14. Chapter Fourteen Dante
Chapter Fourteen: Dante
I woke up with a jolt, the kind that tells you something’s off before your brain even catches up. The sheets were cool against my skin, but the air was thick with the kind of silence that screams trouble. Jade didn’t stir next to me, but it was her stillness that screamed louder than any cry for help. My eyes, used to commanding rooms and men twice as tough as I am, flicked to her face—too pale, like she’d never known the sun.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath, sitting up. My hand, usually steady when holding a gun or making deals that could end lives, shook slightly as I brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. She felt too warm, her skin clammy beneath my touch.
“What’s going on?” Even as I kept my voice down, it filled the room, a low rumble that usually made people straighten up and listen. But right now, I wasn’t the mob boss; I was just a man scared for his woman.
Jade licked her lips, and even in the dim light of dawn creeping through the curtains, I saw the sheen of sweat on her brow. “Something doesn’t feel right.” Her voice was small, vulnerable.
Not at all like her.
“Talk to me, beautiful. What’s wrong?” I pressed, my mind already racing through what I could do, who I could call. In my world, you never showed weakness, but with her, all my cards were already on the table.
She swallowed hard, her throat working against whatever pain she was trying to hide from me. “I don’t know… I just feel really sick.”
“Okay, we’re getting you checked out.” I said it more to myself, a silent promise that I’d move heaven and earth to fix whatever this was. I slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her against my chest. Her head fell against my shoulder, her trust in me absolute, even when everything else seemed uncertain.
I moved quickly through the penthouse, her body light in my arms. The place was a fortress of luxury, all sleek lines and expensive tastes. But right then, none of that mattered. Jade’s soft breath against my neck, each exhale shaky, was the only thing I could focus on.
“Is it bad?” I asked, cursing under my breath when I felt her nod against my skin.
“It hurts, Dante,” she murmured, her voice laced with an edge of fear I wasn’t used to hearing from her. Her fingers clutched at my shirt, gripping me like I was the only solid thing in a spinning world.
“Shit.” My heart hammered against my chest, a wild rhythm that matched the panic clawing up my throat. “Hold on, Jade. We’ll be there soon.”
I felt her nod again, and something inside me twisted. Jade Bentley was tough as nails, a woman who dissected complex problems for breakfast and never balked at a challenge. Seeing her like this, pale and scared, did something fierce and protective to me. It was more than just a jab to my gut; it was a sledgehammer to my entire being.
As we passed the walls adorned with art that cost more than most people made in a lifetime, I felt her shiver. She wasn’t impressed by the trappings of my dark legacy, and I loved her for it. She had her own empire of intellect, one that aimed to change the world rather than control it.
“Almost there,” I whispered, as much to reassure myself as her. We reached the elevator, and I hit the button with more force than necessary. The doors slid open, and we slipped inside, the silence enveloping us.
“Thank you, Dante,” Jade said, her voice steadier now, though it did little to ease the tightness in my chest.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light despite the dread settling like lead in my stomach. “Let’s just get you some help first, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, her grip on me unyielding. As the elevator descended, I couldn’t help but think of how our lives had intertwined—her brilliance and my brutality, her science and my survival. Two worlds colliding, for better or for worse.
As the elevator dinged, signaling our arrival, I promised myself that I’d do whatever it took to make sure she was okay.
It would have taken too long to take her to a hospital, so I took her to the next best thing.
The sterile scent of the clinic was a slap of reality as I carried Jade through the sliding glass doors. The place was a fortress of discretion, one of many Moretti-owned clinics that catered to those who needed care without questions. The staff moved like ghosts, their eyes trained to see and forget.
If I hadn’t been so worried about Jade, I would’ve taken a minute to marvel at how quickly this had happened.
But I was too concerned, and Jade felt warm and cold in my arms all at once.
“Mr. Moretti,” the nurse at the front desk acknowledged me with a nod, her professionalism unwavering even as her gaze flickered over Jade’s form in my arms. I saw the briefest flash of concern before she masked it with clinical detachment.
