Chapter 18 Vital Signs
Vital Signs
Fee:
The stitches in my foot hurt with each step, but I can't slow down. I won't slow down. I need to get to my sister.
Anton keeps pace beside me, not touching but close enough that I feel the heat of him. His gun is drawn low against his thigh, shoulders squared, analyzing, preparing. His head moves in controlled sweeps that catalogue every corner, every person in our path.
The guards around the mansion mirror his tension. Rifles are now visible instead of concealed. Positions tightened. Eyes sharp.
Emergencies create opportunities. Windows of vulnerability when focus shifts and protocols break down.
Someone watching would see our reaction to the pattern they created, the recent shooting at the boutique, Morrison's execution, the weapons shipment everyone suddenly wants.
The pieces move faster when chaos hits. Predators hunt when prey is distracted.
And right now, with my sister in a medical crisis, we're all very, very distracted.
The more I've embedded myself in the darkness of my world, the more I see how trust is conditional. Safety is temporary. And when something goes wrong, you watch your back because someone's always waiting for the moment you drop your guard.
Anton, Yuri, and I spent the last hour mapping out contingencies and backup plans. He's worried about keeping me safe. But right now, I just care about my sister and my nephew being okay. Nothing else matters.
The mansion's atrium stretches before us, all marble and golden afternoon light. I hate how beautiful it is right now. How calm. Like the world isn't ending for my sister.
"Why the fuck didn't anyone call me sooner?
" Lorenzo's voice slices through the space.
I spin toward the entrance as he storms in, dragging one of his guards by the collar.
The man stumbles, nearly falling. "You don't leave me in the dark about my own wife.
" Lorenzo's knuckles are bone-white against the guard's jacket.
His voice drops to something deadly. "Someone better start talking, or I'm killing every single one of you. "
Oh shit.
"Lorenzo." Dad emerges from the office downstairs, hands raised. "I called you immediately. But you need to breathe. Moira needs her husband right now. The father of her baby. Not the boss who's ready to burn everything down."
Lorenzo's stare could melt steel. Every muscle in his body is coiled tight, a bomb three seconds from detonating.
Then something shifts.
My father's words land. The mention of Moira cuts through his rage like a knife through smoke.
Lorenzo shoves the guard away and bolts for the stairs.
Dad's still standing there, arms still raised like someone is robbing him. He's watching the chaos unfold around him. Something else is bothering him. But I don't stop to talk or ask questions. I just move.
I hit the stairs, and my foot screams with every step. The crutches I left in the car. Anton's stitches better hold because I'm not slowing down.
Anton is with me, always with me.
The stairs and the hallway, such a short distance now feels endless. Down the hall, Moira's bedroom door stands open at the end.
Mom's voice drifts out, soft and soothing, in a way only she uses when things are really bad. "Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."
I push through the doorway.
Moira lies propped against a mountain of pillows, one hand pressed to her belly, the other holding our mother's hand. She groans, her face twisted in pain.
Mom sits on Moira's right side, stroking her hair with her free hand. Lorenzo stands on the left, looking like he might actually lose it. His knuckles are white where he's gripping the bedframe.
I stay at the foot of the bed, giving them space. But I'm here. When Moira needs me, I'm here.
"Fee." Moira's eyes find mine, and the fear in them guts me. "The baby's coming. I'm only thirty-two weeks."
Shit. I see the pregnancy books on her nightstand. I see a bookmark sticking out. She's been reading everything, worrying about everything, preparing for everything.
I move around the bed toward her. "What does that mean?"
"Most babies make it at thirty-two weeks." Her voice shakes. "But there can be problems. Breathing, development..." Another contraction hits, and she squeezes Mom's hand, her whole body tensing.
I slide in beside Mom, taking Moira's hand where it rests on her belly. "Hey," I whisper, catching her eye. "Focus on me, not all those terrifying numbers running through your brain right now."
She does.
"Right now," I continue, "Lorenzo is here.
Mom's here. I'm here. And between the Carluccis, the Basovs, and the Quinns, we're going to find you the best doctor in this entire state.
Hell, the best in the country. If they're not close, we'll fly them here.
" That gets a watery laugh out of her. "For you, I'll fly it myself if I have to. "
She squeezes my hand. "You don't know how, Fee."
"I'll figure it out on the way."
This time, the laugh is real, even through the fear.
I lean forward and touch her belly, feeling how tight it is as another contraction follows.
