Chapter 4 - A Whisper in the Nursery
The east wing suite was larger than my entire apartment in Lincoln Park.
It featured high ceilings, plush cream carpets, a king-sized bed, and an adjoining nursery fitted with top-of-the-line medical equipment, soft dimmable lighting, and a massive mahogany rocking chair.
By three in the morning, the mansion was dead quiet.
I sat in the rocking chair, my feet pulled up under my cozy sweatpants, holding Leo against my chest. The baby was breathing smoothly, his tiny stomach rising and falling against my ribs. For the first time in two days, my body felt the bone-deep exhaustion of what I had survived.
The heavy oak door to the nursery opened without a sound.
I snapped my eyes open, my hands instinctively tightening around Leo.
Daniel stood in the doorway. He had shed his suit jacket and tie. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate black-ink tattoos winding down his muscular arms. In his right hand, he held a tumbler of dark amber liquid.
He looked less like a mafia Don and more like a man drowning in his own empty palace.
"He's asleep," I whispered, keeping my voice low.
Daniel didn't answer. He walked into the room with quiet, predatory grace, stopping right beside the rocking chair. He stared down at his son, his expression unreadable.
"He looks small," Daniel murmured softly. "In the hospital, surrounded by all those machines, he looked like a casualty. Here... he just looks small."
"He's strong," I said gently. "He fought through fourteen days of agony, Mr. Russo. He has your stubbornness."
A faint, ghostly hint of a smile touched the corner of Daniel’s lips before disappearing into the shadows. "He needs to be strong. He's a Russo. The world won't be gentle with him."
"He's a baby," I countered, looking up at him fiercely. "He doesn't need to be a soldier yet. He just needs to know he's safe."
Daniel looked down at me. His dark eyes caught the dim yellow glow of the nightlight, reflecting an intensity that made my throat go dry.
"Is he safe with you, Clara?" Daniel asked softly.
"I would die before I let anything happen to him," I said, and to my own shock, I meant every single word. In less than twelve hours, this tiny, fragile boy had become my entire universe.
Daniel stared at me for a long, heavy moment. Slowly, he set his glass down on the side table. He reached out, his bare fingers brushing against my collarbone, just above where Leo’s head rested against my skin.
His touch sent an electric shock straight to my core. My breath hitched.
"You're shivering," Daniel observed, his voice dropping into a rough whisper.
"You're standing too close," I rasped back.
"This is my house, Clara," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. "Everything in it belongs to me. Including the nurse who saved my son."
"I don't belong to you," I whispered, my heart hammering against my chest so hard I was afraid Leo would wake up. "I'm a hostage."
"Then you're the most valuable hostage in North America," Daniel said. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his warm breath fanning across my lips. "Teach me."
I blinked, confused. "Teach you what?"
"Teach me how to hold him," Daniel said, a sudden, desperate vulnerability breaking through his dangerous persona. "Every time I reached into that incubator, he screamed. Every time I touched him, he flinched. I don't... I don't know how to be what he needs."
My heart softened, the anger and fear melting away into something terrifyingly sweet.
"Unbutton your shirt," I instructed softly.
Daniel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then reached down, unbuttoning his shirt until his broad, muscular chest was bare, exposed to the cool room air.
"Sit down," I said, motioning to the leather ottoman beside the chair.
Daniel sat. He looked huge, lethal, and completely lost.
I carefully leaned forward, guiding his broad hands under Leo's tiny frame. "Keep your hands steady. Don't pull away. He senses panic. Give him firm, confident pressure."
Together, we lifted the sleeping infant. I guided Leo onto Daniel’s bare chest, pressing the baby’s small cheek directly over Daniel’s beating heart.
Leo stirred. His tiny brow furrowed, a faint whimpering sound starting in his throat.
"He's going to cry," Daniel said, panic flashing in his eyes. "Clara, take him—"
"No," I insisted, placing my hands over Daniel’s large hands, holding them firm against the baby’s back. "Stay still. Let him hear your heart. Lean your chin down and talk to him."
Daniel swallowed hard. He lowered his face until his dark hair brushed against his son’s forehead.
"I'm here, Leo," Daniel rough voice whispered. "I'm right here, little man. I've got you."
The baby’s whimpering stopped. Leo let out a long, soft sigh, his tiny fingers curling into the dark hair on his father's chest, sinking deep into sleep.
Daniel let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for weeks. He looked up at me through the dark, his eyes filled with something raw, wild, and utterly undoing.
My hands were still resting on top of his. Our faces were inches apart.
"Clara," Daniel whispered, his voice dark with a dangerous, unspoken promise.
May you like
Before either of us could move, the heavy oak door flew open. Marco stood in the hallway, his face pale, his drawn gun held low at his side.
"Boss," Marco said rapidly. "We have a problem. The Valenti family just put a breach team on the south highway. They know Tommy Jenkins is in our cellar... and they're coming to finish him."
