Chapter 26
CASSANDRA
The corridor hums. Elevators ding. I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the sounds of the hospital—beeps, carts, nurses laughing and chatting, Christmas music playing at the nurses’ station.
More ginger tea sounds good. Staying does not.
I can’t bring a child into… this.
That thought writes itself in big letters across my brain and refuses to leave.
This isn’t just a rough patch. This is my life if I stay. Being shot at will be ordinary.
I have to decide. I will leave before Damien arrives, before he walks into the room and I lose my courage. The red ribbon sits in my pocket. The diamond bracelet is still in the cupholder where Alex put it. I don’t need either anymore.
I slide out of bed slowly, test the floor with bare feet, and stand still until the room stops spinning. I put on the clothes I came in with—jeans, sweater, boots.
Healthy baby, living sister. Everything else is noise. I’ll have to tell Clara the truth at some point, but I’m not ready for that yet.
I map the way out in my head. Best shot is the stairwell near the service alcove. Shift change is starting and phones are ringing in waves, people swapping charts and stories. Good cover.
I unclip the IV line and pull. The needle comes out, tape yanking hair out I hiss once and breathe through it.
I ease the door open a few inches and peek out. The hall is a long, bright tunnel. At the far end, Alex’s silhouette cuts across, shoulders squared as he speaks into his comm. He’ll likely loop back in thirty seconds. I do the math and move.
Quiet steps, eyes darting everywhere. The past few weeks have taught me how to be small and swift. I pass a supply cart that smells like lemon and bleach. A nurse’s sneaker squeaks behind a curtain. My pulse is a steady drum. I turn the corner toward the service door and hurry along.
Run now. Explain later.
I arrive at the main double doors and push. They open an inch, then stop. A hand closes over the bar from the other side. Calm. Immovable.
Of course.
His dark blue eyes scan me, then lock onto my face. No raised voice. No rush. Just the kind of presence that makes entire rooms sit up straighter.
“You were going to leave,” he says flatly.
“I was going to breathe,” I shoot back. My voice is steady and louder than I planned.
“By running.”
“By living.” I lift my chin in defiance. “Your world is a war zone.”
He steps inside just enough to ease the doors closed behind him. Not trapping, but the corridor shrinks anyway.
“Shots at your house. A car trying to wipe us off the road. Badges cloned to get in. Someone’s trying to kill me.”
“You don’t run with a shooter loose,” he says. “You leave with me, not alone.”
He guides me away from the doors to a small alcove in the hallway where we’re out of the way.
“You’re not hearing me.”
“I am.” His eyes narrow a fraction. “You’re running from me.”
Something in me snaps at his words. It’s a brittle, scared thing that’s been vibrating since the doctor told me I’m pregnant. I don’t plan the words, but they come anyway.
“I’m carrying your child, Damien!” I whisper harshly. The last thing I want is to make a scene.
He goes very still. His expression shifts into something I have never seen on him—fear. Not for himself, but for me. For something he can’t touch yet.
“A child?” The word comes out softly. I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on behind his eyes at this moment.
He lowers himself slowly. Both palms lift and hover before carefully settling over my lower belly.
“You don’t understand, Cassandra,” he says quietly, “I can’t lose you.”
There’s a wet shine to his eyes that he refuses to blink away. This is not theater. This is a man with no script.
“I’ll give it all up—the Bratva, the power, every damn drop of blood on my hands,” he swallows hard, “if that’s what it takes to keep you and our child safe.”
My knees go a little soft. My hand reaches into his hair on reflex. I hate how natural it feels but love it anyway. Untouchable Don to desperate man in two heartbeats. I believe him, and that scares me more than any gun.
He lifts his chin, still kneeling, and keeps bleeding honesty. “I don’t beg, Cassandra. Not for my men, not for my empire, but I’m begging you now. Stay. Please.”
I look down at him, at his hands warm and careful over my belly. “I won’t raise a baby in the crossfire.”
He nods once. “What do you need?”
“No guns near Clara or me,” I start. “Full security on her floor, and I approve it. Transparency. No more secrets, no managed lies about my schedule. Medical stays private and protected. You don’t tell anyone about this until I say so.
And if there’s another attack within arm’s reach of me, I walk.
I won’t argue about it and you won’t punish me for leaving. ”
I keep my shoulders square and my chin up.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t stop there. “Clara gets two guards you’ll meet by name. Your OB gets a security bubble and an alias on the office schedule. Your routes go dark to everyone who isn’t mine.” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Alex oversees. If he slips, I cut him loose.”
I test him. “You can’t control every risk.”
“I can control the ones with names,” he says. “And I can remove men who fail me.”
There’s the blade under the vow. At least he’s honest. Protection here isn’t gentle. It’s effective. I can live with effective.
He rises slowly but doesn’t crowd me. He shrugs out of his coat and settles it over my shoulders. His thumb catches a tear on my cheek I didn’t notice, wiping it away gently.
“I’ll stay.”
“Your way,” he says.
“I’m holding you to that.”
“Good.” He means it. At least today.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“Now,” he says, “we see your sister. Alex walks point. Ten minutes in the room. She’s still sleeping, so we won’t need more time than that. Then we go home on a clean route—one car swap, three sets of eyes on the rearview. You sleep at the villa or my apartment in town. Your choice.”
“The villa,” I say without thinking. “It’s safer.”
“Villa it is.”
We walk. Alex appears at the end of the hall.
He clocks our faces and nods, slipping in line with our pace.
Damien’s coat is heavy and warm. I slip a hand into my jeans pocket, the ribbon pressing into my palm, soft and stubborn.
It feels less like a leash and more like a rule I chose. At least for now.
We stop outside Clara’s door. The blinds are half open. I can see the green heart line on her monitor tracing steadily across the screen. The sight loosens something painful inside my chest. Damien’s hand hovers near my elbow, not touching. He’s learning.
“Go to your sister,” he says. “I’ll be right outside.”
I know he’ll stand in the hall like a wall until I come back out. I know that the way I know my own name. I breathe once, deep and steady, closing my hand around the ribbon in my pocket.