Chapter 5 Delivery Room Showdown

Five months passed in a blur of strategy meetings, doctor's appointments, and an uneasy truce between Dante and me. My wound healed, leaving behind a puckered scar that sometimes pulled when I moved too quickly. My belly grew rounder each day, a constant reminder of the complication neither of us had planned for.

We had settled into a strange domestic arrangement at Dante's fortified penthouse. I maintained my own room, though increasingly I found myself in his bed. Our relationship defied definition—part alliance, part passion, all danger. We were predators circling each other, never fully trusting but unable to separate.

The Barzinis had gone to ground after the funeral incident. Victor was too smart to engage in open warfare, instead choosing to strike at Dante's business interests through proxies and sabotage. We retaliated in kind, a slow, calculated dismantling of their operation piece by piece.

On a crisp autumn morning, I stood before the bathroom mirror, examining my changing body. Seven months pregnant, and I still kept three weapons within reach at all times. Old habits.

A knock at the door preceded Dante's entrance. He approached behind me, placing his hands on my swollen abdomen. The baby kicked in response, earning a rare genuine smile from him.

"Active today," he commented, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"Always is when you're around. Recognizes another predator." I turned to face him. "The doctor called. She wants me to come in this afternoon."

Dante nodded. "I'll have Gabriel bring the car around."

"I can drive myself."

"We've had this argument before." His tone was light but his eyes were serious. "The Barzinis may be lying low, but they haven't forgotten. I'm not taking chances with either of you."

The "either of you" still surprised me sometimes. Dante had adapted to impending fatherhood with the same calculated efficiency he brought to everything else. He'd researched the best doctors, installed a state-of-the-art nursery, even read books on child development—all while orchestrating the systematic destruction of his enemies.

"Fine," I conceded. "But no armed escort this time. It draws too much attention."

"Two men in the lobby, two in the parking garage." He kissed me briefly. "Non-negotiable."

I rolled my eyes but didn't argue further. In truth, I appreciated the precautions. Pregnancy had changed my center of gravity, slowed my reflexes. I compensated with increased vigilance and more creative weaponry, but I wasn't at my lethal best.

The doctor's office was in an upscale medical building downtown, with private entrances and discreet security—the kind of place that catered to celebrities and the wealthy who preferred their medical issues remain confidential. Dante had vetted every staff member personally.

Dr. Chen greeted us with professional warmth. "Ms. Rossi, Mr. Moretti. Let's see how mother and baby are doing today."

The examination proceeded normally. Measurements were taken, heartbeats monitored, blood pressure checked. Dr. Chen frowned slightly at the readout.

"Your blood pressure's elevated," she noted. "Have you been following the reduced sodium diet we discussed?"

"Yes," I lied, ignoring Dante's knowing look. Salt had become my pregnancy craving, much to his amusement.

"Hmm." Dr. Chen didn't sound convinced. "Well, I'm a bit concerned about pre-eclampsia. I'd like to do some additional tests today, just to be safe."

"How long will that take?" Dante asked, checking his watch. "I have a meeting I can't reschedule."

"At least an hour," Dr. Chen replied. "Ms. Rossi can call when she's finished."

I nodded. "Go. Gabriel can wait with me."

Dante hesitated, then kissed my forehead. "Call me when you're done. I'll have dinner waiting."

After he left, Dr. Chen had a nurse draw blood and then led me to a monitoring room where I was hooked up to various machines tracking the baby's movements and my vital signs.

"I'll be back to check on you in twenty minutes," she said. "Try to relax. Stress isn't good for your blood pressure."

Alone in the room, I fought the urge to disconnect the monitoring equipment and explore the office. Old habits again. Instead, I closed my eyes and practiced the breathing exercises I'd reluctantly learned in our private birthing classes.

I must have dozed off because the sound of the door opening startled me awake. Expecting Dr. Chen, I was surprised to see a male nurse I didn't recognize.

"Where's Dr. Chen?" I asked, immediately alert.

"She asked me to check your IV." His accent was Eastern European, his movements efficient as he approached the IV stand.

Something felt wrong. My instincts—the ones that had kept me alive as the Viper—screamed danger. I studied his hands as he adjusted something on the IV bag. His fingernails were immaculate, buffed to a shine. No medical professional maintained nails like that.

"What are you giving me?" I demanded, my hand sliding toward my prosthetic leg.

His eyes met mine, and the mask of professionalism dropped. "Just something to make delivery easier, Ms. Rossi. Mr. Barzini sends his regards."

I moved with the speed that had earned me my reputation, releasing the blade hidden in my prosthetic. Before he could depress the syringe into my IV, I slashed upward, catching his wrist. Blood sprayed across the white hospital gown I wore.

