Chapter 7 - The Don in the Delivery Room
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"Sir, you cannot be in here! This is a sterile emergency delivery suite!" Dr. Miller barked, stepping bravely between the door and the operating table even as the two nurses shrank back against the instrument trays at the sight of the terrifying man filling the doorway. "Security!"
Dante didn't even look at the doctor. His eyes never left Tessa’s pale, tear-streaked face.
"I own the bank that holds this hospital’s mortgage, Doctor, and my men are the only security on this floor," Dante said, his voice a low, trembling rumble that vibrated straight through the tiled floor. "I am the baby’s father. And if anyone tries to put me out of this room while she’s in pain, nobody leaves this building tonight."
Behind him in the hallway, Nico tossed a thick bundle of surgical antiseptic wipes and a sterile gown toward the doorway, which one of the terrified nurses hastily caught and held out as Dante shed his wet suit jacket onto the floor and scrubbed his hands raw at the corner sink in ten seconds flat.
"Dante..." Tessa cried softly, pulling the oxygen mask an inch off her chin as another brutal contraction ripped through her abdomen, making her arch off the mattress with a choked sob. "Go away—please, you can't—"
In three long strides, Dante was at the head of her bed.
The ruthless syndicate boss who had terrorized the East Coast for eight months vanished the instant his hands touched her. With aching, almost reverent gentleness, he slid the oxygen mask back over her face so she could breathe, and laced his large, warm fingers tightly through her trembling right hand.
"I'm right here, tesoro," Dante rasped, leaning down until his forehead rested directly against her damp temple, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears as he kissed the crown of her hair. "Stop fighting me and save your strength. I’ve got you. I swear to God, Tessa, I’ve got you both."
The familiar scent of cedarwood, rain, and warm skin washed over her senses like a narcotic. Instead of spiking higher, the frantic alarm on her maternal heart monitor immediately began to slow, steadying under the grounding weight of his palm holding hers.
"All right, if you're staying, Dad, hold her shoulders up!" Dr. Miller commanded, professionalism overriding her fear as the fetal monitor dipped sharply. "The cord is compressed—Maya, I need you to push right now with everything you have! On three! One, two, three—push!"
Dante slipped his left arm behind Tessa’s pillows, supporting her back against the solid wall of his chest while his right hand gripped hers so tightly she could feel the tremor running through his powerful frame.
"Come on, my love," Dante whispered fiercely against her ear, his jaw clenched tight as if he would gladly tear open his own chest to take the pain from her body. "Look at me, Tessa. Just look at my eyes. Bring our baby home to us."
Blinded by tears and exhaustion, Tessa locked her hazel eyes onto his dark ones. All the terror of the past eight months—the garage, the running, the loneliness—melted away into the single primal need to hear their child breathe.
She gripped Dante’s hand and pushed with every shred of life left in her body.
Once.
Twice.
A third, agonizing time that felt as though it were splitting her soul in two—until a sudden rush of relief flooded her body, followed by five seconds of terrifying, absolute silence in the room.
Tessa’s chest heaved. Beside her, Dante went completely rigid, his fingers dug into the bedrail as Dr. Miller rapidly suctioned the tiny infant’s nose and mouth under the warming lamp.
"Please," Tessa whimpered, her heart breaking in her throat. "Why isn't he crying?"
Then, from the warming table across the room, came a tiny, indignant cough—followed instantly by a shrill, lusty, furious wail that filled the entire delivery suite.
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"It's a boy!" Dr. Miller announced brightly over the baby’s cries, wrapping the squirming, five-pound newborn in a heated flannel blanket. "Six weeks early, but listen to the lungs on that little fighter!"
Beside the bed, Dante Castellano—the most feared man in New England—dropped his forehead onto the back of Tessa’s hand, his broad shoulders shaking violently as a ragged, silent sob tore straight from his chest.
