Chapter 3 - The Iron Fortress
The Romano estate was a sprawling, fortified compound on the edge of the Hudson River. High stone walls, iron gates, and armed guards patrolling the perimeter with attack dogs. It looked like a prison for kings.
Clara didn't care about the guards or the guns. The moment she stepped into the marble foyer, she took over.
"Take the bassinet to the nursery. I need boiling water, sterilized bottles, and someone needs to go to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy," Clara ordered, stripping off her wet coat.
The enforcer with the scar—whose name she learned was Dante—balked. "I don't take orders from—"
"Do as she says!" Matteo barked from the doorway, shrugging off his own soaked overcoat. "If she tells you to fetch a bottle, you run. Am I clear?"
Dante swallowed hard. "Yes, Boss."
By 3:00 AM, Clara had established total dominance over the east wing of the estate. She had thrown away the heavy, suffocating designer clothes Matteo had bought for Luca, swapping them for soft, breathable cotton onesies she forced Dante to buy from an all-night drugstore. She switched the baby to a specialized hypoallergenic formula and taught the hulking mafia enforcers how to properly warm a bottle without degrading the nutrients.
Matteo stood in the doorway of the nursery, watching her work. He had stripped off his suit jacket and tie, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
"Where is his mother?" Clara asked quietly, swaying a newly-fed, silent Luca in her arms.
Matteo’s jaw tightened. "She was collateral. A rival family—the Falcones—planted a bomb under her car three weeks ago. She died instantly. Luca was born via emergency C-section by the paramedics on the pavement. He was premature."
Clara looked down at the tiny boy, her heart fracturing. No wonder he's so small. No wonder his nervous system is so easily overloaded.
"He's been absorbing your stress, Matteo," Clara said, using his first name without thinking. "Babies map their nervous systems onto their primary caregivers. If you are vibrating with rage and grief, he feels it. He mirrors it."
Matteo looked at the floor, his hands gripping the doorframe. The ruthless Don of New York looked entirely defeated.
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"Then he is doomed," Matteo whispered. "Because rage and grief are all I have left."
"No," Clara said softly, walking over to him. She gently pressed the sleeping baby against Matteo's chest. "You have him. And for now, you have me."
