My gaze drops to the floor, and what I’ve been too blinded by fear to notice finally registers. Her water has broken, weeks too early.
I waste no time and lift her in my arms effortlessly. She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t even move. She’s utterly limp in my arms.
I head for the elevator and shout at the top of my lungs. “Call ahead and have the car ready—now!”
After what feels like an eternity, we finally reach the parking garage. Without wasting a second, the car takes off like fast toward the nearest hospital. My eyes never leave Lucia. Her face is deathly pale, a sickly yellow that tightens my chest. Her words keep ringing in my head.
“Tonight, you’ll lose me and your daughter.”
I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, pulling her closer to my chest. My voice is a low murmur, heavy with desperation. “I swear on our daughter’s life, your brother is alive, Lucia.”
But she doesn’t react. Her eyes stare past me, completely detached from everything around her. I kiss her again, this time, there’s a plea hidden in my touch.
“Don’t do this to me, Lucia. Please, don’t do this.”
***
“Unfortunately, she’s lost a lot of amniotic fluid. If she were calmer, I’d try to wait two more weeks with antibiotics and monitoring. But given her shock and the risk of the sac rupturing completely, I strongly recommend a C-section.”
With my arms crossed over my chest, I listen to the doctor’s words. Through the half-open door, I glance at Lucia, asleep.
“Is there a risk of death?” I ask.
“Yes. Unfortunately, in cases of complete rupture, the baby might not survive.”
I focus on the doctor’s round face and rephrase my question. “I mean for the mother.”
He strokes his stubble. “The risk for the mother is very low. However…”
He gestures in the air and continues in a calm tone. “Postpartum depression is very likely in cases like your wife’s. Depression might not sound serious, but in cases like this it can become severe enough that a mother might harm herself or the baby. I strongly recommend seeing a psychiatrist.”
Lucia’s voice echoes in my head again.“Tonight, you’ll lose me and your daughter. This is your punishment, Tony.”
The depression hasn’t even waited for the birth. Lucia’s already convinced she’s going to lose this baby, and it’s all because of her dumbass brother and those fuckers who disobeyed my orders. A few hours ago Rafael told me her brother was wandering the city, asking for our address. I told him to find the bastard and bring him to me in one piece so I could hear what he had to say.
Meanwhile, we caught one of the men who killed my lawyer. By the time we finished with him, Rafael’s shirt was covered in blood.
A few hours later, I got word that my men had captured Fabiano. Instead of handing him over to me, they took it upon themselves to interrogate him. Apparently, he resisted, and they decided to beat him down. The only thing they found on him was that blue envelope, the one that has somehow managed to wreak havoc on everything. I don’t even know what’s inside it, but it has single-handedly destroyed any semblance of peace I had left.
The worst part? Fabiano managed to escape. Now, I have no idea where the hell he’s hiding. If I catch him, I’ll drag him back by the neck so his sister can see he’s alive, and only here to ruin my fucking life.
A few steps away, Rafael is on the phone. The way he walks toward me after hanging up tells me trouble is coming.
“What now?” I ask.
“We need to leave. Some staff here are on Noah’s payroll. It won’t be long before he shows up himself.”
I clench my fists. “Son of a bitch.”
With Lucia lying pale and fragile in the hospital bed, I can’t afford to take any chances.
“Find Fabiano,” I say. “I don’t care if he’s buried under a rock, I want him in front of me by noon tomorrow.”
***
I’ve been standing here, staring at the glass incubator in front of me for several long minutes now. Inside, my daughter is breathing with the help of machines. She was born two days ago, precisely at 10:14 AM, weighing just four pounds and six ounces, with underdeveloped lungs.
I stare at her tiny hands, tiny feet, her wrinkled skin. I’d bet she could fit in the palm of my hand. Her tiny body seems lost beneath all the medical equipment and tubes. The doctor says a few more days in the NICU and her lungs will be fine, but every time I see that tube in her nose, my stomach twists.
