103 From the Ashes of Betrayal: A Chronicle of Bloodlines, Vengeance, and the Unyielding Flames of a New Empire

"You can't just execute people in my alley," I hissed, grabbing a roll of industrial duct tape to secure the cracked glass of the front door temporarily. "This is a medical facility, Adrian! Not a back-alley execution ground!"

"I didn't execute him," Adrian said evenly, stepping up to help me hold the heavy plastic sheeting in place over the broken door frame. His hands were surprisingly steady, the fingers long and calloused—the hands of a man who worked with ledgers and cargo manifests, but knew how to break a man's neck if the math required it. "I interrogated him. Efficiency is everything in my line of work."

"Well, your efficiency is tracking mud across my newly waxed floors," I snapped, though my hands were shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was beginning to ebb.

Maya dropped the oxygen canister, leaning against the counter with a pale, drawn face. "Lucia, we’re out of sterile gauze. And the IV saline bags are down to the last two units. If Nathan spikes another fever tonight, we won't have the fluids to stabilize him."

Adrian turned his head instantly. "My supply trucks are parked three blocks away. I can have a full medical crate delivered within ten minutes."

"No," I said, turning to face him directly. "No corporate supply drops, no unmarked crates, no black-market pharmaceuticals. If the city health inspectors or the local precinct see your syndicates unloading medical gear into my clinic, they'll shut us down permanently. And then where do your wounded thugs go?"

"They die in an alley," Adrian said, stating it as a simple, undeniable law of nature.

"Exactly. So we do this my way." I pointed a finger at his chest, refusing to back down. "You take one of your men—dressed like a regular civilian, no guns visible—and you drive an ordinary car to St. Jude’s pharmacy over on Tenth Street. You buy the supplies with cash, under a generic name. Do you understand me?"

Adrian stared at me for a long, silent moment. For a second, I thought he was going to laugh, or pull rank, or simply order his men to take over the building entirely.

Instead, a faint, ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.