Page 51 of Captive Bride

“So what?” I asked.

The concierge blinked, taken aback by my bluntness. I didn't care. We needed rooms, and we needed them now.

"Of course, ma'am," he said, recovering quickly. "Let me see what we have available."

I drummed my fingers on the polished counter, impatience gnawing at me. Carmen placed a steadying hand on my arm.

"Relax, Ade," she murmured. "We're safe here."

I wasn't so sure, but I nodded anyway. The babies stirred, and I instinctively reached for them.

"Here we are," the concierge announced. "Two adjoining rooms on the fourth floor. Will that be suitable?"

"Perfect," Carmen answered before I could speak. She slid a credit card across the counter. "We'll take them."

Minutes later, we were in the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting our exhausted faces. I looked away, focusing instead on the sleeping infants. They were so peaceful, unaware of the danger we'd left behind.

The elevator dinged softly, announcing our arrival on the fourth floor. As we stepped out, I led the way down the hallway, my eyes scanning the numbers until we found our rooms. The key cards clicked, green lights blinked in welcome, and the doors swung open into a world of quiet luxury.

"Wow," Carmen exhaled as she pushed past me. "This is not too shabby."

The suite was spacious, the decor tastefully modern with clean lines and earthy tones. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, relief momentarily loosening the tension in my shoulders.

"Look at this place," Carmen said, twirling around in the center of the living area. She dropped her purse onto a plush sofa, the sound muffled by the thick carpet beneath our feet.

I set Catherine's carrier down beside Matteo's, ensuring they were close but still within my line of sight. I walked over to the window, drawing back the heavy curtain to reveal the city awakening below us. The sun was just beginning to peek through the buildings, casting a golden hue across the skyline.

Then, reluctantly, I turned from the window and joined Carmen in the task at hand. We unpacked efficiently—her bag was still in her car, we’d stopped to get supplies for the twins at a pharmacy-–a silent understanding between us that this respite was temporary. But for now, at least, we could pretend we were just two sisters enjoying the luxuries of a fancy hotel, rather than fugitives caught in the crossfire of mafia warfare.

"Hey, look at this," Carmen said, pulling out a bottle of wine from her bag. “I took it to Delaware to toast and never opened it.”

“We should probably make some time to toast.”

“Definitely,” Carmen winked at me before stowing the bottle in the minibar. "Now, let's get these babies settled in. We've got a long day ahead of us."

As we worked, the unease that never quite left my chest eased ever so slightly. Here, in this serene setting, I could almost imagine a different life for us—a life without constant threats and hidden daggers. But those thoughts were dangerous, and I pushed them away. For now, we had comfort, safety, and each other. And that would have to be enough.

Carmen’s phone buzzed and Kieran’s name lit up the screen. My heart hammered in my chest. She checked the text and her expression softened. “They’re okay,” Carm said. “They’re…sorting everything out.”

I nodded, letting her certainty ground me as much as it could in this world of smoke and mirrors where our lives were always on the line. Taking a deep breath, I moved toward the twins, their soft coos and gurgles filling the otherwise silent room.

"Alright, my loves, let's get you both comfortable," I murmured, gently lifting the first baby from the plush hotel crib. With practiced hands, I undid the tiny diaper, grimacing playfully at the sight. "Well, that's one way to make your presence known."

Carmen chuckled beside me, her gaze fixed on the newborn with a tenderness that could melt the iciest of hearts. She reached over to hand me a fresh diaper, her fingers brushing mine—a simple touch, but it was enough to remind me that we weren't alone in this fight.

"Look at you, being all motherly," she teased, her smile genuine despite the situation we found ourselves in.

"Someone has to be," I shot back, my lips curving into an involuntary smile even as I focused on wrapping the new diaperaround the squirming infant. "And don't think you're getting out of diaper duty, Carmen. You're up next with baby number two."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, already rolling up her sleeves. Her movements were confident, yet gentle, as if each touch was a promise of protection—a vow that these children would grow up safe, no matter what we had to do.

As I watched Carmen coo over the Matteo, changing him with a skill that belied her tough exterior, I realized that there was strength in the softness of our actions. Here, away from the cutthroat world of The Callahan Legacy, we found solace in the simple act of caring for two innocent lives. And for a fleeting moment, the weight of our reality seemed just a little bit lighter.

An hour or two later, Carmen flopped onto the plush hotel bed, the mattress surrendering to her weight with a luxurious sigh. The room, a symphony of fine linens and soft lighting, seemed to envelop us in an embrace far removed from the turmoil we'd fled. I lingered by the window, watching the city awaken below, its early morning haze a shroud over the chaos of our lives.

"Hey, Ade," Carmen called out, her voice a lifeline pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts. "You think they'd mind if I raided the mini-bar? I could really use a drink."

I turned from the window, the sight of her sprawled like a queen among the pillows almost enough to draw a laugh from me. Almost. "Let's wait a bit longer," I said, my words clipped by the sobering reminder of our situation. "We need clear heads for now. Have you even had breakfast?"

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