She Helped the Injured Mafia Boss Without Asking for Anything

Julian realized he was exposed.

In a frantic, desperate surge of panic, he lunged not toward Victor, but toward Clara, attempting to grab her as a hostage to secure his escape from the vault.

He never even touched the hem of her jacket.

Clara sidestepped with surgical precision, driving the palm of her hand sharply upward into Julian’s chin, snapping his head back, while Victor’s massive arm caught Julian mid-air by the throat, slamming him onto the metal interrogation table with bone-shattering force.

The table groaned under the impact. Julian gasped for air as Victor’s hand pinned him down like an insect on a board.

"Who paid you?" Victor roared, leaning over the traitor, his eyes blazing with murderous fury. "Was it Vance? Or someone higher in the Obsidian Commission?!"

Julian choked, blood bubbling between his teeth from a bitten tongue. "You... you think Vance was the head of the snake? He was a puppet... just like your father was..."

Victor pressed harder on Julian's windpipe. "Give me a name!"

"The Sovereign..." Julian wheezed, his face turning purple. "The Architect of the Obsidian Pact... you can't touch them... they already have the antidote... they already have the cure..."

Clara frowned, stepping closer to the table. "Antidote? What cure? The VX-9 was contained!"

Julian let out a ghastly, wet chuckle. "The toxin... wasn't meant for the harbor... Pier 44 was a diversion... you fools... you brought the real shipment... right into your home..."

Cold horror, sharp and paralyzing, washed over Clara's spine.

She turned to Nikolai, who was standing by the door. "Nikolai! The trauma shipment from Geneva that arrived at the manor’s infirmary this morning! The one marked with the Swiss red cross!"

"Stored in the west wing medical lab," Nikolai replied, his face suddenly turning pale. "The wounded from yesterday's clinic attack were treated with those IV saline bags—"

"It’s not saline," Clara whispered, her voice trembling for the first time in months. "It’s an engineered biological vector. A delayed-action paralytic toxin."

Victor snapped Julian's neck with a sharp, brutal jerk of his wrist, casting the traitor’s body aside like a broken doll.

"Lockdown the estate!" Victor bellowed, drawing his weapon as he sprinted toward the vault exit. "Nikolai, sound the general alarm! Secure the west wing!"

The blaring sirens of the Kaine estate wailed into the stormy night, red emergency lights bathing the marble corridors in the color of fresh blood.

Clara sprinted behind Victor, her heart pounding in her throat. She had dedicated her life to saving people, to curing the sick, to sewing together the torn flesh of the vulnerable. And an unseen monster had used her own sanctuary, her own medical supplies, as an instrument of mass execution.

"Elena! The patients!" Clara shouted as they burst into the grand foyer.

Suddenly, the heavy blast doors of the manor slammed shut automatically. The power grid flickered, sparked violently, and died.