Chapter 5 - The Price of an Heir
They never reached the hospital.
The first SUV stopped half a mile from the estate.
Vincent’s driver cursed.
“What happened?”
Frankie’s voice came over the radio.
“Road blocked.”
Vincent looked through the windshield.
A delivery truck sat sideways across both lanes.
Clara breathed through another contraction.
“Vincent.”
“I know.”
His phone rang.
Anthony.
Vincent answered.
“You picked a bad night.”
Anthony laughed.
“Actually, I picked the perfect one.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“You blocked the road?”
“I want a meeting.”
“No.”
“Then enjoy delivering your heir in the back of an SUV.”
Clara grabbed Vincent’s phone.
“Anthony.”
Silence.
“Move the truck.”
“Clara—”
“You want leverage? You need me alive.”
Vincent stared at her.
Anthony said, “Smart woman.”
“So move it.”
“I want Vincent.”
Clara looked at her former husband.
“What exactly do you want from him?”
“His resignation.”
Vincent almost laughed.
Clara said, “Send the terms.”
“I want him at Pier Nine alone.”
“No.”
“Then—”
Clara ended the call.
Vincent stared.
“You hung up on him.”
“I’m in labor. My patience is limited.”
Frankie approached the window.
“We can take the service road.”
“How long?” Vincent asked.
“Twenty minutes.”
Clara gasped.
“Too long.”
Vincent immediately turned toward her.
“What?”
“Something’s wrong.”
The fear in her voice changed everything.
Vincent told the driver, “Move.”
The SUV reversed hard.
Frankie’s vehicle cleared a path.
Then Vincent’s phone rang again.
This time it was Dr. Patel.
Vincent put her on speaker.
Clara described the contractions.
The doctor’s voice sharpened.
“You need medical care now.”
“We’re trying.”
“Is there bleeding?”
“No.”
“Pressure?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Dr. Patel gave instructions.
Vincent listened to every word.
Then headlights appeared ahead.
An ambulance.
Frankie had arranged a rendezvous.
Vincent looked at him through the windshield.
For once, Frankie had anticipated his boss correctly.
Paramedics transferred Clara.
Vincent climbed in.
One paramedic pointed toward the door.
“Only one person.”
Vincent looked at Frankie.
“You handle Anthony.”
Frankie nodded.
“Legally,” Clara called.
Frankie sighed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The ambulance doors closed.
At the hospital, labor moved quickly.
Vincent stayed beside Clara.
Hours passed.
She cursed him twice.
Crushed his fingers.
Threatened to divorce him again despite already being divorced.
Vincent accepted all of it.
At 8:17 a.m., a cry filled the delivery room.
Clara collapsed against the pillows.
Vincent stopped moving.
The nurse lifted a tiny baby.
“A boy.”
Clara began laughing through exhausted tears.
Vincent simply stared.
“Your son,” the nurse said.
Vincent’s face changed.
His son.
Small.
Early.
Angry.
Alive.
When the nurse finally placed the baby against Clara’s chest, Vincent stood beside them.
Clara looked up.
“Meet your father.”
Vincent touched one finger to the baby’s tiny hand.
His son gripped it.
Vincent’s eyes closed.
“Hello.”
Clara watched him.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I nearly missed this.”
“Yes.”
His eyes opened.
“I won’t again.”
Before Clara could answer, Frankie appeared beyond the glass.
Vincent stepped outside.
“What happened?”
“We got Anthony.”
“Alive?”
Frankie looked mildly disappointed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Police picked him up at Pier Nine.”
Vincent frowned.
Frankie shrugged.
“You said legally.”
Vincent looked through the window at Clara.
“Good.”
“There’s enough evidence from Paul and the surveillance operation to keep him busy for a long time.”
“And the captains?”
“They know Anthony’s finished.”
Vincent nodded.
Frankie studied him.
“What happens now?”
Vincent understood the real question.
The syndicate.
The family.
His entire life.
Vincent looked at his newborn son.
“I don’t know.”
Frankie stared.
Vincent Rossi had always known.
That answer frightened Frankie more than anything else.
Vincent returned to Clara’s room.
She was waiting.
“Anthony?”
“Arrested.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Vincent sat.
Clara looked at their son.
“We need a name.”
“I assumed you already chose one.”
“I had.”
Vincent waited.
“But maybe his father should have an opinion.”
Vincent’s expression softened.
“Daniel.”
Clara looked up.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“The man who started the syndicate?”
Vincent sighed.
“Perhaps not Daniel.”
Clara laughed.
For the first time in eight months, they laughed together.
Their son slept between them.
Outside the room, armed men waited.
But inside, Vincent Rossi finally understood that protecting his family would require something far harder than violence.
May you like
It would require changing the man they needed protection from becoming.
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