Chapter 26 Chapter 26

Chapter 26 Chapter 26

Elara’s POV. 

The basement security hub, usually a fortress of flickering monitors, was suddenly swamped by white coats and navy blue windbreakers. 

Two paramedics carrying a folded gurney and a psychiatric liaison holding a clipboard.

Miller stepped forward, his cheap suit bunching at the shoulders. He reached for his breast pocket and pulled out a tri-folded document.

"Emergency psychiatric hold," Miller said. "Based on credible evidence of imminent harm to yourself and your unborn child, Elara. We’re here to help."

I could feel the heat radiating off Dante, his hand hovering inches from the gun on the table. One twitch from Miller and the room would become a morgue.

"This guy’s got balls," Lorenzo muttered behind Dante, his voice barely audible. "Coming in here with nothing but a piece of paper and a smile."

Miller’s grin didn't falter. "No, Mr. Moretti. I have paperwork. Validated by a judge, witnessed by a detective, and supported by a sworn affidavit from a concerned close associate."

One of the paramedics, a kid who looked like he’d crawled out of a frat house and into a uniform, looked at me as he shifted the weight of the medical bag on his shoulder.

"Ma’am… if you cooperate, this will go faster," he whispered.

"You look like a second-year resident, kid. Or maybe a very fresh EMT-B."

He blinked, taken aback. "I… I’m a second-year resident. Rotating through psych intake."

"Then you should know," I said, my voice steady, "that a psychiatric hold on a pregnant woman in the state of New York requires the presence of a supervising physician or a specialized OB-GYN consultant during the initial contact if there is no immediate violent outburst. Where is your supervisor?"

The kid froze. He looked at Miller, then back at me, the gears turning behind his eyes. He knew I was right.

Miller stepped in smoothly, cutting off the boy's doubt. "The supervising physician is waiting at Bellevue, Elara. We aren't doing the evaluation in a basement full of gunmen. It’s not a therapeutic environment."

"You think a badge protects you?" Dante stepped into Miller’s personal space. "You think you walk out of here with her because you have a stamp from a judge I probably could pay for?"

Miller didn't flinch. "Tonight? Yes. Because if you pull that trigger, Dante, you don't just go to jail. You prove every word in this warrant. You prove that this woman is living in a violent, unstable environment that endangers the fetus. You kill me, and the state takes that baby the second it leaves her body. Is that the play you want to make?"

He looked at me, pleading with his eyes for me to give him the signal to end it.
"Don't," I said.

I walked toward the paramedics but stopped in front of Dante. 
"Don’t come to Bellevue," I whispered.

He looked like I’d stabbed him. "What? Elara, I’m not letting you go in there alone."

"Find Sloane," I said, my voice barely a breath. "She’s the only one who can crack Miller’s warrant trail. If you show up at the hospital, you’re the 'abusive husband' they need for the narrative. Stay away. Fight the paper, not the men."

Lorenzo stepped up, looking between us. "You’re letting them take you? Just like that?"

I shrugged lightly, letting the paramedic take my elbow. "Doctors hate it when patients know the system better than they do. It makes them sloppy."

In the ambulance, they’d strapped a heart monitor to my wrist, the green line bouncing in a zig-zag.

The resident was sitting across from me, scribbling nervously in a notebook. He kept glancing at the green line.

"Your heart rate is remarkably low," he noted. "Usually, patients in transport are tachycardic. Anxious."

"I’m not anxious," I said, staring out the darkened window at the blurred lights of Manhattan. "I’m calculating."

"Calculating what?"

"The billing codes you're going to have to reverse when this hold is overturned," I said casually. "Did Miller tell you why he specifically requested Bellevue? There are three closer intake centers between the estate and the river."

The paramedic shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "It’s the primary psychiatric intake center for the district. It’s protocol."

I looked back at the window. 

Bellevue wasn't just an intake center, it was a fortress. And in a city where the Morettis owned the streets, the only way to hide a prisoner was to turn them into a patient.

I was wheeled through the double-doors, the 'clack-clack' of the gurney wheels echoing.

"You're doing great, Elara," the resident whispered. "They’ll evaluate you, run a few standard tests, and probably release you in the morning once the judge sees you're stable."

I didn't answer him. I was looking at the gold-leaf lettering on the frosted glass of the office door at the end of the hall.

