The car fishtailed; I corrected just in time and slammed on the brakes.
The Lamborghini jerked to a stop—so close to the rear bumper of a silver Mercedes that I could see my reflection distorted in its paint.
An inch.
Maybe less.
If I’d been slower—It would’ve been a crash.
I didn’t think about it.
I was already moving.
Out of the car.
Engine still idling behind me as I slammed the door shut and sprinted toward the elevators.
Security recognized me instantly.
Heads dipped.
Doors opened without a word.
I didn’t take the elevator.
I took the stairs.
Two at a time.
Then three.
My lungs burned.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Every step echoed like a countdown.
By the time I reached the private wing, my breathing was ragged, but I didn’t slow.
Didn’t stop.
I burst into the VVIP corridor and grabbed the first nurse I saw by the arm.
Not hard.
But firm enough that she froze immediately.
“Is my wife here already?” I demanded, voice tight. “Elena Orsini.”
The nurse blinked, startled.
Then pointed.
“Yes, sir. VVIP Ward 2.”
I released her and moved.
Fast.
