Chapter 5
Victor Mercer was a proud man, accustomed to corporate boardrooms where intimidation was wielded with pens and contracts, not blood and violence. Seeing his son utterly destroyed in a matter of seconds short-circuited his rational thought. Desperation overrode logic. He realized that without one of those babies, the twisted arrangement he had made was completely forfeit.
With a guttural shout, Victor lunged forward, charging past Lorenzo and diving desperately toward the nearest clear bassinet where Nurse Claire stood guard.
“I’m taking him!” Victor roared, his arms outstretched, his expensive suit jacket flapping wildly.
He never made it past the bodyguards.
Lorenzo moved with blinding speed. He reached out and grabbed the back of Victor’s suit collar, tearing the older man away from the bassinets with such violent force that Victor’s polished shoes completely left the hospital floor. Lorenzo spun the sixty-five-year-old man around, maintaining an iron grip on his clothing.
“You do not learn,” Lorenzo whispered, his eyes flashing with a dark, terrifying rage.
Lorenzo delivered one thunderous, open-handed slap across Victor’s face.
The sound cracked like a gunshot through the bright maternity suite. The massive impact snapped Victor’s head violently to the side. Lorenzo released his collar, letting the momentum carry the older man away.
Victor spun backward, his arms windmilling as he lost his balance. He crashed heavily onto the padded sleeper chair positioned near the window. The force of his falling body pushed the heavy chair backward, sliding it violently into two folded luggage stands resting against the wall.
Both lightweight wooden stands collapsed instantly with a loud crack. Visitor bags and overnight suitcases toppled sideways, spilling their contents across the floor. Victor dropped awkwardly among the scattered blankets and ruined luggage, groaning as he clutched his stinging face.
Bianca shrieked, pressing her hands to her mouth. She froze completely, absolutely paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming violence that Lorenzo wielded so effortlessly. Her elegant dress and heavy jewelry suddenly felt like a target painted on her back.
Lorenzo stood in the center of the devastation. The brightly colored hospital room was now a war zone of scattered water bottles, broken furniture, and bleeding men in expensive suits. The sunlight still poured through the window, indifferent to the carnage.
“Dad,” Sofia whispered from her bed. She was crying, but her tears were no longer born of fear; they were born of overwhelming relief. Nurse Claire stood firmly beside her, holding the babies securely.
Lorenzo turned his head slightly, offering his daughter a brief, reassuring nod.
“Rest, Sofia,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping its lethal edge for just a fraction of a second. “I am here. No one will ever touch you or your children again.”
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He turned back to the center of the room. He slowly looked from Victor, who was weeping quietly among the luggage, to Julian, who was attempting to crawl away from the ruined refreshment station.
“Get him up,” Lorenzo commanded, gesturing to Julian.
