The Doctor’s Dilemma

The satellite phone on Enzo’s desk vibrated once, sharp and insistent. He was in the estate’s secondary security office reviewing the afternoon perimeter logs when the encrypted line lit up with Francesca’s private code. He answered on the second ring.

“Francesca.”

Her voice came through thin and tight, almost shaking. “Enzo. I need you to listen and not interrupt.”

He sat up straighter. The office door was already closed. “Talk.”

“Yesterday afternoon an unidentified man was dropped at the emergency bay. Severe gunshot wound to the abdomen. No ID. No phone. The people who brought him left before anyone could ask questions.” She paused, breathing hard. “He was conscious for maybe two minutes after we got him on the table. He kept repeating the same thing. He said a strike team was already moving. He said they were targeting the Marchetti bride.”

Enzo’s free hand closed into a fist on the desk. “Say that again.”

“The Marchetti bride. Those were the exact words. Then he lost consciousness. We took him into surgery. He didn’t make it through the night.”

The room around Enzo seemed to narrow. He stood, already reaching for the secondary radio on the charging dock. “Where are you right now?”

“Still at the clinic. I just finished my shift. I didn’t want to call from the floor.”

“Stay where you are. Do not leave the building. Do not go to the parking lot alone.” He switched the radio to the rapid-response channel with his other hand. “I’m sending two cars. They will be there in twelve minutes. You get in the back of the first one and you do not argue.”

“Enzo—”

“Francesca. This is not a discussion. Someone used your clinic as a drop point and named the exact person we are protecting. That means the clinic is compromised. You are compromised until I say otherwise.”

Her voice dropped. “I thought you should know first. Before it hit any official channels.”

“You did the right thing.” He was already moving toward the door, phone still at his ear. “But from this moment you do not go back on that floor. You do not speak to anyone about what the patient said. You wait for my men and you stay quiet.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Stay scared. It will keep you sharp.” He stepped into the hallway and headed for the main study where Cassian had been working since the morning lockdown. “The cars are rolling. Twelve minutes. Keep this line open until they arrive.”

He found Cassian at the long table in the study, maps and tablet screens spread in front of him. Cassian looked up the moment Enzo entered. One glance at his face was enough.

“Report.”

Enzo closed the door and set the satellite phone on speaker so Francesca’s breathing remained audible in the background. “Unidentified male dropped at the western clinic emergency bay yesterday. Gunshot to the abdomen. Before he coded he warned of a strike team targeting the Marchetti bride. Proxy work. No colors. No claim of responsibility.”

Cassian’s expression went completely still. “Francesca.”

“On the line. Alive. Shaken. I’m pulling her out now. Two cars en route.”

Cassian stood. The chair scraped back hard. “How long has the body been in their system?”

“Overnight. Surgery failed. They’re treating it as a John Doe for now, but the words are already in the trauma notes.”

“Pull the notes. Pay whatever is required to make the official record disappear. Then burn the unofficial copies.” Cassian’s voice was cold and precise. “The clinic is no longer safe for her. Bring her here under full escort. She stays inside the estate until we know how far this reaches.”

Enzo nodded once. “Already in motion.”

On the speaker Francesca’s voice came through again, quieter. “They’re here. Black SUVs. Two men at the staff entrance.”

“Confirm the codes,” Enzo said.

A short pause. Then: “Codes match. I’m getting in.”

“Stay on the line until the doors lock.”

They listened to the sound of her moving, the brief exchange with the security detail, the solid thud of a vehicle door. Only when the engine noise settled into the background did Enzo end the call.

Cassian was already at the far wall, pulling up the encrypted tactical display. Red markers appeared across the city grid. “Proxy soldiers mean the elders are trying to keep their hands clean. They want her gone without an official vote.”

“They used a clinic where my sister works,” Enzo said. “That was deliberate.”

“Or convenient.” Cassian’s eyes stayed on the screen. “Either way the message is the same. They are testing how close they can get.”

Enzo stepped closer to the table. “I want full lockdown on every medical facility we have soft contacts with. No more open emergency bays for unknowns. And I want the men who dumped that body found before the end of the week.”

“You will have the resources.” Cassian turned to face him fully. “Francesca arrives, she goes to the east wing guest suite. Maria will handle the quiet logistics. No one outside this room hears the phrase ‘Marchetti bride’ again.”

“Understood.”

Cassian’s gaze was hard. “This changes the timeline. We do not wait for the next ultimatum. We start cutting their support out from under them. Port contracts. Offshore accounts. Every captain who has been quiet while the proxies move. I want names on my desk by morning.”

Enzo nodded. “I’ll have the list.”

The study fell into a brief, heavy silence. Outside the rain had slowed to a steady curtain. Inside the estate the machinery of protection shifted into a higher gear.

Cassian’s voice dropped. “Tell Vittoria nothing specific yet. She already feels the walls closing. I will decide how much she hears and when.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And Enzo.” Cassian looked at him directly. “Your sister is under our protection now. Treat any further approach toward her as an approach toward this house.”

“I already do.”

Cassian gave a short nod and returned to the tactical display. Enzo left the study and headed for the security office to coordinate Francesca’s arrival and the quiet scrubbing of the clinic records. The warning from a dying man had turned a distant rumor into an immediate operational problem. The council was no longer content to talk. They were sending bodies and messages through civilian channels.

By the time the two black SUVs rolled through the estate gates and the steel barriers locked again behind them, the house had already adjusted. Francesca stepped out under the covered entrance, pale and quiet, a small overnight bag in one hand. Enzo met her there, guided her inside without ceremony, and walked her toward the east wing where the guest suite waited, secure and temporary and far from any open emergency bay that might still be listening for the next warning.