Chapter 5 - The ICU
The red emergency lights on the wall of Northwestern Memorial Hospital’s private trauma wing rotated in silent, rhythmic sweeps.
Outside the heavy double doors, six armed men in dark suits stood in a quiet perimeter. Frank sat on a wooden bench near the nurses' station, his radio buzzing quietly every two minutes with updates from the estate.
Inside the private room, the sound of heart monitors and IV pumps filled the air.
Roman stood by the wide glass window overlooking the dark expanse of Lake Michigan. He was still wearing his tuxedo trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The front of his shirt was stained with dried crimson, but he had refused three separate requests from hospital staff to change his clothes.
Behind him, Evelyn lay in the hospital bed, hooked up to three separate IV lines and a continuous fetal monitor. Her face was pale, almost translucent against the white pillowcases, her dark hair spread out around her shoulders.
The heavy door opened softly.
Dr. Sarah Lin, a chief obstetric specialist wearing green scrubs and a surgical cap, stepped into the room. She carried a thick tablet and a physical folder of test results.
Roman turned around instantly, his gray eyes fixing on the doctor like a crosshair.
"Is she stable?" he asked.
"She is stable, Mr. DeLuca," Dr. Lin said, her voice calm and authoritative. "The bleeding was caused by a partial placental abruption—a dangerous complication, but we managed to stabilize the tear with bed rest and medication. She lost a significant amount of blood, but her vitals are returning to normal."
Roman let out a long breath through his nose. He took two steps toward the bed.
"And the... the child?" he asked, the word feeling strange, heavy, and terrifying on his tongue.
Dr. Lin looked at her tablet, then raised her eyes to look directly into Roman’s face.
"The baby has a strong heartbeat," Dr. Lin reported. "One hundred and forty-two beats per minute. The fetus is roughly twelve weeks along. Slightly small for gestational age, likely due to severe stress and elevated cortisol levels, but entirely viable."
Roman stood motionless.
Twelve weeks.
Three months.
He had been in New York for ten days in February. He had been in Miami for a week in March. He had lived in the same house with Evelyn for six months without ever touching her skin, without ever entering her room after midnight, without ever allowing himself to look at her as anything other than a contract he had signed to satisfy his mother’s political ambitions.
"Are you certain?" Roman asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, whisper-thin register. "About the timeline?"
"Ultramodern ultrasound technology doesn't lie about gestational age, Mr. DeLuca," Dr. Lin replied evenly. "Conception occurred during the third week of February."
The door behind Dr. Lin clicked open again.
Victoria DeLuca walked into the room. She had changed out of her gala gown into a sharp black suit, but her face was still pale, her makeup carefully reapplied to mask the panic that had been driving her for the last three hours.
She did not look at Evelyn. She looked directly at her son.
"Doctor, leave us," Victoria commanded.
Dr. Lin looked at Roman. Roman gave a single, brief nod, and the doctor stepped out, closing the heavy door behind her.
Victoria walked to the edge of the bed, staring down at Evelyn’s sleeping face with pure, unadulterated venom.
"She betrayed you," Victoria said, her voice a cold, sharp hiss in the quiet room. "The moment your back was turned, she brought another man into your home. Or she met someone in the city while Frank was checking the perimeter."
Roman didn't answer. He stood by the foot of the bed, his hands resting in his pockets.
"Do you understand what this means, Roman?" Victoria continued, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides. "Three hundred people saw her bleed on that floor tonight! By tomorrow morning, every family in the Commission, every banker in New York, and every federal prosecutor in Illinois will know that the DeLuca heir is a bastard! Your authority is finished if you don't act!"
"Act?" Roman repeated softly. "What do you suggest I do, Mother?"
"We quietly move her to a private clinic in Wisconsin tonight," Victoria said without hesitation. "The pregnancy is terminated quietly under medical supervision. We announce that she suffered a medical emergency related to an ulcer. Then we dissolve the marriage and send her and her pathetic father back to Indiana with enough money to buy their silence forever."
Roman looked at his mother.
For thirty-eight years, Victoria had directed his life. She had arranged his education, managed his reputation, selected his associates, and negotiated his marriage. She had treated him as the ultimate extension of her late husband’s empire—a tool to be preserved, polished, and protected from scandal at all costs.
"No," Roman said.
Victoria blinked, startled. "What did you say?"
"I said no," Roman repeated.
"Roman, have you lost your mind?" Victoria raised her voice, stepping closer to him. "She lied to you! She breached the contract! Page fourteen—infidelity reinstates her father’s debt and revokes every protection! We can destroy her by noon tomorrow!"
Roman stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was towering over his mother.
"She didn't lie," Roman said quietly.
Victoria frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"She didn't lie, Mother," Roman whispered, his eyes turning to iron. "Because she doesn't know who the father is."
Victoria stared at him. "What?"
May you like
Roman looked back at Evelyn’s pale, peaceful face on the white pillow.
"And neither do you," Roman said.
