He said nothing. He took her from Felix himself, cradling her against his chest as though she weighed nothing, as though she were still the five-year-old girl who used to fall asleep in his study while he took calls. His overcoat soaked through with her blood as he carried her to the waiting armored SUV. The door was held open by a soldier who could not meet his Don's eyes.
The emergency ward at St. Cecilia's had been transformed into a private fortress. Armed men flanked every entrance. The surgical team, five of the most decorated physicians in the state, stood waiting in their gowns, their faces pale beneath the fluorescent lights. They had all been told the same thing: Save her, or do not leave this building.
The lead surgeon, a gray-haired man with steady hands and decades of battlefield triage behind him, stepped forward as Mia was transferred to the gurney. He examined her for less than ninety seconds before his expression changed. He turned to the family.
"Don Valducci, the signorina's pulse is barely registering." He spoke carefully, each word measured. "It appears she was already involved in a prior incident. There are signs of recent surgery, internal suturing that has partially reopened, and..." He paused. His gaze flickered toward the two young men standing behind the Don, and something in their faces made him swallow hard.
Giacomo 'Jake' Valducci stepped forward. He was the eldest son, the senior Capo, and he carried himself with the kind of quiet menace that made hardened soldiers lower their voices in his presence. His dark eyes fixed on the surgeon like a vise.
"And what?"
The word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water.
The surgeon steadied himself. "It appears the signorina suffered a miscarriage. Recently. The blood loss from that event, compounded by this crash, has left her body in an extremely compromised state. She cannot withstand another full surgical procedure." He drew a breath. "The best course of action is cardiac defibrillation to stabilize her pulse, followed by supportive measures. It is our only viable option."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere down the corridor, a soldier shifted his weight, and the creak of his leather holster was the loudest sound in the world.
Don Vittorio looked at the surgeon for a long moment. Then he nodded once.