Chapter 7
I reached the hospital in seven minutes.
Too slow.
Every second felt stolen.
The atrium was secure.
Front doors locked.
Bodyguards everywhere.
Doctors moving normally.
Too normally.
I found Dr. Mercer.
“Noah?”
“Room 402.”
“Who is with him?”
“Two guards.”
“Names.”
He gave them.
Both mine.
Both trustworthy.
I took the private elevator.
Fourth floor.
One guard outside Noah's room.
Only one.
“Where's Keene?”
He frowned.
“Bathroom.”
Wrong.
Keene had been shot in the abdomen two years earlier.
He couldn't go five minutes without complaining about hospital bathrooms.
He would never leave his post without relief.
I drew my weapon.
“Open the door.”
The guard hesitated.
Half a second.
I hit him before he moved.
Elias caught him.
I entered.
Noah's bed was empty.
Monitor leads lay on the blanket.
Window locked.
Bathroom empty.
I looked at the IV stand.
A folded note hung where the saline bag should have been.
No name.
No need.
I opened it.
YOU ALWAYS WERE BETTER AT ARRIVING SECOND.
Matteo.
I crushed the paper.
Elias entered.
“Cassian.”
“Find him.”
“Hospital lockdown?”
“Yes.”
“Noah could be moved during lockdown.”
“I know.”
We checked service elevators.
Laundry corridors.
Imaging.
Parking.
Nothing.
Then a nurse ran toward us.
“Mr. Castellano.”
I turned.
“A girl is asking for you downstairs.”
“Lily?”
She nodded.
I found Lily in the stairwell.
Barefoot again.
I almost lost my mind.
“Why are you here?”
She was crying.
“Mom brought me.”
Emma appeared behind her.
“What happened?”
Lily held up a hospital badge.
Keene's.
“I found this.”
“Where?”
“Laundry cart.”
I crouched.
“How?”
She swallowed.
“I saw the man.”
“What man?”
“The greenhouse man.”
Everything stopped.
“You saw Matteo?”
She nodded.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“He pushed Noah in the cart.”
My heart slammed.
“Which way?”
She pointed downward.
“Basement.”
Elias was already moving.
I caught Lily's hand.
“Stay with Emma.”
She grabbed my sleeve.
“Mr. Angelo.”
I looked at her.
“He said something.”
“What?”
“He said Noah would finally meet his real father.”
I stared.
Emma did too.
No.
Matteo didn't mean biology.
Couldn't.
Noah was mine.
Camille had been my wife.
My brother had been gone.
Unless—
I stopped.
Eleven years dead.
Noah was fourteen.
Impossible.
Wrong timeline.
So what did he mean?
Not blood.
Authority.
Matteo believed fatherhood belonged to the man who shaped the boy.
Not the man who made him.
He wasn't taking Noah.
He was recruiting him.
I ran downstairs.
The basement had five exits.
Three secured.
One loading.
One old chapel corridor connecting to the medical center's original foundation.
Built by my grandfather.
Of course Matteo knew it.
We found Keene unconscious beside the service tunnel.
Alive.
Noah's hospital blanket lay ten feet farther in.
I followed it.
Then another clue.
One of Noah's shoes.
Then the other.
Not dropped.
Placed.
My son was awake.
He was leaving a trail.
I almost smiled.
Good boy.
The tunnel ended beneath the old chapel.
I heard voices.
Matteo's.
Then Noah's.
“You're not my father.”
Silence.
Then my brother laughed.
I hadn't heard that laugh in eleven years.
It hadn't changed.
Neither had the rage it created in me.
I stepped into the doorway.
Matteo stood twenty feet away.
Older.
Scar down one cheek.
Gray at the temples.
Alive.
One hand on Noah's shoulder.
The other holding a gun.
He smiled.
“Little brother.”
Noah looked at me.
“Dad.”
Matteo's smile widened.
“There.”
May you like
He squeezed Noah's shoulder.
“Now we can finally have the family meeting you stole from me.”
