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

The basement of the St. Jude Executive Club in Lower Manhattan smelled of aged cigar tobacco, polished mahogany, and fear.

Vincent Avery sat at the head of a long boardroom table, surrounded by six senior council members. Documents detailing shipping manifests and trust distributions lay scattered before them.

“Lucian has lost his focus,” Vincent was saying, leaning forward, tapping a silver signet ring against the wood. “He’s hiding upstate over a woman who deserted him months ago. The family cannot be led by a ghost. We need a vote of no confidence.”

The heavy steel doors at the end of the hall swung open with a deafening crash.

Lucian entered alone. He wore no coat now, just a dark tailored suit. His hands were out of his pockets, his posture relaxed, but the air pressure in the room plummeted instantly. Four of Vincent’s bodyguards reached for their jackets.

Behind Lucian, Marco and four men in tactical black stepped through the threshold, submachine guns raised, their laser sights painting bright red dots across the chests of Vincent’s security.

“Touch leather and die,” Marco barked.

The bodyguards froze, their hands hovering in surrender.

Lucian walked slowly down the length of the table, pulling out the chair opposite Vincent and sitting down. He laid a digital recorder on the polished surface and tapped play.

A scratchy recording filled the room—the voice of Vincent’s lieutenant arranging surveillance on the Hawthorne Ridge estate, confirming Kate’s medical orders, and discussing an “unfortunate accident” during childbirth.

The council members exchanged horrified glances.

“Blood against blood, Vincent?” Lucian asked, his voice deceptively soft. “Ordering an execution on my pregnant wife? In our world, that is high treason against the head of the family.”

Vincent’s face drained of color, but he forced a sneer. “She is a nobody! An outsider who trapped you! And that child—if it even survives the night—is a liability that will tear this family apart!”

Lucian didn't raise his voice. He simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Leo was born at five-forty-three this evening. He weighs two pounds, eleven ounces. He has already survived more in six hours than you have in your entire miserable life.”

Lucian snapped his fingers. Marco tossed a thick dossier onto the table.

“Every offshore account you hid from the council,” Lucian announced. “Every side deal with the Morettis. You’re stripped of your rank, your assets, and your name. Effective five seconds ago.”

Vincent slammed his fists on the table, rising half out of his seat. “You can’t do this! The council won't permit it!”

None of the council members moved. They kept their heads down, terrified to catch Lucian’s eye.

“I am the council,” Lucian whispered. “Take him to the docks. Let him watch the sunrise from a shipping container.”

Before Vincent could scream, Marco’s men seized him by the arms, dragging him backward through the double doors. His curses faded down the concrete corridor until the basement returned to stone-cold silence.

Lucian stood, buttoning his jacket. He turned to the remaining elders. “Anyone else have questions about my marriage or my son?”

Not a single man breathed.