Chapter 2: Behind Locked Gates
[Seraphina POV]
The ambulance screeches to a halt in front of the Rossi family's private hospital, and my heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird. Through the rear windows, I can see the imposing iron gates and the stone facade that's supposed to represent hope. Tonight, it looks like a fortress.
"Please hurry," I whisper to the paramedic as he prepares the gurney. My mother's face is still gray, her lips blue, but they managed to get a faint pulse during the ride. Faint, but there.
The ambulance doors swing open, and I jump out first, my soaked dress clinging to my skin. The night air cuts through me, but I barely feel it. All I can focus on is getting Mom inside.
"Move, move!" I shout at the paramedics. "She doesn't have time!"
But as we approach the main entrance, two massive bodyguards step into our path. Their black suits are pristine, their faces carved from stone.
"Hospital's closed," the taller one says, crossing his arms. "No admissions tonight."
"What?" I stare at him in disbelief. "This is an emergency! She's dying!"
"Orders are orders, Mrs. Rossi." The second guard doesn't even look at my mother's lifeless form on the gurney. "The hospital is on lockdown for The Boss's woman. She has surgery tomorrow."
The Boss's woman. Livia.
My hands shake with rage. Even now, even when my mother is barely clinging to life, that woman is still taking priority.
"You don't understand," I say, my voice cracking. "My mother drowned. She needs immediate medical attention or she's going to die."
"Not our problem."
The paramedic beside me shifts uncomfortably. "Ma'am, we need to get her to another facility—"
"No!" I grab his arm. "This is the best hospital in the city. She needs the best." I turn back to the bodyguards. "Please, I'm begging you. Just let us through."
They don't budge.
My mother's breathing becomes more labored. The heart monitor attached to her chest starts beeping erratically.
"She's crashing," the paramedic says urgently. "We need to move now."
Desperation claws at my throat. I reach for the taller bodyguard's jacket, but he steps back.
"Your phone," I gasp. "Let me use your phone. I need to call my husband."
The guard hesitates, then pulls out his cell phone. My fingers tremble as I dial Marco's number. It rings once. Twice.
"What?" His voice is cold, irritated.
"Marco, it's me. I'm at the hospital with Mom. The guards won't let us in. Please, you have to tell them—"
"Seraphina?" He sounds genuinely surprised. "What are you doing there?"
"My mother is dying!" The words explode out of me. "She's been underwater for too long, and she needs immediate medical care. I'm begging you, please just tell them to let us through."
There's a long pause. Too long.
"Marco?"
"I heard you." His voice has gone flat. Emotionless. "You want me to interrupt Livia's pre-surgery preparations for your mother?"
"She's dying, Marco. She's actually dying right now."
"And?"
The single word hits me like a physical blow. "And? And she's my mother!"
"Save her?" He lets out a harsh laugh that makes my blood run cold. "On what grounds? Remember this, Seraphina. She's your mother, not mine."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, my entire world tilting sideways. The dial tone buzzes in my ear like the sound of my own heart breaking.
"Ma'am?" The bodyguard reaches for his phone. "Ma'am, I need that back."
I hand it to him in a daze, then look down at my mother. Her chest is barely rising and falling now. The paramedic is checking her pulse, his face grim.
"We're losing her," he says quietly.
Something inside me snaps.
I spin around, scanning the hospital entrance until I spot it—a red fire extinguisher mounted on the wall beside the glass doors. Without thinking, I lunge for it, ripping it from its bracket.
"Ma'am, what are you—"
I swing the heavy cylinder with every ounce of strength I have left. The glass doors explode inward in a shower of glittering fragments.
The bodyguards jump back, startled. For a moment, we all just stare at the destruction. Then I turn to face them, the fire extinguisher still clutched in my hands, my hair wild, my eyes blazing.
"Get out of my way."
Something in my expression—some crazed, desperate look—makes them step aside. I drop the extinguisher and grab the front of the gurney.
"Help me," I order the paramedic.
Together, we rush through the shattered entrance, glass crunching under our feet. The hospital's pristine white lobby feels surreal after the chaos outside. A few nurses look up from their stations, their faces shocked.
"Emergency!" I shout. "We need a doctor now!"
An older man in scrubs comes running from one of the side corridors. "What happened here?"
"Drowning victim," the paramedic says quickly. "She's been down for over thirty minutes. Weak pulse, irregular breathing."
The doctor takes one look at my mother and immediately starts barking orders. "Room three, now. Get me a crash cart and call respiratory."
They wheel her away, and I try to follow, but a nurse gently stops me.
"Ma'am, you need to let them work."
I collapse into one of the waiting room chairs, my legs finally giving out. My hands are shaking so violently I can't make them stop. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that makes everything feel distant and unreal.
Minutes crawl by. Or maybe hours. I've lost all sense of time.
Finally, the doctor emerges from the treatment room. His face tells me everything before he even opens his mouth.
"I'm sorry," he says softly. "We did everything we could."
The words don't register at first. They bounce off me like stones off water.
"What do you mean?"
"Her pupils are fixed and dilated. There's no brain activity. I'm afraid she's gone."
"No." I shake my head. "No, that's not possible. She had a pulse in the ambulance. She was breathing."
"Ma'am, I understand this is difficult—"
"You examined her for two minutes!" I jump to my feet, my voice rising to a shriek. "Two minutes! How can you possibly know?"
The doctor's expression is patient but firm. "I've been doing this for twenty years. The damage from prolonged submersion is extensive. Even if we had gotten to her immediately—"
"But we didn't get to her immediately, did we?" I'm crying now, ugly sobs that tear at my throat. "We wasted precious time standing outside those gates while she was dying."
"I'm truly sorry for your loss. If you had arrived just a few minutes sooner, perhaps... but at this point, even our top cardiologist couldn't have helped. The window has passed."
I sink to my knees right there in the middle of the hospital corridor, my hands pressed against the cold tile floor. The weight of it all—the lake, the car, Marco's voice on the phone—crashes down on me at once.
My mother is dead.
And my husband killed her.