Chapter 6 - Emergency Sirens on Madison Avenue
The white-oak-trimmed ceiling of the Madison Avenue nursery boutique seemed to tilt violently sideways as another brutal contraction clamped around my lower abdomen.
My fingers dug into the fine wool of Luca’s suit jacket, bunching the fabric until my knuckles were stark white.
“Isabella! Look at me!” Luca’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears, sharp with a raw, primal panic that a billionaire boardroom warlord rarely displayed.
“The baby,” I gasped, the words tearing past my dry lips as a hot wave of fluid soaked through the hem of my dress.
“She’s coming right now, Luca.”
The boutique manager dropped a clipboard behind the counter with a loud clatter, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Oh, my God,” the manager stammered, scrambling for her landline.
“Should I call an ambulance? Her water just broke!”
“Don’t wait for city dispatch!” Luca roared, his authority slamming into the room like a physical shockwave.
“Clear the front exit! I am not waiting twenty minutes for EMS in Manhattan traffic!”
Without a second hesitation, Luca scooped me up into his arms.
The sudden movement wrenched a cry from my throat, but the weight of my eight-month belly pressed securely against his chest as he hoisted me effortlessly.
The forensic analyst dropped her encrypted tablet onto a plush display ottoman and rushed to hold the glass double doors open.
“Mr. Moretti, my car is parked right out front with flashers!” the analyst shouted.
“Take my car key! It’s an armored Cayenne!”
“Keep your car,” Luca barked, carrying me out into the crisp autumn drizzle.
“My driver is stationed fifty feet down the block.”
The cold Manhattan air hit my flushed skin like ice water, but the sharp pain of the contraction eclipsed everything else.
Luca’s stride was long, fierce, and utterly unyielding as he navigated the slick concrete sidewalk, ignoring the stares of startled pedestrians.
A sleek black Maybach limo pulled up beside the curb with a chirp of its tires, the rear door already swinging open before it came to a complete stop.
“New York Presbyterian, David!” Luca commanded, ducking down to slide me gently across the leather upholstery.
“Drive like your life depends on it! Run every light if you have to!”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti!” the driver shouted, his eyes wide in the rearview mirror as he slammed the partition closed.
Luca scrambled in beside me, pulling my head onto his lap and brushing damp strands of hair away from my forehead.
“I’m right here,” he breathed, his hand pressing firmly against my trembling palm.
“I’m not going anywhere, Isabella. I swear to God, I am right here.”
“It hurts, Luca,” I sobbed, a fresh wave of contractions doubling me over against the leather seat.
“She’s coming too early... it’s all my fault, I shouldn't have let them rattle me—”
“None of this is your fault,” he growled, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line as the limo surged into traffic, tires screaming against the asphalt.
“It was mine. I let a snake into our home, and I let her poison everything.”
“Just breathe with me, Isabella. In and out. Look at me.”
I stared into his dark, terrified eyes, anchoring myself to the only familiar thing left in my shattered world.
The city lights streaked past the tinted windows in long, distorted blurs of yellow and red as the Maybach blew through a flashing red light on Park Avenue.
Every bump in the road sent agonizing spasms through my pelvis, but Luca’s hand stayed locked with mine, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over my wrist.
“We’re pulling into the emergency bay!” the driver yelled back through the intercom.
Before the car had even fully stopped in front of the brightly lit hospital doors, Luca shoved the rear door open.
Orderlies and emergency nurses were already rushing toward the vehicle with a wheelchair and a rolling gurney, alerted by the priority dispatch call Luca had made on his encrypted phone during the drive.
“Eighty-eight-week gestation, water broke twenty minutes ago, active labor!” Luca shouted, lifting me out of the car himself rather than waiting for the stretcher.
“Get her inside right now! Call Dr. Sterling immediately!”
“Sir, you need to step back—” a nurse began, reaching for my arm.
“Do you know who I am?” Luca’s voice dropped into a lethal, glacial register that made the nurse instantly freeze.
“My name is Luca Moretti. If my wife or my daughter does not have the absolute best obstetrics team in this hospital within sixty seconds, I will buy this entire medical center and fire everyone from the director down to the janitors.”
“Get the gurney rolling!” the head nurse yelled, her professional hesitation instantly evaporating.
They transferred me onto the wheeled gurney in a blur of white coats, squeaking rubber wheels, and blinding fluorescent lights.
Luca kept pace right beside me, his hand never leaving mine as they barreled down the sterile hallway toward the delivery wing.
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“Stay with me, Isabella,” he whispered fiercely, his face inches from mine as the heavy double doors of the delivery suite swung open.
“You’re safe now. I’m taking back everything they stole from us.”
