire behind a massive steel folding table. He didn't flinch. In one fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion, he rolled across the concrete floor, firing twice from a kneeling position.

Both operatives dropped instantly.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the laundry machines and the sound of their ragged breathing.

Roman stood up slowly, keeping his weapon trained on the fallen men before turning back to Claire. He holstered his pistol, walking over to her and extending a hand to help her up.

"Are you hit?" he asked, his dark eyes sweeping over her from head to toe.

Claire took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She was shaking from head to toe, her chest heaving, but she shook her head. "No. I’m... I’m okay."

Roman’s hand lingered on hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he dropped it and pulled out his encrypted phone.

"Viktor," Roman spoke into the device as he dialed. "Bring the secondary extraction team to the Lakeview loading dock. We have a security breach inside the hospital. Someone inside the administration sold us out."

"On my way, boss," Viktor’s voice crackled back. "And boss? We just cracked the cryptographic ledger on that cold storage wallet found in Claire’s locker."

Roman paused, his jaw tightening. "Who owns the destination wallet?"

"Arthur Vance," Viktor replied grimly.