Chapter 6 - Room 412
The heavy wood of the hospital door felt cold beneath Roman’s palm as he pushed it open just enough to widen the crack.
Inside the sunlit recovery room, the air smelled of antiseptic and fresh lilies. Celeste was propped up against a bank of pillows, her face pale but luminous, holding a small bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket. Sitting beside her on the edge of the mattress was a man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit—the exact man from the photograph, the one whose measurements had been quietly logged on Oak Street months ago.
It was Julian Sterling.
Julian, Roman’s chief legal counsel and the man who had drafted half the corporate ironclad contracts holding the Vascari empire together for the past decade.
“He has your eyes, Julian,” Celeste whispered, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips as she brushed a tiny finger against the infant's cheek.
“He has your composure, thank God,” Julian replied, his voice rich with an easy, affectionate warmth that Roman had never once heard directed at himself. Julian leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to Celeste’s temple, his hand resting securely on her shoulder.
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Roman’s vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The betrayal wasn't just personal; it was architectural. While Roman had been playing the sovereign of Chicago, fighting proxy wars and managing syndicates, the two people he trusted most had quietly built an alternative life right beneath his nose, funded by his own capital and protected by his own legal counsel.
He shoved the door open the rest of the way, the heavy wood slamming against the drywall with a sharp, echoing crack.