DR. SILAS VANE
CHIEF PSYCHIATRIC CONSULTANT

My chest tightened.

The doors opened, and a man stepped out. He was tall, wearing a charcoal suit, he was in his early forties, with sharp features and green eyes that were entirely unreadable.

He looked at me, and a slow, polite smile spread across his face. "Elara Vance. It’s been a very long time."

My voice was a flat. "I wondered when you’d appear, Silas.

The resident looked between us, confused. "You know each other?"

Silas adjusted his cufflinks, "Family acquaintances. Our families go back quite a way in the medical community."

I laughed softly, a bitter sound that didn't reach my eyes. "That’s one way to describe a man who tried to have my father's medical license revoked three weeks before he died. 'Acquaintances' is very generous."

Silas didn't flinch. He gestured to the staff. "Take her to Examination Room 4. And leave us. I’ll conduct the initial intake personally."

"Sir, protocol says—"

"I created the protocol, Franklin," Silas said. "Go."

The door to the exam room closed.

Silas circled the gurney slowly.

"You’ve grown up, Elara," he said. "The last time I saw you, you were a crying teenager in a precinct hallway, screaming about a conspiracy."

"You’ve gotten worse," I said. "The last time I saw you, you were at least pretending to have a soul."

Silas smiled slightly. "Direct. Julian always said that was your most exhausting trait."

I stiffened at the mention of my lab partner. "You dragged my name out of a police grave to help your brother lie? Julian knows the baby is Dante's. He knows I'm stable."

Silas tilted his head, his expression mocking. "Julian isn’t lying, Elara. He’s terrified. He truly believes you’ve had a break. He believes you’re being held captive by a monster and that your mind has fractured to cope with the trauma."

"He believes what you told him to believe," I spat.

"Terrified men tell very useful truths," Silas said. He sat down in a rolling chair, crossing his legs. "You understand the position you’re in, don't you? Look at the chart. A pregnant woman living in the epicenter of a violent crime syndicate. A family history of psychosis and suicide. A husband with more homicide investigations than years of marriage."

He spread his hands, the picture of reasonable concern. "Do you know how easy it is to write a psychiatric recommendation for long-term committal under these circumstances? Any judge in the state would sign it in seconds to 'protect the unborn'."

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a whisper. "If you commit me illegally, Dante will tear this city apart to get to you. He will turn Bellevue into a crater."

Silas shrugged, unbothered. "Which would further prove that your environment is unstable and that your husband is a danger to the public. Every move he makes to 'save' you only hammers the nails into your coffin, Elara. He’s your greatest liability."

I stared at him, my mind racing through the medical codes, the legal precedents. 

Then, I saw it. A small look of greed in the way he looked at my chart. 

"You’re not doing this for Julian," I realized. "And you’re not doing it for Miller."

Silas’s smile faded.

"Then why?" I asked.

He stood up and walked to the narrow, barred window, "Because the Moretti Syndicate is collapsing," Silas said, his voice echoing in the small room. "Between the Rossis, the Petrovs, and Dante’s own spiraling impulsivity, the vacuum is forming. And I intend to decide who inherits the body of this city when the heart stops beating."

He turned back to me, his eyes gleaming. "You aren't a patient, Elara. You’re the deed. The woman who knows the bank codes, the woman who carries the heir, and the woman who holds the evidence. Whoever controls you, controls the future of the five families."

He walked to the door and opened it. A nurse was waiting outside with a clipboard.
"Dr. Vane?" she asked.

Silas took the pen and signed the intake form. He handed it back to her, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Admit her for observation," Silas said calmly.

The nurse hesitated, looking at my calm heart rate on the monitor. "For how long, sir? The warrant is only for twenty-four hours."

Silas adjusted his charcoal jacket and looked at his watch.

"Seventy-two hours," Silas answered, his voice smooth. "And place her on a Level 4 sedatives regimen. She's showing signs of extreme, violent delusion. I want her to be completely unresponsive by midnight."

The nurse nodded and stepped toward me with a syringe. I looked at Silas, my fingers digging into the vinyl of the gurney.

"Dante is coming," I whispered.

"I hope so," Silas said, closing the door. "I’ve already called the National Guard. I told them a terrorist attack on a state hospital is imminent. Let him come, Elara. I’d love to watch him die on my front lawn."