Chapter 9 - Dominic
Dr. Alcott arrived six minutes later.
The surgical suite at the back of the clinic had somehow remained untouched. While Gabriel’s men secured the building and turned Gregory over to authorities with enough evidence to bury him forever, Clara was rushed into delivery.
The labor was fast, brutal, and too early.
But the baby fought.
So did Clara.
Gabriel stayed beside her, sleeves rolled up, one hand locked around hers.
“I can’t,” she cried after what felt like forever.
Gabriel leaned close, eyes bright with fear he no longer tried to hide.
“You can. You survived the storm. You survived them. Come back to me with our son.”
Our son.
The words gave Clara one final breath of strength.
She pushed.
A cry filled the room.
Sharp.
Furious.
Beautiful.
Dr. Alcott laughed with relief. “A boy. Small, but strong.”
Gabriel stared as the baby was placed in Clara’s arms. For a man who had faced guns, knives, betrayal, and death without blinking, he looked utterly undone by the sight of ten tiny fingers.
Clara touched the baby’s cheek.
“Dominic,” she whispered.
May you like
Gabriel bent and kissed Clara’s forehead.
“Dominic Falco,” he said. Let “Welcome home.”
