Page 58 of The Mafia Bloodline
Her sob broke something in me. She reached for him, tears spilling down her face as he crossed the room in halting steps. When they embraced, I saw her shoulders shake, saw her fingers clutch at his shirt like she was seven years old again.
“Dad, I thought…I thought you were gone.”
“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”
For a moment, I let it happen. Let them have that human thing I could never fully understand that raw, fragile connection. But then her breathing hitched.
Too fast. Too shallow. The scent of adrenaline spiked in the room, sharp and wrong.
“Runa,” I said, crossing to her side. “Breathe, little one. Slow down.”
But she was trembling, clutching her stomach, a gasp breaking through her tears. “Volken…something’s wrong…”
I caught her before she could double over. “Colt! Get the fucking car ready, now!” I roar as I pick her up.
Colm stumbled back, pale, his hands useless at his sides.
Her contractions came fast, too fast, her nails digging into my arm.
“It’s too soon,” she whispered, panic in her voice.
“I know, baby, I know.” I say holding her close to my chest carefully, every muscle screaming not to hurt her, and carried her down the stairs. Colt already had the SUV running. The guards were shouting orders, clearing paths, but I barely heard them.
All I could hear was her heartbeat, it was uneven, fragile. And the second one, smaller, faster. Our child’s.
“Hold on,” I murmured, sliding into the back seat with her cradled against me. “Just hold on.”
The drive to the clinic was a blur of sirens and red lights we didn’t stop for. By the time we burst through the doors, the doctor was already waiting.
They took her from my arms gently, but it felt like tearing skin from bone. I followed as far as they’d let me, until the nurse pushed me back.
“Mr. Dragic, please she needs calm. Stress will make it worse.”
I wanted to tear the walls down. “You think I can stand here while…”
“Volken.”
The voice came from behind me…deep and steady, grounding.
Viking.
He was already there, somehow, his hair tied back, eyes sharp but calm. He stepped into my path, a solid wall of brotherly force.
“Let them work,” he said.
“She’s contracting at six months!” I hissed. “She could lose the baby!”
Viking’s hand came up, gripping the back of my neck with a firm hold, brother to brother, not dominance, but tethering. “Breathe.”
I did. Barely.
“She’s strong,” he said. “That woman of yours she’s got fight in her. Like Sorcha. Like Layla. They don’t break easy.”
My fists clenched at my sides. “I should never have brought her father to her. I…”
“Stop,” Viking interrupted. “You did what any of us would’ve done. She needed closure. You didn’t do this. Fate did.”
A door opened then, and the doctor stepped out. My body went rigid.
