Chapter 10 - The White Crib
The ride to Chicago Med was a blur of flashing lights and Dante’s frantic voice barking orders into his phone. He had called ahead, mobilizing the top obstetricians in the city with the sheer force of his name.
I lay in the back of the SUV, breathing through the agonizing, premature contractions. Dante held my hand in a vice grip, his face pale and terrifyingly calm—the kind of calm that masked utter panic.
"I've got you, Mia," he chanted softly, kissing my knuckles repeatedly. "You're going to be fine. She's going to be fine."
We burst through the ER doors. A team was waiting. They whisked me away on a gurney, the sterile lights flashing overhead as we raced toward the maternity ward.
The next few hours were a terrifying haze of monitors, needles, and hushed medical jargon. The doctors managed to halt the labor with heavy medications, but the verdict was grim.
"You have a minor placental abruption, Mrs. Moretti," the lead specialist explained, his face serious as he stood at the foot of my hospital bed. "The bleeding has stopped for now, but the risk of premature delivery is extremely high. You are on strict, mandatory bed rest until you reach at least thirty-six weeks. You cannot leave this bed. Any stress or physical exertion could trigger active labor, and at thirty-two weeks, the baby's lungs are not fully developed."
I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear slipping down my cheek. The thought of losing our daughter after surviving everything else was unbearable.
Dante stood by the window, staring out at the city skyline. He didn't speak until the doctor left the room.
He walked over and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, taking my hand.
"I will handle the company," Dante said softly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You just focus on keeping her safe."
"I hate feeling helpless," I admitted, frustration warring with the fear.
"You aren't helpless, Mia," Dante smiled gently, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You are the strongest person I know. You’re just fighting a different kind of war right now."
For the next four weeks, my world shrank to the size of that hospital room. It was maddening, but Dante was a revelation.
The man who used to lock me in a gilded cage out of paranoia now spent every waking moment trying to bring the world to me. He brought my favorite meals from restaurants across the city. He read to me. He brought blueprints of our new real estate developments, treating me like the CEO I was, asking my opinion on every major decision.
He didn't act like a warden; he acted like a partner.
One evening, during week thirty-five, Dante walked into the hospital room carrying a massive, wrapped rectangular box.
"What is that?" I asked, struggling to sit up against the pillows.
"I know you were upset that we didn't get to finish the nursery at the townhouse," Dante said, setting the box on the floor. He pulled out a pocketknife and sliced the tape.
He opened the box, revealing a pristine, soft white baby blanket, embroidered with tiny, delicate daisies.
"I didn't buy it," Dante confessed, looking almost shy. "I had Leo's wife make it. Hand-stitched. I know you hate the flashy designer stuff."
Tears welled in my eyes. It was perfect. It was simple, thoughtful, and incredibly sweet.
"It's beautiful, Dante," I whispered, reaching out to touch the soft fabric.
"I also had the team finish the nursery at home," he added, pulling up a photo on his phone.
He showed me the picture. It was exactly as I had designed it before I ran away. Soft cream walls, a beautiful white wooden crib, natural light, and zero high-tech security cameras. Just a normal, peaceful room for a little girl.
"You remembered the white crib," I smiled, tracing the screen.
"I remember everything you say, Mia," Dante murmured, leaning down to kiss me.
We were finally safe. The medical crisis had forced us to slow down, to strip away the armor we had both been wearing for years. We were just a husband and wife, eagerly awaiting our child.
But in the underworld, peace is always a fragile illusion.
A week later, I was finally discharged from the hospital. The doctors cleared me to finish the last few weeks of bed rest at home, provided I had constant assistance.
Dante carried me across the threshold of the townhouse, ignoring my protests that I could walk. He settled me into the plush bed in our master suite, surrounding me with pillows and books.
"I have to go to the downtown office to sign the final transfer papers for the casino sale," Dante said, kissing my cheek. "Mateo is downstairs. I’ll be back in two hours."
"Go," I smiled, feeling comfortable and secure. "We’ll be fine."
Dante left, the heavy front door clicking shut behind him.
I picked up a book, settling in for a quiet afternoon. The house was blissfully silent.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the first floor. It sounded like shattering glass.
I froze, my heart rate instantly spiking.
"Mateo?" I called out, my voice trembling slightly.
No answer.
A heavy, measured footstep sounded on the hardwood stairs. It wasn't Mateo's brisk, military stride. It was slow. Deliberate.
I reached for the panic button Dante had installed on the nightstand, my fingers fumbling in fear.
Before I could press it, the bedroom door swung open.
Standing in the doorway was Vinnie. Dante’s most trusted capo, the man who had supposedly led the charge against Khloe at the gala.
May you like
But Vinnie wasn't looking at me with respect. He held a suppressed pistol in his right hand.
And in his left hand, dragging against the floor, was the pristine white baby blanket Dante had given me in the hospital.
