Chapter 4 - The Pediatrician’s Secret
Over the next month, life in the Romano compound shifted into a bizarre, domestic rhythm. Luca thrived under Clara’s care. The colicky screams faded, replaced by coos and the quiet sounds of a healthy, growing infant.
Clara, to her own shock, became the untouchable queen of the estate. The hardened criminals who worked for Matteo began calling her "Doc." Dante routinely brought her coffee. Another enforcer, a giant named Enzo, spent his free time assembling a complicated mechanical baby swing because Clara mentioned it might help Luca nap.
But it was Matteo who watched her the closest.
He was a ghost in his own home, always working, always planning his revenge against the Falcones. Yet, every night at 11:00 PM, he would come into the nursery.
One night, he found Clara sitting in the rocking chair, singing a lullaby under her breath, tears silently streaming down her face as she looked at Luca.
Matteo stepped into the room, locking the door behind him. "Why did you leave medicine, Clara?"
Clara stiffened. She carefully placed Luca into his crib, turning on the white noise machine. She didn't want to look at Matteo. She didn't want him to see the broken parts of her.
"I ran a background check on you, yes," Matteo said softly, stepping closer. "But it only showed that you quit. It didn't say why. A woman with your talent doesn't just walk away to carry trays."
"I had a daughter," Clara blurted out, the words tasting like ash and blood. She turned to face him, her eyes fierce and shattered. "Her name was Mia. She was born with a congenital heart defect. I was a doctor. I was supposed to fix things. But I couldn't fix her. I watched her die on a monitor in the ICU while I held her."
Matteo stopped breathing. The air in the room grew heavy.
"Every time I walked into a pediatric ward after that, every time I heard a machine beep or a baby cry, I saw her. I couldn't breathe. So I walked away." Clara wiped her face furiously. "That's why I know how to hold Luca. Because I spent three months holding a baby who was fighting for her life."
Matteo didn't offer empty platitudes. He didn't tell her it would be okay. He understood grief too well for that.
Instead, he closed the distance between them. He reached out, his large, rough hand gently cupping her jaw, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
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"You couldn't save her," Matteo rumbled, his voice dark and incredibly gentle. "But you saved him, Clara. You saved my son."
The proximity was dangerous. The heat radiating off him was intoxicating. Clara looked up into his dark eyes and realized, with a terrifying jolt of clarity, that the numbness was permanently gone. She was feeling again. And she was feeling it for him.
