Chapter 8 - First Cry, First Claim
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When the nurse laid the tiny, flannel-wrapped bundle onto Tessa’s chest a minute later, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
Through a blur of hot tears, Tessa looked down at the miniature face peeking out from the white hospital blanket. Even at five pounds and six weeks premature, there was no denying whose blood ran in his veins. He had a thick shock of jet-black hair, a tiny stubborn chin, and when he blinked open his dark, squinty eyes against the room lights, he quieted almost instantly at the sound of his mother’s heartbeat.
"Hi, Leo," Tessa whispered, her voice cracking as she kissed his warm, downy forehead. "Look at you... you made it, sweetheart."
Slowly, she became aware of the towering stillness beside her bed.
She lifted her tear-filled eyes to look at Dante.
He was staring down at his son as if he were looking at a miracle he didn't believe he was clean enough to touch. His dark eyes were rimmed with red, his harsh features softened into an expression of such raw, devastating vulnerability that it stole the breath straight from Tessa’s lungs.
Tentatively, as though terrified his strength might bruise the fragile skin, Dante reached out with one large, calloused index finger and stroked the baby’s tiny fist.
Instinctively, newborn Leo opened his fingers and clamped his miniature hand tightly around Dante’s thumb.
A low, broken sound escaped Dante’s throat. He leaned down and pressed his lips first to his son’s dark curls, and then—lingerings and warm—against Tessa’s pale forehead.
"Six weeks pregnant," Dante murmured against her skin, so quietly only she could hear over the hum of the medical machines. "That night in November. You already knew when you came to dinner, didn't you?"
Tessa stiffened beneath his touch, the exhaustion clearing just enough for the cold reality of her situation to come crashing back down around her.
The nurse stepped forward gently. "We need to take little Leo down to the neonatal observation unit for a few hours just to put him under the warmer and check his blood sugar, Mom, while the doctor finishes up with you and gets your blood pressure down."
"Go with him," Tessa whispered, her eyes darting anxiously toward the incubator as the nurses carefully lifted the baby. "Don't let anyone take their eyes off him."
"Four of my best men will stand outside the glass of that nursery every second, Tessa," Dante promised quietly, though instead of leaving the room, he waited until the nurses wheeled the bassinet into the adjoining neonatal alcove with a clear glass viewing window ten feet away.
Once Dr. Miller and the staff stepped out to give them privacy while the magnesium IV finished dripping, leaving only the soft beep of the monitor and the rain outside, Tessa tried to push herself higher against the pillows.
Her hands were shaking again.
"Why are you here, Dante?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from screaming during labor. "To silence the witness who saw you execute Julian at the docks? Or to take my son away from me and leave me in a ditch in Virginia?"
Dante looked back from the nursery window as if she had driven a knife straight between his ribs.
He crossed the small space to her bedside in two strides, bracing both hands on the steel rails on either side of her hips, caging her in without touching a hair on her bruised body.
"Look at me when you say that," Dante commanded, his voice rough with agony and dark intensity. "Do you have any idea what the last two hundred and thirty-one days of my life have been like, Tessa? I didn't sleep in a bed for seven months because every time I closed my eyes, I saw the terror on your face in that garage! I tore apart four states looking for you—not to hurt you, cristo, but because I couldn't breathe without knowing you were safe!"
"Safe?!" A bitter sob escaped Tessa’s lips as tears spilled down her cheeks. "You lied to me for eight months! You came to my elementary school, you held my hand, you let me fall in love with you—and then I watched you put a bullet in a man's head while he begged for his children! How do I know you won't turn that gun on me the moment I don't do what you want?!"
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Without a word, Dante reached behind his back under his sterile gown, pulled the heavy black Heckler & Koch pistol from his waistband holster, clicked the safety off, and pressed the checkered grip directly into Tessa’s trembling right hand—pointing the barrel straight at the center of his own heart.
"If you truly believe I would ever harm you or take our son from his mother," Dante whispered, looking straight down the barrel of his own gun into her stunned hazel eyes, "pull the trigger right now, Tessa. Because the only way you and Leo ever leave my side again is if I'm in a coffin."
