Chapter 7 - The Early Storm
Three weeks passed in a state of high-alert tension. The penthouse had become a fortress, with guards stationed at every elevator, every stairwell, and on the rooftops of the neighboring buildings.
My hair had started to grow back slightly, forming a soft, dark fuzz against my scalp, but the emotional scars were much slower to heal. Every time I heard the elevator chime, my heart rate spiked.
It was a Tuesday evening when the pains started.
I was sitting on the couch, drinking warm tea that my mother had made for me, when a sharp, white-hot agony flared across my lower back and ripped through my abdomen.
I gasped, dropping the porcelain mug. It shattered on the hardwood floor, spilling the dark liquid everywhere.
"Bianca?" my mother asked, instantly dropping her knitting and rushing to my side.
"Something's wrong," I managed to squeeze out, my hands gripping my stomach. "It's too early. I'm only thirty-four weeks."
Roman burst into the room from his home office, his laptop thrown carelessly onto a chair. He saw me doubled over, and his face turned completely pale—a look I had never seen on the feared mafia don.
"Call Dr. Evans," Roman ordered Marcus, who was standing by the door. "Get the armored convoy ready. We are moving her to the private wing at Presbyterian."
"Roman," Marcus said, looking at his phone with a sudden look of horror. "We have a problem. The security feeds at the garage just went down. We're losing connection to the perimeter guards."
A loud, metallic boom echoed from the lower levels of the building, vibrating through the floorboards.
The power suddenly cut out, plunging the massive penthouse into pitch-black darkness. A second later, the red emergency backup lights flickered to life, casting an eerie, bloody glow over the room.
"She's here," I whispered, the pain in my stomach intensifying so badly that I fell to my knees. "Vivienne... she isn't leaving."
Roman drew his customized Kimber .45 from his holster, his movements smooth and deadly. He didn't look panicked; he looked like a predator that had finally been given permission to kill.
"Marcus, take Clara and Bianca to the secure panic room behind the wine cellar," Roman ordered, his voice cold and steady. "Do not open that door for anyone except me. If anyone else tries to touch that handle, you empty the magazine through the steel."
"What about you, Boss?" Marcus asked, checking his own weapon.
"I'm going to go greet my mother," Roman said, his eyes glowing with a feral, murderous light in the red emergency glow. "And I'm going to make sure she never sees another sunrise."
My mother grabbed my arm, helping me lift my heavy body off the floor as another wave of labor pains hit me. "Come on, baby. We have to move. Your girl is trying to come out, and we aren't letting her be born in the middle of a gunfight."
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As we retreated down the dark hallway toward the hidden bunker, the sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the elevator lobby, shattering the silence of the night.
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