The fake nurse cursed, dropping the syringe and reaching inside his scrubs. I ripped the monitoring equipment from my body, alarms immediately blaring as I lunged from the bed. My center of gravity betrayed me, and I stumbled, giving him time to draw a silenced pistol.

I threw myself behind a medical cart as he fired, the bullet embedding in the wall where I'd been standing. From my position, I could see the door was still slightly ajar. Where was security? Where was Gabriel?

"You've caused quite enough trouble for the Barzini family," the assassin said calmly, moving to flank me. "But Mr. Victor is a reasonable man. He only wants you. Once we deliver your child safely to its father, his quarrel is with Moretti alone."

"You're not touching my baby," I snarled, palming a scalpel from the overturned cart.

"Be reasonable, Ms. Rossi. You're seven months pregnant, unarmed, and trapped. Your bodyguard is currently unconscious—or dead, if he resisted too much."

Gabriel. I felt a stab of concern, quickly replaced by cold fury. I needed to get out of this room, find Gabriel, and contact Dante.

The assassin approached cautiously, gun trained on my position. I feigned a contraction, doubling over with a convincing cry of pain. When he moved closer to check, I struck, driving the scalpel into his thigh. He howled, firing wildly as I scrambled past him toward the door.

In the hallway, chaos reigned. The alarms from my room had triggered some sort of emergency protocol. Medical staff were evacuating patients, providing perfect cover. I blended in with the crowd, one hand protectively over my belly, the other gripping the bloodied scalpel.

I needed to find Gabriel, but first, I needed a weapon better than a surgical blade. I ducked into a supply room, frantically searching for anything useful. My phone was back in the examination room with my clothes. I was trapped in a hospital gown, visibly pregnant, and hunted.

The door opened behind me. I whirled, scalpel raised, to find myself facing two more men in scrubs. Their expressions told me everything I needed to know.

"Not even going to pretend to be medical staff?" I asked, backing away.

"No time," the taller one replied. "Antonio wants this done quickly."

So it was Antonio calling the shots, not Victor. That made sense—the son had always been more reckless than the father. But it also meant they weren't planning to deliver my baby safely to Dante. Antonio would kill it out of spite.

The first contraction hit me like a freight train. Not fake this time. The stress, the adrenaline—my body was responding to the danger. No. Not now.

I gasped, momentarily distracted by the pain. The assassins used that moment to advance, one drawing a syringe similar to what the first had tried to use.

"Hold her down," the one with the syringe ordered.

Before his partner could reach me, the door burst open again. Gabriel stood there, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, gun already firing. The man nearest me went down with a bullet in his skull.

The one with the syringe dove for cover, returning fire. I dropped to the floor as Gabriel pushed into the room, providing me cover to escape into the hallway.

"Luna, run!" he shouted, exchanging gunfire with the remaining assassin.

Another contraction seized me, stronger than the first. I stumbled down the corridor, one hand braced against the wall for support. I had to find a phone, call Dante.

I rounded a corner and collided with a doctor—a real one this time, judging by his shocked expression at my bloodstained gown.

"Help me," I gasped. "My baby—contractions—"

"Ma'am, we need to get you to delivery," he said, supporting my weight. "The hospital's on lockdown because of some kind of security breach, but—"

"No!" I clutched his arm. "Not delivery. Not safe. I need a phone."

Confusion crossed his face, quickly replaced by concern as he noticed the blood on my hands. "You're injured? Let me see—"

"Not my blood," I managed through gritted teeth as another contraction hit. "Please, I need a phone. My husband—"

A gunshot echoed down the hallway, followed by shouts. The doctor's eyes widened in understanding.

"This way," he said, helping me through a door marked "Staff Only." Inside was a small break room with lockers and a landline phone on the wall. "Call whoever you need to. I'll find security."

As soon as he left, I dialed Dante's number from memory. He answered on the first ring.

"Who is this?" His voice was tense.

"It's me," I said, relief washing over me. "Barzini sent assassins. Gabriel's holding them off, but I'm in labor."

"Where exactly are you?" The background noise suggested he was already in motion.

"Staff break room, east wing, I think. Dante, there are at least three of them. Maybe more."

"Stay put. I'm four minutes out." His voice was deadly calm. "Can you arm yourself?"

I glanced around the break room, spotting a fire extinguisher. "Working on it."

"Luna," he said, his tone softening slightly, "don't deliver our child until I get there."

Despite everything, I laughed. "I'll do my best to cross my legs."

The line went dead. I grabbed the fire extinguisher, then searched the lockers for anything else useful. In one, I found a set of scrubs that I quickly pulled on over my hospital gown. Another contraction hit, this one lasting longer. I checked my watch—they were coming less than five minutes apart now.

The baby was coming, assassins or no assassins.

