Chapter 1 - The Sound of a Pulse
The ambulance ride was a blur of red flashers painting the wet concrete of Michigan Avenue. Dominic never let go of Sophia’s fingers.
The paramedics tried twice to ask him to sit on the opposite bench to give them room to evaluate the contusions darkening on Sophia’s throat. Both times, Dominic simply leveled a stare that silenced them cold. He sat on the edge of the cot, leaning over her, his thumb stroking the unbruised curve of her jaw with an agonizing gentleness.
“Dominic,” Sophia whispered, her voice rasping against the swelling in her larynx. “You’re ruining your coat.”
The charcoal wool was soaked across the shoulders, dripping rainwater onto the sterile linoleum. A dark smear of Liam’s blood from the scuffle stained the left cuff.
“Let it ruin,” Dominic said softly. His voice held that deep, velvet gravel she loved, but beneath it ran an iron current that had not yet cooled. “Keep your eyes on me, Soph. Don’t look at the monitors. Don’t think about Seattle. Just look at me.”
“The baby,” she said, tears catching in her lashes. “Dominic, Liam shoved me hard. What if—”
“You’re strong. Our baby is strong,” he interrupted fiercely, though she felt the microscopic tremor in his hand. “We’re five minutes out from Northwestern Memorial. Dr. Catherine Vance is already scrubbing in at the private wing. Nobody touches you but the best.”
When the ambulance bay doors slammed open, Caleb was already waiting beside two uniformed Vale security guards. The hospital’s chief of obstetrics met the gurney personally—a testament to what a single phone call from Dominic Vale could mobilize in the city of Chicago.
Within twenty minutes, Sophia was settled into a high-security corner suite on the twelfth floor. The city lights outside were drowned in sheets of November rain. The room smelled of antiseptic and fresh lilies Caleb had somehow arranged to have delivered instantly.
Dr. Vance, a woman with gray-streaked hair and steady, maternal eyes, prepped the ultrasound wand with chilled blue gel.
“The laryngeal swelling will peak in four hours, Mrs. Vale, but your airway is patent,” the doctor explained calmly. “Now, let’s see what our little stowaway is up to.”
The room fell so quiet Sophia could hear the hum of the HVAC vent. Dominic stood beside the bed, his overcoat finally discarded, his tailored shirtsleeves rolled to the forearms, revealing the taut tendons of a man who carried the world on his shoulders.
The monitor flickered to life in grain and shadow.
Dr. Vance moved the transducer over Sophia’s lower abdomen. For ten endless seconds, there was only static. Sophia held her breath, Liam’s vicious sneer echoing in her ears: *You wouldn’t give me a family.*
Then, a sudden, rhythmic gallop filled the room.
*Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.*
Fast. Vibrant. Louder than thunder.
Sophia gasped, a sob breaking from her raw throat.
Dominic froze. His hand on hers tightened so abruptly she felt his silver signet ring bite into her skin, but she didn’t pull away. He looked at the screen, his dark eyes wide, catching the pale blue monitor glow.
“That’s the gestational sac,” Dr. Vance smiled gently. “Measuring right at six weeks, two days. Heart rate is one hundred and twenty-eight beats per minute. Strong. No subchorionic hematoma, no signs of detachment from the blunt trauma. Your baby is safe, Sophia.”
Dominic didn’t speak. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against Sophia’s knuckles, and she felt warm, quiet moisture soak through her skin.
Dominic Vale, who controlled shipping lines, high-rise developments, and three hundred armed men across the Midwest, was weeping silently over the sound of a six-week-old heartbeat.
“Hear that, little bird?” Dominic whispered against her hand, his voice thick with raw devotion. “You’re safe now. Both of you.”
A discreet knock sounded at the suite door.
Caleb stepped inside, his expression grim under the hospital fluorescent lights. He did not look at Sophia’s exposed abdomen out of respect, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Dominic.
“Boss,” Caleb said in a low tone. “Cook County processed Prescott. But there’s a problem.”
Dominic stood up straight. In an instant, the vulnerable father vanished behind the mask of the syndicate head.
“What problem?”
“A high-profile defense attorney from Manhattan just filed for his immediate bail transfer,” Caleb reported. “Someone posted a half-million-dollar cash bond within twenty minutes of his booking. Prescott didn’t come to Chicago on his own dime.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened until the muscle twitched beside his scar.
May you like
“Find out whose dime it was,” Dominic said, his tone devoid of warmth. “And tell the gate guards at the estate: if Liam Prescott breathes within three miles of Sophia, they don’t bother calling the police.”
***