Chapter 7 - The Solarium Examination
The second-floor solarium was a massive glass-domed conservatory filled with towering tropical palms, orchids, and stone fountains that trickled water into marble basins. Despite the freezing lake winds howling outside, the room was stiflingly warm, smelling of damp earth and blooming white jasmine.
A middle-aged man with silver-streaked hair and a sleek medical case sat waiting on a velvet settee. Next to him stood Alessandro, wearing a charcoal turtleneck that hugged his broad shoulders, holding a cup of black coffee.
When I walked in, flanked by Mrs. Gable, Alessandro’s amber eyes flicked up. He took in my unbrushed hair, my pale skin, and the stubborn set of my jaw, and a slow, calculating look settled over his face.
“Sit down, Elizabeth,” Alessandro instructed, gesturing to the settee across from the doctor.
“I’m not doing anything until you tell me what kind of game you’re playing,” I said, planting my feet firmly on the mosaic tile floor. I glared at the doctor. “Who are you? Are you even a real physician, or just another one of his hired guns with a medical degree?”
The doctor let out a dry, calm chuckle, snapping open his leather case to reveal rows of sterile instruments and a modern ultrasound machine.
“My name is Dr. Harrison Vance, Miss Collins,” the man replied smoothly, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “And while I do occasionally treat high-profile patients with... unique lifestyle risks, my credentials at Northwestern Memorial Hospital are entirely legitimate. Mr. Vitali retained my services to ensure your health and the health of the pregnancy are managed with absolute discretion.”
“Discretion,” I spat out the word. “That’s a nice corporate word for kidnapping and medical imprisonment.”
Alessandro set his coffee cup down on a marble side table. The sound was soft, but it cut through the splashing water of the fountain like a gunshot. He crossed the solarium in three long strides, stopping just inches from where I stood.
“Dr. Vance is here because I demand excellence for my child,” Alessandro said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register meant only for my ears. “He is not your warden. He is your physician. Now, sit on the settee and roll up your sleeve, or I will have Mrs. Gable hold you down while he draws your blood.”
The absolute calm in his voice told me he wasn't bluffing. He would do it. Not out of malice, but out of cold, unyielding logistics.
Trembling with rage, I walked over to the velvet settee and dropped onto it, shoving my arm out toward Dr. Vance with a sharp jerk. “Get it over with.”
Dr. Vance worked with practiced, lightning-fast efficiency. He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm, drew two vials of blood, and then wheeled the portable ultrasound machine closer.
“Lie back, please, Miss Collins,” Dr. Vance instructed gently.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, but I lay back against the cushions.
Alessandro stood directly behind the doctor, his dark shadow falling over the examination table. His eyes never left my stomach as Dr. Vance applied the cold ultrasound gel and pressed the transducer against my lower abdomen.
For a long, agonizing minute, the room was completely silent except for the rhythmic trickling of the fountain.
Then, a faint, rapid sound filled the solarium.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
The heartbeat.
My breath caught in my throat. The anger, the defiance, the terror of the last twenty-four hours seemed to instantly dissolve into a strange, hollow ache in the center of my chest. It was real. It wasn't a nightmare, and it wasn't a corporate trap. There was a tiny, fragile life growing right inside me—innocent, entirely dependent, and already caught in the crossfire of a war between shadows.
I turned my head away, squeezing my eyes shut as hot tears spilled over my lashes and tracked down into my hair.
I felt Alessandro shift closer. His hand reached out, his large, warm palm hovering for a second over my shoulder before he gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from my forehead. His touch was so light, so utterly unlike the ruthless mafia prince everyone else knew, that it terrified me more than his threats ever could.
“Strong,” Dr. Vance murmured, smiling professionally as he typed a few keys on the machine and printed out a small, grainy black-and-white strip of paper. He tore it off and handed it to Alessandro. “Everything looks remarkably healthy, Mr. Vitali. Six weeks along, exactly as projected. Standard prenatal vitamins, strict bed rest from high-stress environments, and adequate nutrition will ensure a smooth term.”
Alessandro took the paper slip. He stared down at the gray, blurry image of the heartbeat monitor, his expression locked in a profound, unreadable stillness.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Alessandro said quietly. “Mrs. Gable will escort you out and handle your fee.”
Once the doors clicked shut behind Dr. Vance and Mrs. Gable, the solarium fell back into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Alessandro didn't move away. He knelt down beside the velvet settee, bringing his face level with mine. He held out the small printed ultrasound strip between his fingers.
“Look at it, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his amber eyes burning into mine with an intensity that felt like physical heat. “That is us. That is our blood. You can hate me all you want, but you cannot deny what is right in front of you.”
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I opened my eyes, looked down at the grainy paper in his hand, and felt a cold dread settle deep into my bones. Because I knew, looking at the fierce, possessive hunger in his face, that Alessandro Vitali would burn Chicago to ash before he ever let go of what he believed was his.
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