Chapter 17 - The Sanctuary|
Three months passed.
The stone cottage in the Indiana hills became our entire world.
The violence, the rivalries, and the cold concrete of Chicago faded like a bad dream. Silas had stripped off his tailored suits, wearing simple flannel shirts and work boots as he built a wooden crib in the sunlit room overlooking the pine forest.
For ninety days, we lived like normal people.
He cooked breakfast every morning. We walked through the woods every afternoon. He rested his head against my belly every night, listening to our son’s steady, strong movements.
He was no longer the King of Manhattan or the feared boss of the Valente empire.
He was just my husband.
On a warm morning in late March, as the sun broke over the misty hills, the first sharp contraction hit me like a tidal wave.
I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, letting out a sharp gasp.
Silas was beside me in less than a second, catching my weight in his arms, his gray eyes filled with a sudden, fierce panic that no army of hitmen had ever managed to cause.
"Clara," he breathed, his voice trembling slightly. "Is it time?"
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I looked up at him, smiling through the pain as another wave moved through my body.
"It's time, Silas," I whispered. "Our son is coming."
