My ex waved $100 bills in my face and humiliated my pregnant belly at the grocery store, right before Chicago's most feared mafia boss kissed me in front of everyone.

Before I could formulate another argument, the elevator chimed softly.

Two women entered. One was dressed in crisp medical scrubs carrying a portable ultrasound machine, and the other wore the sharp suit of an executive assistant.

"Dr. Aris," Adrian acknowledged, stepping back from me, though his hand remained possessively resting on my hip. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Of course, Mr. Moretti," the doctor replied, offering me a warm, reassuring smile. "Claire, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Elena Aris, chief of obstetrics at Northwestern. Adrian asked me to perform a comprehensive wellness check."

My cheeks burned. "He commandeered you, you mean."

"He requested the best, and I agreed," Dr. Aris replied smoothly. "Shall we move to the guest suite? I'd like to check on our little passenger."

Adrian nodded toward a corridor lined with recessed lighting. "Go with her, Claire. I have business to attend to. But I expect you to rest afterward."

Reluctantly, I followed the doctor into an expansive guest bedroom that looked more like a five-star hotel suite than a clinic. A king-sized bed with plush ivory linens dominated the room. Dr. Aris set up her equipment with practiced efficiency while I lay back, pulling up the hem of my dress to expose my rounded belly.

"You've been under an immense amount of stress," Dr. Aris noted gently as she applied the warm, blue gel to my skin. "Your blood pressure is slightly elevated, and judging by your charts from the public clinic, you've gained less weight than recommended for twenty-four weeks."

"I was working double shifts at the bakery," I admitted quietly, staring at the ceiling. "It’s hard to eat well when you're counting pennies for rent."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore," she said. She placed the transducer against my lower abdomen and adjusted the monitor.

Suddenly, a rhythmic, galloping beat echoed through the silent bedroom.

*Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.*

The sound stole the breath right out of my lungs. Every ounce of bitterness, fear, and exhaustion melted away beneath the pure, overwhelming miracle of that heartbeat. My baby. Strong. Fighting. Alive.

A shadow crossed the doorway.

I looked over and saw Adrian standing there. The ruthless king of Chicago’s underworld looked completely frozen, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering black-and-white screen. The cold, impenetrable mask he wore for the world fractured entirely, revealing awe so profound it rendered him speechless.

Slowly, without a word, he walked into the room and stopped beside the bed. His eyes never left the screen.

"It’s a boy, Mr. Moretti," Dr. Aris announced softly, pointing toward the monitor. "A healthy, thriving baby boy."