Chapter 4 - The Sanctuary Above the City
The penthouse was located forty stories above Manhattan, completely detached from the old-world mafia aesthetics of the Kane estate. It was modern, sterile, and heavily fortified.
By the time the elevator doors opened directly into the living room, Dr. Evans and two private nurses were already waiting with medical equipment.
Roman carried me straight to the master bedroom, placing me on the soft Egyptian cotton sheets.
"Check her," Roman ordered the doctor, his voice tight. "Check the baby. If there is even a single spike in her blood pressure that endangers either of them, I want to know immediately."
Dr. Evans nodded quickly, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. "Mr. Kane, please give us some space. We need to dry her off, check her vitals, and perform an ultrasound to ensure the amniotic sac hasn't been compromised by the stress."
Roman looked like he wanted to argue, his eyes burning with a dark, restless energy, but he looked down at me first.
"I'll be right outside the door," he whispered, kissing my forehead. "I'm not leaving you."
For the next hour, the room was a blur of medical wires, warm towels, and the steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of our baby girl's heartbeat on the monitor.
Hearing that sound made the tight knot in my chest loosen slightly. She was alive. She was fighting.
The nurses gently washed the remaining dirt and dried rain from my skin, dressing me in one of Roman's soft, oversized silk shirts. One of the nurses, an older woman with kind eyes, gently ran a comb through the short, uneven remnants of my hair to smooth it out.
"You have a beautiful skull shape, dear," she whispered softly, trying to comfort me. "Hair grows back. Real nobility doesn't come from a salon."
I managed a weak smile, but when I looked in the vanity mirror across the room, the reflection staring back at me looked like a stranger. A victim.
When the doctor finally cleared the room, Roman stepped back inside. He had changed into a clean black shirt, but his eyes were bloodshot and dark.
He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully taking my hand.
"The baby is stable," I told him before he could ask. "Her heart is strong."
Roman let out a long breath, closing his eyes for a brief second as if offering a silent prayer to a God he probably didn't believe in.
"Good," he said, opening his eyes. The softness vanished, replaced by the cold calculation of a mafia don. "Because Marcus just called from the estate. The scream we heard before we left? It was my cousin, Anthony."
I frowned, trying to remember. "Anthony? The one who manages the docks in Brooklyn?"
"The same one," Roman said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "When my mother ordered her maids to hold you down, Anthony was the one standing by the door, making sure none of the younger staff tried to help you. He laughed when they started cutting."
A chill ran down my spine. "What did you do, Roman?"
Roman leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. "I didn't do anything. Marcus did. Anthony won't be using his hands to hold anyone down ever again. He's currently on his way to a private clinic in New Jersey to get what's left of his fingers stitched up."
I shuddered, but for the first time in my life, I didn't feel pity for the violence. The memory of being pinned to the cold stone floor while the cold steel of shears scraped against my scalp was too fresh.
"Your mother won't stop," I whispered. "Now that she knows the will leaves everything to our daughter, she will view this baby as a target."
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"Let her try," Roman growled, his eyes flashing with a terrifying brilliance. "Tomorrow, I am calling a meeting of the Commission. I am exposing the true will, and I am stripping my mother of every single asset, every loyal soldier, and every ounce of respect she thinks she owns in this city."
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