“She’ll Never Come Back,” His Mistress Laughed—Then a Retired Courier Dropped Six Unopened Messages on the Chicago Mafia Boss’s Table and Said, “Your Wife Wasn’t Begging to Return… She Was Trying to Tell You About Your Twins”...

The waiting room on the fourth floor felt like a purgatory built of chrome and faux-leather chairs.

Dominic stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the chaotic cityscape of Chicago lashed by wind and rain. The neon signs blurred into streaks of neon red and yellow. His mind raced back through the eleven months of silence, piecing together the horror of his own making. He had built an empire to protect his family, yet his own fortress walls had become the prison that kept his wife and children out.

"Boss," Marcus said quietly, stepping into the waiting room with a pair of paper cups filled with bitter hospital coffee. He didn't offer one to Dominic; he knew better. "I've deployed a security detail around the NICU. No one gets in or out without my personal clearance. Not even hospital board members."

"Good," Dominic replied without turning around. "And the doctors?"

"Chief of Surgery is operating on Lauren herself. Dr. Hayes. She has a reputation for saving lost causes." Marcus hesitated. "And... I checked on the twins."

Dominic finally turned, his face lined with an exhaustion that made him look ten years older. "How are they?"

"They're premature by a few weeks, but stable," Marcus reported, his voice softening slightly. "The nurses say they have your stubborn streak. They wouldn't stop crying until they were placed in adjacent incubators."

A heavy sigh escaped Dominic’s chest. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose where a dull, throbbing migraine had settled. "My children were born in a charity ward while I sat in a penthouse drinking scotch and believing she had abandoned me out of spite."

"You didn't know, Dominic," Marcus said quietly.

"I signed the restriction order, Marcus," Dominic shot back, opening his eyes to fix his head of security with a searing look of self-loathing. "My signature. My automated filter. I locked the door from the inside and threw away the key."

Before Marcus could answer, the heavy double doors of the surgical wing burst open.

Dr. Hayes strode down the hallway, her surgical cap in hand, her face etched with deep fatigue but a flicker of cautious relief in her eyes.

Dominic was across the room in two strides, intercepting her before she could reach the nurse's station.

"Dr. Hayes. How is she?"

The doctor looked up at the towering, imposing figure of Dominic Moretti, sensing immediately the lethal tension coiled inside him. She took a deep breath.

"She went into sudden cardiac arrest due to severe post-partum cardiomyopathy combined with extreme physical and emotional exhaustion over the past year," Dr. Hayes said professionally. "We managed to stabilize her heart rhythm, but she's currently in a medically induced coma in the ICU to let her body recover."

Dominic gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles turning white. "Can I see her?"