Page 104 of Forbidden Vengeance

His smile is fierce as he lifts me into his arms, cradling me against his chest even as he maintains tactical awareness. “Then let’s make sure something happens next. Ready to fight for our future, little planner?”

Everything narrows to pain and motion as Mario carries me through the service corridors. Each contraction hits harder than the last, making it almost impossible to focus on the updates crackling through my earpiece.

“Anthony’s mobilizing his reserve teams,” Dante warns, words spilling over themselves as he tries to get them out as quickly as possible. “They’re converging on the loading dock. At least twelve hostiles, heavily armed.”

“Not anymore,” Siobhan’s taunting voice cuts in. “My people just took out their transport. They’re on foot now, scattered.”

Gunfire erupts ahead of us. Through waves of pain, I hear Siobhan’s and Matteo’s teams engaging the hostiles, buying us precious seconds. But scattered enemies are sometimes more dangerous than coordinated ones. Through the haze of pain, I hear boots on concrete, voices calling positions:

“Target spotted in the west corridor!” Someone roars.

“Don’t let them reach that vehicle!”

“Mario,” I repeat between contractions that are now almost continuous. “Please.”

Mario’s already moving, his entire focus on getting us out. Behind us, Anthony’s enraged voice echoes off concrete walls: “That’s my heir! My blood! You can’t?—”

The rest is lost as another contraction rips through me. But through the pain, I witness something beautiful—our allies moving in perfect coordination.

“DeLuca teams, maintain perimeter,” Antonio orders. “Irish crews, advance and eliminate threats.”

The loading dock erupts in precise violence as Mario carries me toward the waiting car. Gunfire and shouts mix with my labored breathing, creating a symphony of chaos.

“Clear that corner?—”

“Two more incoming?—”

“Got the fucker!”

“Get them to Mount Sinai,” Matteo orders through our earpiece. “Our people are already there, securing the maternity ward.”

Another contraction hits, bringing a scream I can’t suppress. Fuck, I’m never doing this again. I feel Stella moving lower, more urgent with each passing moment.

“Calabrese is retreating,” Dante reports. “His forces are either down or scattered.”

“Let him run,” Siobhan responds coldly. “We’ll deal with him later.”

“Hold on, little planner,” Mario murmurs as we reach the car. He doesn’t even glance back at the chaos behind us, doesn’t pause to witness Anthony’s retreat. His entire focus is on getting us to safety, on protecting this child that isn’t his by blood but has somehow become his in every way that matters.

“You chose us,” I whisper between contractions as Mario breaks every traffic law getting to the hospital.

A sharp laugh cracks out of him as he takes another corner at dangerous speed. “I’ll always choose you,” he promises. “Both of you.”

Mount Sinai looms ahead, its emergency entrance already secured by a mixture of Irish and DeLuca guards. The contractions are continuous now, my body demanding our daughter’s arrival regardless of the danger still lurking.

Antonio meets us at the door, his usual stern expression replaced by urgent efficiency as he helps Mario get me inside. The captain’s gray hair is disheveled, blood staining his clothes, but his movements are precise as medical staff swarm around us with wheelchairs and monitors.

“The floor is locked down,” he reports as they rush me toward delivery. “Our people only. Every doctor, every nurse has been vetted.”

The delivery room becomes a fortress within a fortress—guards outside the door, snipers on neighboring buildings, every entrance covered by people we trust. But through the haze of contractions, all I can focus on is Mario’s face, the way he never looks away even when I crush his hand. His usual scowl is replaced by something softer, though tension still radiates from his shoulders as he maintains awareness.

“Christ,” he says as I grip harder during another contraction. “Remind me to never let you near my weapons hand.”

“I hate you,” I hiss through the pain. “I hate you so much right now.”

His laugh is gentle as he brushes sweat-soaked hair from my face. “No you don’t, little planner.”

“Security breach in the north stairwell,” Dante reports through our earpiece. “Anthony’s specialists trying to get through. We’ve got it contained.”

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