Chapter 7 - The Gilded Cage|
The black armored Maybach glided silently through the towering wrought-iron gates of a secluded estate.
This was not the downtown penthouse Nelia remembered with dread.
This was the Ramos ancestral fortress, surrounded by twelve-foot stone walls, private security towers, and rolling green lawns.
Diego hadn't allowed her to set foot on the street after leaving L’Époque.
He had simply lifted her into the back of his vehicle while his guards retrieved her sparse belongings from her tiny studio apartment.
Nelia sat as close to the passenger door as possible, her arms tightly crossed over her stomach.
Diego sat beside her, radiating immense authority, his sharp profile silhouetted against the tinted glass window.
The car pulled up to the grand front entrance where two elderly housekeepers and a distinguished doctor were already waiting.
Diego stepped out first and turned, extending a broad, calloused hand toward her.
Nelia hesitated for a second, then ignored his hand and climbed out on her own.
Her swollen ankles immediately screamed in agony from being on her feet for a nine-hour shift.
She stumbled slightly on the cobblestones.
Before she could fall, Diego’s strong arm caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against his solid chest.
“Stop fighting me, Nelia,” he murmured near her ear, his breath warm against her cold skin.
“I can walk,” she snapped defensively, though her voice betrayed her profound exhaustion.
Without a word, Diego scooped her up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly up the grand stone steps.
“Diego! Put me down! The staff are watching!” she protested, blushing furiously as she beat her fists against his chest.
“Let them watch,” he answered, not slowing his steady pace for a single second.
“They need to remember who the lady of this house is.”
He carried her through the marble foyer and up the sweeping curved staircase into a sprawling master bedroom.
The room was warm, filled with soft ivory linens, plush rugs, and the comforting scent of fresh white lilies.
Diego set her gently down onto the massive king-sized bed.
The elderly gentleman in a gray suit stepped into the room, carrying a medical kit.
“Nelia, this is Dr. Bennett,” Diego said, stepping back just far enough to allow the physician room to work.
“He has cared for my family for thirty years.”
“I don't need a mafia doctor,” Nelia said, turning her head away stubbornly.
Dr. Bennett chuckled softly, setting his leather case on the bedside table.
“I assure you, young lady, I am a certified obstetrician, not an assassin.”
He gently placed a fetal monitor on her abdomen, applying warm gel to her stretched skin.
A rhythmic, rapid galloping sound suddenly filled the quiet bedroom.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
Nelia’s eyes instantly filled with tears as the sound of her baby’s heartbeat echoed against the high ceiling.
She looked up instinctively.
Diego was standing completely motionless beside the bed, his dark eyes wide and shimmering with uncharacteristic moisture.
The ruthless crime boss, who had stared down rival hitmen without flinching, looked completely shattered by the sound.
His hand reached out slowly, hovering over the curve of her belly until Dr. Bennett smiled warmly.
“Go ahead, Mr. Ramos,” the doctor encouraged.
“He has your stubborn heart.”
Diego pressed his palm flat against Nelia’s bare skin.
At that exact moment, the baby gave an energetic kick right against his hand.
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Diego let out a ragged breath, dropping to his knees beside the bed as if brought to church.
He buried his face against her covered lap, his broad shoulders trembling with silent, overwhelming emotion.