I wait it out until she's relaxed. "You're already causing trouble, kid.
Your mom's barely surviving, and you're not even here yet.
" I look at Moira. "He's strong. Just like you. You both are going to be okay."
"My doctor was supposed to come." Moira's voice cracks. "She's amazing. But there was a car accident on the highway, and she can't get here."
"Then we'll find someone just as good." I say it like it's simple. Like I'm not terrified.
The door opens. One of Lorenzo's guys appears, slightly out of breath. "Boss. The hospital's ready. Private wing, everything secured. Medical staff for Mrs. Carlucci and the baby are standing by. The best staff we could find on short notice."
Lorenzo must trust this man because he only nods once, no words. Maybe he's trying not to explode in front of Moira. Either way, I'm thankful my brother-in-law is keeping his shit together.
The door opens, and Dr. Esposito rushes in, slightly breathless, carrying his medical bag. He looks anxious, probably had Lorenzo yelling at him, and drove like hell to get here.
"Mr. Carlucci." He nods at Lorenzo, his Italian accent thicker when he's rushed. "I came as quickly as I could."
"We're taking her to the hospital." Lorenzo's voice is tight, controlled. Barely.
"Of course. Let me take Mrs. Carlucci's vitals first. I can call ahead with an initial assessment so they're prepared when you arrive."
"No." Moira's voice cuts through the room. She looks at Doctor Esposito, then at Lorenzo. "I'm not letting a male doctor examine me."
There's a beat of tense silence.
"Is the doctor at the hospital a female OB/GYN?" Moira asks Lorenzo.
Lorenzo's jaw flexes. "I'll make sure it's a female doctor." He looks at his right-hand man standing in the doorway.
The man nods immediately. "Dr. Carmichael. She's female, Boss. Confirmed."
Moira relaxes slightly, just a fraction.
"May I at least check your blood pressure?" Dr. Esposito keeps his voice professional and understanding. "It's non-invasive. Just vitals so the hospital knows what they're dealing with."
Moira hesitates, then nods.
Mom shifts back to give him room, but doesn't let go of Moira's hand.
Dr. Esposito wraps the blood pressure cuff around Moira's arm, watching the numbers carefully.
After a moment, he removes it. "Slightly elevated.
" He closes his bag. "Getting her to the hospital is the right call.
They'll be able to monitor both mother and baby properly there.
" He steps back. "I'll follow you. Just in case. "
Lorenzo moves closer, his hand finding Moira's.
"Amore mio." His voice drops to something soft and protective.
The transformation was instant, from the man who was ready to kill everyone to the husband who would burn the world down for her.
"Let's get you to the hospital. I'm going to lift you now.
You tell me if anything, anything at all, causes you discomfort or pain. I'll adjust."
Moira nods.
Lorenzo slides one arm beneath Moira's knees, the other supporting her back with excruciating care. He lifts her, adjusting his grip immediately when her breath hitches.
"The pillow." Moira's voice catches. "Can you—"
"I have it, Mrs. Carlucci." Lorenzo's right-hand man appears beside them, phone pressed to his ear with one hand while the other grabs the pillow my sister wants to take.
"I'm following them to the hospital." Mom's voice cuts through the room with that no-argument tone. She's already moving toward the door, her purse in hand. "Connor!"
Her shout echoes through the mansion. I walk toward my sister's side. Lorenzo pauses, giving me a moment with her. I lean down and press a kiss to Moira's forehead.
"I'll be right behind you. You're not going to the hospital without me."
Moira's hand finds mine, squeezing tight. "Promise? The whole time?"
"The whole time. I promise."
She smiles, but then another contraction hits, and I see the pain ripple across her face.
Please God, keep that little guy in there a little longer. Give his lungs more time. Give my sister strength and keep her safe.
Lorenzo's eyes meet mine over Moira's head. No threat, no intimidation, just understanding. He nods once, a promise without words. He'll make sure I get to her. Whatever it takes.
"Ready?" he asks her, not the room. Only her.
"Yes," Moira says.
They move toward the door. Lorenzo's entire focus narrows to the woman in his arms. His right-hand man walks beside them. He's on the phone, coordinating.
Anton's hand finds the small of my back. Warm. Steady.
For a second, I lean into him, letting myself breathe. I watch my sister disappear out of the room, cradled in her husband's arms. Then I straighten. Time to move.
I follow the procession. Anton stays close without hovering, his presence something I've come to count on.