She Collapsed at the Mafia Boss’s Wedding, and the Baby Bump Under Her Coat Stopped the Vows Cold

Arthur burst through the doors of the subterranean clinic like a hurricane.

He was covered in dust, sweat, and blood, his tactical gear torn, but he didn't care. He rushed toward the delivery room, ignoring the protests of the medical staff who tried to stop the heavily armed, bleeding mob boss from entering a sterile environment.

He pushed through the swinging doors.

Chloe was lying on the hospital bed, her face pale and drenched in sweat, screaming in agony as another brutal contraction tore through her body.

“Chloe!” Arthur choked out, dropping to his knees beside the bed and grabbing her hand.

Chloe’s eyes snapped open. When she saw him, covered in the blood of his enemies but alive, a sob of profound relief broke through her screams.

“You came back,” she wept, crushing his hand in a vice-like grip.

“I told you I would never leave you,” Arthur swore, pressing kisses to her sweaty forehead, tears streaming freely down his own face. “I am right here. You have to push, baby. You have to be strong.”

“Her blood pressure is spiking dangerously high, Mr. Romano,” Dr. Evans warned nervously, monitoring the machines. “The baby’s heart rate is dropping. We need to get him out now, or we risk losing them both.”

Arthur’s heart stopped. The invincible king of Chicago felt completely, utterly helpless. He pressed his face against Chloe’s cheek.

“Breathe for me, Chloe,” Arthur begged, his voice breaking completely. “Do not leave me alone in the dark. Push. Give me our son.”

Chloe looked into his desperate gray eyes. She drew on a reservoir of strength she didn't know she possessed. She screamed, bearing down with every ounce of willpower she had left, fighting a war of her own in the sterile clinic room.