I heard gunfire, closer now. Gabriel must be retreating toward my position. I cracked the door open slightly, peering into the hallway. Two men in scrubs were advancing, guns drawn. No sign of Gabriel.

Making a split-second decision, I pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and waited. When the first assassin passed the door, I swung it open violently, catching him in the face. As he stumbled backward, I emptied the fire extinguisher into the face of the second man, temporarily blinding him. Using the heavy canister as a bludgeon, I struck the first man's temple with all my strength.

He crumpled, but the second recovered faster than I anticipated, lunging for me despite his impaired vision. We crashed to the floor together, his weight driving the air from my lungs. His hands found my throat, squeezing.

Black spots danced in my vision as I struggled. My fingers scrabbled desperately along the floor, searching for a weapon, finding only the smooth hospital tile. The pressure on my throat increased.

Then, suddenly, it was gone. The weight lifted from my chest as the man was bodily thrown off me. I gasped for air, rolling onto my side in time to see Dante slam the assassin's head repeatedly into the wall until he stopped moving.

"Luna!" Dante was at my side instantly, his hands checking me for injuries, his eyes wild with a fury I'd never seen before.

"I'm okay," I wheezed, my voice raw. "But the baby—it's coming."

As if on cue, another contraction seized me, this one so powerful I couldn't hold back a cry of pain. Dante's expression shifted from rage to something like panic—an emotion I'd never seen on him before.

"We need to get you out of here," he said, helping me to my feet. "My men have secured the east exit. Car's waiting."

"No time," I gasped as the contraction subsided. "This baby's coming now."

Before Dante could respond, more gunfire erupted from down the hallway. He pushed me back into the break room, barricading the door with a vending machine.

"Gabriel?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"He'll be fine. He has backup now." Dante was all efficiency again, clearing a table and laying his jacket over it. "If we can't leave, we deliver here."

Another contraction hit, and I doubled over. "I need to push," I managed through clenched teeth.

Dante helped me onto the table, positioning himself at the end. The absurdity of the situation struck me—the Viper giving birth assisted by the Reaper, while assassins attempted to breach the door.

"I can see the head," Dante announced, his voice steadier than I would have expected. "Push with the next contraction."

I did as instructed, channeling all my pain and fury into the effort. Outside, the gunfire intensified, then stopped abruptly. Someone pounded on the door.

"Boss! It's clear!" Gabriel's voice.

"Little busy!" Dante shouted back, his focus entirely on the delivery. "One more push, Luna."

With a final, primal scream, I pushed. The relief was immediate and overwhelming as our child slid into Dante's waiting hands. For a moment, the only sound was my ragged breathing.

Then, a cry—strong, indignant, alive.

"It's a girl," Dante said, his voice filled with wonder as he wrapped our daughter in his shirt. "She's perfect."

He placed her on my chest, and I stared in awe at the tiny, angry face. Ten fingers, ten toes, a shock of dark hair like her father's. Despite everything—the assassins, the blood, the violence that had defined both our lives—here was something pure.

The door burst open, Gabriel entering with his weapon drawn, followed by two of Dante's men. They froze at the tableau before them—me on the table with our newborn, Dante standing protectively beside us, his hands and shirt covered in blood.

"Boss," Gabriel said, recovering first, "we need to move. There could be more of them."

Dante nodded, gently lifting our daughter from my chest. "Can you walk?" he asked me.

I sat up, wincing. "Do I have a choice?"

With Gabriel and the men forming a protective perimeter, we made our way through the hospital corridors, now littered with bodies—some in scrubs, others in Dante's men's signature dark suits. I clutched our daughter to my chest, my body running on pure adrenaline.

In the parking garage, a black SUV waited with the engine running. As Dante helped me inside, cradling our daughter with surprising gentleness, I noticed three more bodies near the vehicle—Barzini men who had been waiting to ambush us.

"How many were there?" I asked as we pulled away, sirens wailing in the distance.

"At least twelve," Gabriel replied from the driver's seat. "Antonio got ambitious."

Dante's expression darkened. "He'll pay for this. They all will."

I looked down at our daughter, now sleeping peacefully despite the chaos of her entry into the world. "She needs a name," I said softly.

Dante reached over, his bloodstained finger gently tracing our daughter's cheek. "Marina," he said. "Her name is Marina."

Tears pricked my eyes—the first I'd shed since learning of my sister's fate. I nodded, unable to speak.

As we sped away from the hospital, our daughter safe between us, I caught Dante's gaze. The look that passed between us transcended our complicated history—beyond the poisonings, the deceptions, the violence. We were bound now by something stronger than revenge or alliance.

"I shot three of them," I said, breaking the silence. "While in active labor."

A slow smile spread across Dante's face. "That's my girl."

"Which one of us?" I asked, nodding toward our sleeping daughter.

"Both," he replied, his hand finding mine. "Definitely both."