I recognized her…but I couldn’t remember her name at all.
“We’ll get her in straight away. Exam room three is empty,” she said, leading us down the hall with purposeful strides. Her heels clicked against the tile, a metronome of urgency that matched the rhythm of my heart.
In the exam room, white and chrome gleamed under harsh lights. I laid Jade gently on the bed, and the nurse wasted no time in checking her vitals. She worked efficiently, yet her hands betrayed the slightest tremble.
“Doctor will be right in,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes revealing more. She left, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo too loudly in the confined space.
Jade reached for my hand, her skin cool and clammy. I wrapped my fingers around hers, grounding her, grounding myself.
“I’m here,” I said. “Everything will be okay.”
After that, everything happened quickly. The doctor came in, took a quick history, then said that Jade would need to get an ultrasound. She said other things too, but I wasn’t listening.
I was only watching Jade’s face twist in pain.
A different nurse met us, her eyes locking onto ours with an intensity that felt like a punch to the gut. There was no hiding the concern that creased her forehead, despite the practiced calm of her greeting.
“Right this way,” she said, leading us down a white-washed corridor that hummed with hushed voices and the distant beeping of machines.
The ultrasound room was cold, clinical, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. As the nurse fired up the equipment, the thrum of the machine filled the air, a background score to the tension that knotted my stomach.“Please lie down here,” the nurse directed Jade, whose movements were stiff, mechanical.
I stayed close, close enough to feel the tremble in her hand as I took it in mine. This was a place where the danger was too real, too close to the skin.
“Let’s see what’s going on,” the nurse said softly, pressing the wand to Jade’s belly, and for a moment, all the power and control I wielded on the streets meant nothing. In that sterile room, with the lives of the two people I cared about most hanging in the balance, I was just a man, stripped bare of all pretense, praying for a miracle.
The nurse looked a bit relieved, but she wouldn’t say anything. “The doctor will speak to you soon,” she said. “Please wait here.”
We waited. For five, ten minutes…talking about anything. Jade seemed to be feeling a little better, but she was clearly scared.
The doctor’s voice sliced through the tense silence as she entered, a clipboard in her hand. “Jade, Mr. Moretti,” she greeted with a nod that was both professional and reassuringly human.
“Doctor,” Jade replied, her voice steady but laced with the unmistakable edge of apprehension.
I just nodded, my throat tight, knowing words were Jade’s turf; I was the muscle, the shield, not the one to navigate the nuances of medical jargon.
After a brief examination and the hum of machinery, the doctor straightened up, her expression unreadable behind those steel-rimmed glasses. “I tried to make this as quick as possible. I assumed you wanted answers. I thought I’d reassure you: it’s nothing too serious,” she began, flipping through the notes on her clipboard. “Just a scare, really. But painful and frightening, I’m sure.”
Jade sighed. “The baby…?”
“Don’t worry, Jade,” the doctor reassured her, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Jade’s shoulder. “The baby is just fine.”
There was a silence, a pause in the world as we took in her words. The machine hummed softly in the background, like the heartbeat of the room.
“What happened?” I asked, my voice rough around the edges. I needed to understand, to know what had caused such pain, such fear.
The doctor looked at me then, her gaze steady. “Jade experienced a ruptured ovarian cyst. It’s not uncommon during pregnancy. The cyst is usually harmless and goes away on its own but sometimes…” she trailed off, grimacing slightly.
“Sometimes, they rupture,” Jade finished for her, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the white sheet covering her legs.
“Exactly,” the doctor confirmed, giving Jade a sympathetic smile. “It can be incredibly painful and even cause some light bleeding. That’s likely why you both got scared.”
“So what’s the treatment?” I asked.
“Rest,” the doctor replied simply, her gaze shifting from Jade to meet mine. “She needs to take it easy for a few days. The body should naturally absorb the fluid from the ruptured cyst.”
