𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

ꜱɪxᴛʏ - ꜰᴏᴜʀ

𝗘mmet ran his hand through his son's black hair, trying to soothe the tremble that was still present in his body. It had only been fifteen minutes since they left the Estate then, but he knew that something was wrong. When Elle didn't answer her cell phone or the house phone – moreover the calls didn't go through – he had the SUVs turned around.

His heart was in his stomach by the time they reached the driveway. Red and blue lights flashed across the wet grass. He barely had time to register that something happened here before Beau had jumped out of the car and ran into the house. The police officers didn't have a chance against a small, twelve year old, mafia – leader – in – training; they couldn't stop him.

The sound of his youngest son's screams would paralyze him for the rest of his life. When he rounded the corner himself, he was shaken to his core at the sight of his wife slashed apart. He immediately ripped Beau from the scene, tossing his kicking and screaming body over his shoulder – he had seen enough.

First with Rayne.

Now with his mother.

Emmet hardly had a moment to process that he was going to lose the love of his life before he boarded back up in the car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. They've been here for the last hour now. So far – not a single doctor or nurse has looked his way.

Beau was cuddled up in his lap; his breathing was still unsteady, and his body was shaking as if he were cold, but he was cocooned in his suit jacket. He hadn't said a single word since witnessing what he did – not that Emmet would force him to either.

For someone as young as him, he hated that he had to go through something so traumatic for the second time, lineage or not.

He pulled his phone off the chair beside him and opened up his contact list, scrolling until he landed on his eldest son's. He hesitated a minute, unsure of what to do at first, but eventually gave in to reason and clicked the button.

Emmet raised the receiver to his ear and waited. It clicked after three rings:

'The number you've tried to contact is currently unava—'

He detached the phone and clicked the end button. He gripped the sides and pressed the corner of the device under his chin. It was probably for the best that Rueben couldn't answer the phone; it likely meant that he was focusing on the mission he was given to him.

Regardless, finding out that his step – mother was attacked and ended up in the hospital while he was twelve hours away by jet, late, would affect him in ways he wished weren't possible. He was already going through the partial mourning of his sister. If Elle were to pass, it could break him.

He tapped a second name. This person picked up.

"Emmet," Rufus breathed through the speaker, "I was wondering when you were going to call. Did you get stuck in traffic?—you were supposed to be here a while ago."

"I'm not going to make it," he spoke quietly, not wanting Beau to have to listen too much, "There's been an accident. I don't think we'll be making it up there for the week."

"Shit, what happened?"

"It's a conversation that needs to happen in person."

"Alright – okay. What do you need from me?"

"Take over the Docks. Blaine's team will be back in a couple of days."

"I understand. Don't worry about a thing."

"You're the best."

Emmet looked up, watching as a solemn, middle – aged doctor started to make his way toward him. He tugged at his surgery cap, pulling it off; that meant one of two things. Either Elle survived and they were done for the night – or she didn't.

"I've got to go."

"Best wishes," Rufus replied as he ended the call.

Beau, noticing the doctor, shot up in his seat and faced him. His little face was hard, but the tears that fell down his cheeks an hour ago had left their mark. The shiny paths of fear were so clear, it made his heart sink further than he thought.

"How's my Mom?" he asked without letting the doctor catch his breath.

However, the doctor didn't seem to be in the mood to talk to such a young child. He offered him a small smile, but then directed all of his attention to him. Emmet knew the answer that he was about to be delivered.

"Is there some place we could talk?" the doctor suggested, "It's a sensitive conversation."

"Yes," Emmet began to rise, but Beau yanked at his hand.

"No!" he screeched, "You stay here and you tell me what happened to my Mom!"

"Beau—"

"Shut up, Dad!" his angry face was something unexpected, "If you can raise me to be a criminal before I've even hit puberty, you can let me hear what happened to my Mom. Stop shielding me from certain things just to throw me into worse shit!"

He raised his eyebrows; I'll have to scold him for that language later.

"Fine," he looked at the surgeon, "It's okay. Tell me."

The doctor looked weary, but he spoke anyway, "Your wife coded on the table only seconds into surgery. The damage to her right kidney and lower intestines had caused so much blood loss, that it was an inevitable risk. While we did get a heartbeat back, it took us about seven minutes; that length of time without oxygenated blood being delivered to the brain is detrimental. I'm sorry," he squeezed his cap, "Your wife is braindead."

Emmet staggered backward; the backs of his knees collied with the plastic waiting chairs – he crumpled into one of them. His hands slapped his face and his fingers dove into his hair as hot tears started to fall from his eyelids.

My angel is an angel now.

"What?!" Beau yelled next to him, "What does that mean?"

The doctor ignored him, "We managed to stabilize her enough to keep her alive on machines. We noticed in her records that she is, in fact, an organ donor. This is a tough thing to ask in such a soft time, but we would like your support in harvesting the organs that survived the attack: that being, the heart, her left kidney, liver, and lungs."

"Yes," he choked out, "She always wanted to do that."

Emmet squeezed his eyes with his fingers remembering the time she told him about it. She laughed and danced around the kitchen island with a spoon caked in brownie batter. He had asked her why she would want to be torn apart, and of course, her answer was as delicate and gorgeous as her.

'A lost life is an opportunity to return life.'

Her smile projected onto the front of his closed eyelids; his entire world has just fallen to the ground.

"She is in the ICU now, sir," the doctor spoke again, "You may say your final goodbyes."

Emmet nodded quickly, sniffling, and wiping his eyes.

He stood up, "I just need to make a phone call."

"Of course."

Beau grabbed onto his fingers, confusion still lining all of his boyish features. It would be easier to explain what was happening from someone who was stable enough to speak.

He clicked her contact and let it ring.

"Hello?" her voice came through.

"Hey, Rayne?" Emmet did his best to keep his words steady, "Can you come to the hospital?"