Part 2: The Mafia Boss Came to End His Marriage, but the Midwife Said She Was Only Twenty-Nine Weeks Pregnant

Night deepened over the Hudson Valley, wrapping the hospital in an eerie blanket of mist. Lucian stood in the private waiting suite attached to the neonatal wing, his overcoat back on, but his posture wound tight as a coiled spring.

Marco entered quietly, closing the heavy oak door behind him. The lieutenant’s face was bruised by fatigue, his suit slightly disheveled.

“We have four men disguised as orderlies stationed at both ends of this corridor,” Marco reported in a hushed tone. “Two more in the security control room monitoring the cameras. Miriam is staying in Kate’s room down the hall. Nobody gets within fifty feet of either of them without clearance.”

“The baby’s transport?” Lucian asked.

“The NICU is sealed. Level IV protocol requires biometric clearance. Only the assigned attending physician and primary nurse have access.” Marco paused, shifting his weight. “Lucian... Vincent knows about the child.”

Lucian’s head snapped up. “How?”

“The leak was inside Hawthorne’s local pharmacy. When Miriam ordered specialized premature labor blockers two days ago, an alert was triggered on an account flagged by Vincent’s financial team. Vincent realized Kate was in hiding, pregnant, and close to term.”

Lucian felt a dark, ancient rage boil beneath his skin. “He thought she was carrying an heir that would complicate his succession plan.”

“Exactly,” Marco said grimly. “If you die without a recognized heir, Vincent takes the syndicate leadership by default under council bylaws. But if you have a legitimate son, the estate and voting control remain locked in your bloodline until the boy comes of age.”

Lucian walked to the window, staring out into the black expanse of the hospital courtyard. Rain streaked the reinforced glass.

“He sent those men to Hawthorne Ridge today not to observe, but to confirm,” Lucian deduced, his voice dropping an octave into pure lethality. “He wanted to know if the birth would happen quietly so he could make both mother and child disappear before I ever found out.”

“And you showed up first,” Marco added. “Ruining his timetable. But now he knows you’re here. He thinks you’re distracted. Vulnerable.”

A cold, feral smile touched the corner of Lucian’s lips. It was the smile that had earned him the leadership of five boroughs at twenty-eight.

“Let him think I am broken by sentiment,” Lucian said softly. “Prepare the convoy for Manhattan. But leave ten of our best operators behind with suppressed rifles. If anyone wearing a Moretti or Vincent crest steps onto this floor...”