I ran a hand roughly through my hair, relief and frustration wrestling within me. Relief that it wasn’t something worse - God forbid something that could have harmed our unborn child - but frustration at how helpless I felt in that moment.
“But you’re sure the baby is okay?” Jade asked again, needing the confirmation.
“The baby is perfectly fine,,” the doctor reassured her, her tone as gentle as it was resolute. “You might have a bit of discomfort for a few days, but there’s no risk to your pregnancy.”
Jade let out a shaky breath, and I could see the tension slowly seeping out of her shoulders. I squeezed her hand in silent reassurance, anchoring us in that moment of relief.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. The doctor gave her shoulder another comforting squeeze before stepping back.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” she said, collecting her charts and heading towards the door. “A nurse will come in to discharge you shortly. And remember, Jade, rest. Avoid any strenuous activities for the next few days.”
“Does that include sex?” Jade asked. I hadn’t even been thinking about it.
The doctor stifled a smile, adjusting her glasses with a sense of amusement. “Yes, Jade. That includes sex. I’d advise against physical intimacy for at least a week, just to give your body a chance to recover. But honestly, you’ll probably be in pain. You won’t be thinking about sex much.”
She looked directly at Jade then, a silent thread of empathy connecting them. “You’ll need to rest and allow yourself to heal. We’ll need to monitor you closely for a while.”
“Thank you,” I said, finally finding my voice as relief slowly uncoiled the tension in my chest.
As we left the hospital, the city seemed to rush back to life around us. Skyscrapers towered like sentinels against the morning sky, yellow cabs weaving through traffic like industrious bees. The normalcy of it all felt surreal after the stark sterility of the hospital.
Jade was quiet during the drive, her gaze fixed on the window, lost in thought. The weight of what could have been hung between us—a specter neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
“You alright?”
“Yes,” she said. “Feeling better. I just have a lot of work to do.”
“Hey,” I said, turning down the radio so I could talk to her. “How about we focus on getting you back to full strength first?”
She turned to look at me, a small, grateful smile curving her lips. “I don’t want to rest.”
“You have to.”
“I can work from bed,” she said. “I can start organizing some research papers, I…”
I sighed. “There’s no way for me to talk you out of this, is there?”
“No,” she replied, her tone laced with a stubbornness I’d grown familiar with.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. Even in this precarious situation, Jade was relentless. Her dedication to her work was something I admired, even if it often led to our butting heads.
“Alright,” I conceded. “But remember what the doctor said - no strenuous activities.”
She nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards at my fussing. “Seems like it’ll be harder for you than it will for me.”
“Nah, I have your panties to jack off into,” I said.
She laughed, then rubbed her head. “Don’t make me laugh. Everything hurts.”
“That wasn’t a joke.”
She waved me off. “Listen, I get what you’re saying. I want to protect our baby. But my mind...it won’t stop. The genome project—it’s critical, demanding. I can’t do it alone. I need more than just isolation and state-of-the-art equipment. I need collaborators—minds who understand the language of genes and the potential they hold.”
“I’m not letting you go back to BioHQ.”
“Look, Dante,” Jade began, her voice steady despite the tremble of her hands. “I need a team, experts who can dive into this project with me.”
She was right. Her brilliance couldn’t be caged, needed to be fed with collaboration and challenge. But my world was built on trust earned and fear respected—not freely given to strangers.
“Alright,” I said, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “You’ll have your team, professionals I vet personally.”
And Ellie—she’s the best mind in the field. I need her, Dante.”
“Jade,” I said, hard lines forming around my mouth, “no one from before. It’s not just about science—it’s about survival. Our survival.”
She fell silent, the weight of my words hanging between us like the thick fog that rolled off the Hudson. And yet, the promise stood—I would scour the hidden corners of my empire to find her the minds she needed. Because even if it meant inviting shadows into our sanctuary, I’d do it for her. For us.
For all three of us.
If that was what it took to keep her healthy…to keep our baby healthy…then fuck the Moretti empire.
It could all fucking burn.