Serena’s laughter was a sharp, grating sound that cut through the cavernous foyer, mocking the soft, agonized gasps escaping from Ethan.

The arrival of Dr. Vance and his medical team turned the Blackwood mansion into a high-tech trauma unit within minutes.

Lily refused to leave the room while they set Ethan’s tiny arm. She sat on the edge of the plush leather sofa in the private nursery, her hands bandaged, a warm blanket wrapped around her shivering shoulders. She held Ethan’s uninjured left hand while the doctor administered a mild pediatric sedative and applied a lightweight cast to the fractured bone.

Victor stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a unlit cigar held between his fingers, watching his son through the glass reflection.

"The fracture is clean, Mr. Blackwood," Dr. Vance said quietly, stepping away from the crib after securing the splint. "Children's bones heal quickly, thank God. But... the force required to cause a spiral fracture like this on an infant... it wasn't an accidental fall. It was a violent yank."

Victor’s reflection in the glass didn't move. "Will he have permanent damage?"

"No. With proper rest and care, he’ll be fine in six weeks," Dr. Vance replied, packing his medical kit. "However, the nanny..." Dr. Vance glanced toward Lily. "She has two cracked ribs and severe contusions across her abdomen. She needs to go to the hospital."

"I'm not leaving Ethan," Lily said instantly, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. She looked up at Victor, her wide brown eyes filled with stubborn devotion. "Please, Mr. Blackwood. He's scared. He won't sleep unless I'm here."

Victor turned around. He looked at the bruised, pale girl who had thrown her own body into the path of a sociopath to protect his heir.

For six months, he had viewed Lily as nothing more than a quiet, background figure—a humble girl from an orphanage who kept his motherless son clean and fed while he ran a criminal empire. He had barely spoken ten words to her.

Now, he saw her clearly.

"Dr. Vance," Victor said flatly. "Set up a room for Miss Lily next to the nursery. Bring the best equipment money can buy. She stays here."

"Yes, Mr. Blackwood."

Once the doctor exited, closing the heavy double doors behind him, the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The only sound was the quiet, steady breathing of the sleeping child in the crib.

Victor walked over to the armchair beside Lily and sat down. For a man of his massive size, he moved with the predatory grace of a panther.

"Why didn't you run?" Victor asked suddenly.

Lily looked up from Ethan’s hand. "What?"

"Serena is the daughter of Arthur Montigue," Victor said, his eyes scanning her face. "Her family controls half the shipping ports in Illinois. She has security detail, money, and power. You have no family, no union, and no legal protection. She threatened to kill you, Lily. