Chapter 7 - The Target
By midnight, the Lake Forest estate was under complete military lockdown.
Armed guards lined the iron perimeter fences, floodlights illuminated the snowy grounds, and twenty soldiers stood watch at every entrance.
Inside the master bedroom, Dr. Marcus—the Rosetti family’s private physician—set down his medical kit, looking up from his diagnostic tablet with a stunned, almost disbelieving expression.
Dante was standing near the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, his shadow looming large against the wall. Clara sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a thick robe, her hands clutched tightly in her lap.
"Well, Doctor?" Dante demanded, his voice a low, warning growl.
Dr. Marcus took a deep breath, looking between Dante and Clara. "Mr. Rosetti... the blood panel and ultrasound scan are conclusive. Mrs. Rosetti is approximately six weeks pregnant."
The room seemed to lose all oxygen.
Clara gasped, her hands flying to her flat stomach. "Pregnant?"
"It... it is medically impossible," Dr. Marcus stammered, holding up his tablet showing the clear hormone levels. "Given your medical history from seven years ago, Mr. Rosetti... the scar tissue... it should have been a zero percent probability. But human biology is unpredictable. Nerve repair, microscopic vas deferens regeneration... it happens in less than one in a million cases."
Dante stood motionless. He stared at his wife. He stared at her hand resting on her stomach.
"Is the baby healthy?" Clara whispered, tears springing to her eyes.
"Extremely healthy, Mrs. Rosetti," the doctor said softly. "The fetal heartbeat is strong."
Dante didn't say a word. He turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the heavy oak door quietly behind him.
Clara felt a sharp spear of panic pierce her heart. Does he think I cheated on him? Does he think it's not his?
She got out of bed and rushed out into the hallway, following him down to his private study.
Dante was standing behind his mahogany desk, staring out the window into the dark blizzard. His hands were gripping the edge of the desk so hard the wood groaned under his strength.
"Dante," Clara cried out softly, stepping into the room. "Dante, please! Look at me!"
Dante turned around slowly. His face was pale, his gray eyes burning with an emotion so intense, so raw, that it took her breath away.
"Dante, I swear to you on my life," Clara wept, her voice breaking. "I have never been with another man. I have only ever loved you! It is yours! I swear it!"
Dante crossed the room in three long strides. He didn't yell. He didn't accuse her.
He wrapped his massive arms around her, pulling her fiercely against his chest, burying his face in her dark hair. His broad body was shaking with silent, overwhelmed emotion.
"I know it's mine," Dante rasped out, his voice thick with tears he refused to shed. "I know who you are, Clara. I know your heart. I never doubted you for a second."
Clara collapsed against him, weeping with relief, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. "Then why did you walk away?"
"Because you have a target on your back now," Dante whispered, his voice turning into cold, deadly iron. "In my world, a leader without an heir is vulnerable. But a leader with an heir... means my enemies have a deadline. If they don't kill me and destroy my bloodline now, the Rosetti family will rule Chicago for another fifty years."
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He pulled back, holding her face in his broad hands, staring down at her with fierce, absolute devotion.
"Every capo who wants my throne, every rival family in New York, every traitor in this city... they will come for you and our child," Dante declared quietly. "And I will slaughter every single one of them before I let them touch a hair on your head."
