Chapter 4 - The Weight of the Crown
The master suite was a blur of activity. Within minutes, the heavy velvet drapes were drawn, a roaring fire was lit in the hearth, and I was stripped of the soaked cream dress. The family doctor, Dr. Evans, worked with a quiet, terrified efficiency. He checked my blood pressure, attached a fetal monitor to my swollen belly, and wrapped me in heated blankets.
Roman sat on the edge of the mattress, holding my hand so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes never left my face, but his mind was clearly spinning a web of strategy and survival.
The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the baby's heartbeat filled the room from the monitor. It was fast, but steady.
"She’s resilient, just like her mother," Dr. Evans said, wiping his brow as he stepped back. "The hypothermia hasn't set in deeply enough to trigger premature labor, thank God. But Bianca needs absolute rest, Mr. Kane. No stress. No movement. Her body has sustained a massive psychological and physical shock."
"She will have everything she needs," Roman said.
Once the doctor left, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. I reached up, my hand trembling as I touched my bare, shorn scalp. The reality of what had happened hit me in a wave of sudden, suffocating grief. Tears finally spilled over my cheeks. I had lost my hair, my dignity had been trampled on the driveway of a mansion I never wanted to live in, and I felt exposed, raw, and ugly.
Roman immediately moved closer, shifting his body onto the bed and pulling me into his lap. He caught my hand before I could touch my head again. He pressed his lips to my temple, kissing the bare skin where my long, dark curls used to be.
"I am so sorry, Bianca," he whispered against my skin, his voice cracking with an emotion he never allowed the world to see. "I should have been here. I should have foreseen what she was capable of."
"She hates me because of where I came from," I sobbed into his chest. "She thinks I’m nothing."
"You are everything," he said fiercely, his grip tightening. "You are the only pure thing in my life, and now you are carrying the future of everything I own. My father saw the rot in this family. He knew I would be forced to become a monster to maintain order, but he hoped my child—a child born of someone outside this blood-soaked world—could change the trajectory of our name. That’s why he left it to her."
"But they will kill her for it, won't they?" I asked, looking up at him, my eyes wide with terror. "Your mother’s allies. The captains. They won't accept a baby girl as the head of the Kane syndicate."
Before Roman could answer, the heavy oak doors of the bedroom opened. Matteo stepped inside, his expression grim.
"Boss, we have a problem," Matteo said, keeping his eyes safely averted from the bed. "Vivienne’s phone records from earlier today just came through our server intercept. Before you arrived, she sent an encrypted message to Marcus Vane."
My blood ran cold. Marcus Vane was Roman’s maternal uncle, a brutal, calculating underboss who ran the docks and the shipping lanes in New Jersey. He had long coveted Roman’s position, and he was the only member of the family vicious enough to challenge Roman openly.
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"What did the message say?" Roman asked, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register.
"It wasn't text, boss," Matteo said, swallowing hard. "It was a video file. She streamed the entire incident in the driveway live to Marcus. She wanted him to see that you were distracted, and that the bloodline was vulnerable. Marcus just called an emergency meeting of the Commission in Manhattan. They’re voting to strip your title by morning."
