It read Federal Bureau of Investigation.

“My name is Special Agent Miller,” he said.

His voice was quiet, barely louder than the steady hum of Luca’s heart monitor.

“I don’t care who you are,” I said.

My knuckles were white against the cold steel of the IV pole.

“You need to care,” Miller said. “Marcus Vance has people inside this building, and the local police are already downstairs.”

“If Vance has people here, you should be stopping them, not standing in my son’s room,” I said.

“We are tracking them,” he said. “But Vance isn’t the only one who wanted Giovanni’s son.”

He took another half-step into the room, his wet trench coat dripping onto the linoleum floor.

“The federal warrant for your husband’s arrest was signed three hours ago,” Miller said. “And they want you as a material witness.”

I looked at Luca, his chest rising and falling beneath the thin hospital blanket.

His skin was still pale, but the harsh wheezing had subsided after Dr. Sullivan’s last treatment.

“I am not leaving him,” I said.