Chapter 17 - The Nursery of Gold
By March, the snow had completely melted from the shores of Lake Michigan, replaced by the pale green buds of spring.
The nursery on the third floor of the Gold Coast penthouse was no longer empty.
Dominic had personally overseen every detail. The walls were painted a soft, serene lavender, decorated with hand-painted murals of cherry blossoms Sophia had designed herself. A custom-carved crib made of solid white oak sat beneath a vaulted ceiling, draped in the finest organic linen from Italy.
Sophia sat in a velvet rocking chair, twenty-eight weeks pregnant, her hand resting on the proud, round swell of her stomach. She watched Dominic struggle to assemble a mobile made of silver stars.
The mighty syndicate boss, who had brought city councilmen and rival crime lords to their knees with a single glance, was currently sweating on a plush rug, squinting at an instruction manual with profound frustration.
“The bolt doesn't fit into the secondary bracket,” Dominic growled under his breath, his jaw twitching. “Caleb could have this manufacturer liquidated by five o'clock.”
Sophia laughed—a clear, ringing sound that filled the sunlit room.
“Dominic, you’re holding the star bracket upside down,” she pointed out, leaning forward.
He paused, looked at the diagram, looked at the piece of plastic in his hand, and sighed heavily. He dropped the tool and crawled over to her chair, resting his chin on her knees, looking up at her with mock defeat.
“I can negotiate twenty-million-dollar maritime treaties,” he complained, “but this mobile is a psychological operation designed to break my spirit.”
Sophia carded her fingers through his dark hair, smiling down at him. “You’re doing wonderfully, papa.”
The word hit him visibly.
Dominic’s eyes softened into that breathtaking, reverent gaze that always made her breath catch. He leaned up, pressing his forehead against her belly.
As if on cue, a sudden, sharp kick rippled beneath Sophia’s dress, pressing right against Dominic’s cheek.
Dominic froze. His breath hitched.
“She’s active today,” he whispered, his hand spreading out wide to cover the spot.
“She recognizes your voice,” Sophia said softly. “Every time you talk on the phone, she starts dancing.”
Dominic closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of lavender and baby powder that now defined their life.
“I spent my entire life preparing to destroy things, Sophia,” he confessed, his voice barely audible. “My father taught me how to break men, how to seize territory, how to expect betrayal. But this… holding you, waiting for her… it makes me feel like I’m finally building something that will outlive the darkness.”
Sophia cupped his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath her palm.
“You’re not in the darkness anymore, Dominic. You brought us into the light.”
A gentle chime from the intercom interrupted them.
Dominic sighed, kissing her stomach once more before standing up and pressing the receiver on the wall. “Yes, Caleb?”
“Boss,” Caleb’s voice sounded steady, but there was an unusual hesitation in his delivery. “We received a registered package from the Port of Seattle. It cleared security and decontamination.”
Sophia looked up, the mention of Seattle sending a familiar, cold shiver down her spine.
Dominic saw the subtle change in her posture and immediately stepped between her and the door. “What is it?”
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“It’s Liam Prescott’s personal effects,” Caleb said. “Sent by the maritime authority. boss… Prescott died three days ago in an industrial accident on a container vessel off the coast of Japan.”
***