Chapter 8 - THE PROMISE IN THE STORM
Pain unlike anything Nora had ever imagined crashed over her in relentless waves. Outside the towering windows of the master suite, the upstate blizzard raged against the cliffs, howling like a wild beast trying to claw its way inside.
"Breathe with me, Eleonora," Dante commanded softly, pressing his forehead against hers as Dr. Russo worked carefully to turn the baby externally by pressing against her abdomen. "Don't close your eyes. Look right at me."
"It hurts—Dante, if you have to choose—" Nora sobbed, her voice breaking as she gripped his forearm with trembling strength. "Save Lily. Promise me! My father died for your family, and I have nobody left in the world. Just don't let my little girl die in the cold!"
"Nobody is choosing," Dante said fiercely, his gray eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Your father Carmine carried me on his shoulders when I was nine years old. When he died saving my father’s life, my family swore a blood oath to protect his daughter. I failed you for three months under my own roof because I didn't come home sooner. I am not losing either of you tonight."
Across the room, the double doors pushed open slowly.
Marco walked in, pushing Giovanni’s wheelchair right up to the opposite side of the bed. The old Don had refused to stay behind in room 4B. Draped in the singed gray heated blanket Nora had bought him with her meager tips, Giovanni reached out with his trembling right hand and placed his warm, weathered palm over Nora’s forehead, just as she had done for him so many nights by the fire.
"Fight... little... bird," Giovanni whispered hoarsely, a single tear rolling down his wrinkled cheek into his silver beard. "For... Lily."
"I’ve got the head turned!" Dr. Russo announced, sweat beading on his brow as he checked the fetal monitor. "Heartbeat is holding steady at one-forty, but we have to deliver right now before the cord compresses. Nora, on my count, you need to give me everything you have left!"
Nora looked from Giovanni’s tear-filled eyes to Dante’s unwavering grip on her hand. For the first time since Brody had walked out and left her alone in a freezing apartment, she wasn't invisible anymore. She wasn't a disposable maid scrubbing floors in the dark. She was surrounded by two men who were holding onto her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
When the next contraction surged through her body, Nora buried her chin against her chest and pushed with every ounce of strength left in her bruised, exhausted frame.
Once. Twice. A third agonizing time that tore a raw cry from her throat.
And then, the tension gave way.
For five terrifying seconds, the only sound in the room was the wind rattling the glass panes and the hiss of the oxygen tank Marco had turned on beside the incubator.
"Come on, little one," Dr. Russo murmured, briskly rubbing the tiny, fragile infant in a warmed sterile blanket and clearing her airway with a bulb syringe. "Breathe for your mama..."
"Why isn't she crying?" Nora whispered, trying to push herself up on her elbows, her heart stopping in her chest. "Dante, why isn't she making a sound?"
Dante’s jaw clenched so hard it trembled, his hand tightening around Nora’s.
Suddenly, a tiny, high-pitched, furious squeak broke the silence—followed a second later by a thin, reedy wail that echoed across the mahogany walls of the suite.
Nora collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing openly in pure, overwhelming relief as Dr. Russo lifted a tiny, pink-skinned baby girl wrapped in warm flannel just long enough for Nora to see a tuft of dark curls and two tiny fists waving in the air.
"Four pounds, two ounces, and a pair of lungs worthy of a Moretti," Dr. Russo said with a breathless smile, placing the infant gently into the pre-warmed incubator and securing a tiny oxygen nasal cannula around her cheeks. "Her lungs are remarkably strong for thirty weeks. With the surfactant medication in my kit and this incubator, she is going to be just fine."
Nora reached her bandaged fingers through the incubator porthole, weeping softly as tiny, miniature fingers immediately curled around the tip of her index finger and held on tight.
"Hi, Lily," Nora whispered through her tears. "You made it, baby girl. You’re warm."
Beside the bed, Giovanni closed his eyes and bowed his head, pressing the silver rosary against his lips in silent thanksgiving.
Dante stood looking down at the incubator, a profound warmth softening the hard lines of his face in a way none of his men had ever seen. Then Dr. Russo’s satellite phone buzzed on the table—a text alert from the state troopers stationed at the bottom of the mountain pass, where the snowplows had just cleared the main highway gate.
Marco picked up the phone to hand it to Dante, then paused, his expression darkening.
"Boss," Marco said quietly, stepping toward the window. "The state troopers at the bottom of the mountain just intercepted a car trying to get through the roadblock into the estate using Lydia Gable’s security pass."
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Dante turned sharply. "Who’s in the car?"
Marco looked at Nora, then back at the screen. "A guy named Brody Miller. He told the troopers Mrs. Gable called him three hours ago and told him to come claim his pregnant girlfriend and the baby—because someone just wired a hundred thousand dollars to his bank account to take the kid out of the country tonight."
