Chapter 3
The bright, cheerful colors of the maternity suite felt completely at odds with the violent tension suffocating the room. The golden sunlight still poured through the windows, illuminating the terrified faces of the Mercer family. Bianca had taken three steps back, her diamond heels clicking nervously against the polished floor, her hands clutching her elegant dress.
“Move them,” Lorenzo commanded softly, not taking his eyes off Julian.
The two bodyguards stepped forward with military precision. They flanked Nurse Claire, gripping the lightweight metal frames of the three clear bassinets, and rolled them safely behind the protective wall of their dark suits. Sofia reached out from her hospital bed, her fingers grazing the plastic edge of the bassinets, finally breathing a ragged sigh of relief as all three of her babies were secured.
Julian, realizing the absolute collapse of his plan, felt his panic curdle into desperate arrogance. He was a wealthy man, accustomed to buying his way out of consequences. He stepped directly into Lorenzo’s path, his polished leather shoes squeaking against the linoleum.
“You can't just barge in here and take over, Lorenzo,” Julian said, puffing out his chest beneath his expensive tailored suit. He reached out and grabbed Lorenzo’s left lapel, his knuckles turning white.
The two bodyguards immediately reached for the weapons concealed beneath their jackets, but Lorenzo raised a single, calm finger to stop them.
“She’s my wife,” Julian sneered, his rosy face flushing with anger and wounded pride. “These are my children. Stay out of this.”
Lorenzo looked down at the hand clutching his suit jacket. He did not blink. His handsome, bearded face remained completely expressionless, making him look like a statue carved from ice.
“Your wife,” Lorenzo repeated slowly, savoring the words as if tasting poison. “You drug her. You move her call button. You attempt to steal her child to give to a barren sister. And you claim her as your wife.”
“It was a family decision!” Julian shot back, his voice rising in volume, desperate to assert dominance. “Bianca deserves a child, and Sofia owes us for the debts your family—”
Lorenzo did not let him finish the sentence. Moving with a deliberate, agonizing slowness, Lorenzo raised his right hand. He placed his fingers over Julian’s wrist and slowly, effortlessly, peeled Julian’s hand away from his lapel. The grip was like an industrial vice, crushing Julian’s bones just enough to make the younger man wince and gasp in pain.
“You do not touch me,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice so low it barely registered above the humming of the hospital air conditioning. “And you do not ever speak for my daughter again.”
May you like
Julian wrenched his hand free, rubbing his bruised wrist. Humiliated in front of his father and sister, and enraged by the cold dismissal of the Mafia boss, Julian’s arrogance completely overrode his survival instincts.
“You’re an old man, Lorenzo,” Julian spat, stepping back and balling his hands into fists. “You don't run this city anymore.”
