Even as a world-renowned surgeon, the sterile smell of the basement medicine bay always made me uneasy, but tonight, under the harsh white lights, it felt completely suffocating. Outside the heavy glass doors, the whole villa was dead silent, locked down tight. Red security lights pulsed down the hallways, a warning that the outer gates were sealed and our son was deep in the underground vault under tight security with Nanny B, Julian, and one other mafia soldier.
Asher stood right behind my shoulder, perfectly still. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing the tight white bandages I had wrapped around his broken ribs just an hour ago. I could tell every breath hurt him, but his hand stayed resting right near his gun.
He hadn't said a word since the guards wheeled the gurney into the room. His dark eyes were glued to the man lying under the sheet.
Thomas.
