Chapter 3 - The Cold War in Room 402
Chloe woke to the steady, rhythmic hum of medical machinery and the scent of expensive sandalwood and rain.
Her eyelids felt like sandpaper. She tried to move her hand to touch her stomach, but a sharp tug on her wrist reminded her of the IV line. Panic, cold and visceral, seized her chest.
“The baby...” she gasped, her voice dry and cracked.
“He’s safe, Chloe. He’s right here.”
The voice was deep, velvet-dark, and painfully familiar.
Chloe turned her head slowly toward the corner of the room. Arthur was sitting in an armchair by the window. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, stained with dried mud and her blood. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and his eyes were bloodshot from a night without sleep.
Memory hit Chloe like a freight train—the cathedral, the pouring rain, Vivien Croft’s white dress, the silver chalice, and the agony in her lower abdomen before the darkness swallowed her.
She pressed her hand against her belly, feeling the firm, round rise of her womb. Beneath her fingers, a small flutter reassured her that her child was still holding on. A ragged sob broke from her chest.
Arthur stood up immediately, moving toward the bed. “Chloe, please. Don’t cry. The doctor said you have to stay calm. Your blood pressure—”
“Don't touch me,” she whispered, pulling her hand away as he reached out.
Arthur’s hand froze in midair. A flicker of profound pain crossed his features, but he lowered his hand slowly. “Chloe...”
“Why are you here, Arthur?” she asked, tears spilling down her pale cheeks. “Shouldn't you be at your wedding reception? Shouldn't you be drinking champagne with your mob princess?”
Arthur closed his eyes, taking a ragged breath. “There is no wedding. There never will be.”
“You left me!” Chloe’s voice cracked with all the anguish she had buried for seven agonizing weeks. “You disappeared in the middle of the night! You left fifty thousand dollars on my kitchen counter like I was some cheap whore you were paying off! Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
“I didn't leave you money to pay you off!” Arthur roared in a harsh, desperate whisper, stepping closer. “I left it so you could sell the diner and leave the city! I thought if I cut ties cleanly, if I made you hate me, you would run far away where Malcolm Croft couldn't find you!”
“I didn't want your blood money, Arthur! I wanted you!” Chloe sobbed, clutching the bedsheets. “I didn't know who you were! To me, you were just the man who sat in Booth Seven and made me feel safe! And then I turned on the news and saw your face on the front page of the Tribune—Arthur Romano, Head of the Romano Syndicate, to Marry Vivien Croft to Settle Turf War.”
She looked up at him, her eyes burning through his soul.
“You broke me, Arthur. You destroyed every piece of my heart.”
Arthur dropped to his knees beside her bed. The most feared crime lord in Chicago fell to his knees, burying his face against the edge of the mattress.
“I know,” he choked out, his voice thick with uncharacteristic tears. “I know I destroyed you. When Croft threatened to car-bomb the block where the diner sat, when he told me he knew I had a weakness... I panicked, Chloe. In my world, love is a death sentence. Anyone I care about becomes a target.”
He raised his head, his dark eyes pleading.
“I thought if I married Vivien, the Crofts would back down. I thought I could absorb their syndicate, take their power, and keep you safe from the shadows. I was a fool. I was a blind, arrogant coward.”
Chloe looked down at him, her chest aching with a mixture of fury and lingering love. “You didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“I wanted to keep your hands clean,” Arthur said, reaching out cautiously, his fingers barely brushing the hem of the bedsheet near her hip. “And then you walked into that cathedral. You risked your life, and our baby’s life, just to warn me about the poison.”
“I didn't do it for you,” Chloe lied, turning her head toward the window. “I did it because I couldn't let my baby’s father die like a dog.”
Arthur smiled faintly, a sad, broken smile. “You always were a terrible liar, sweetheart.”
Before Chloe could snap back, the heavy door of Room 402 burst open.
Leo Barnes stood in the doorway, his face grim, his tactical vest strapped tight over his suit.
“Arthur, we have a problem.”
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Arthur rose to his feet instantly, his vulnerable demeanor evaporating into the lethal aura of the Romano don. “What is it?”
“Malcolm Croft just released a statement to the Five Families,” Leo said, his jaw tight. “He claims you murdered Vivien’s honor, broke the blood accord, and that the woman in this hospital is an illegitimate mistress carrying a bastard. He has placed a two-million-dollar bounty on Chloe’s head, dead or alive. And the first hit squad just breached the lower parking structure.”
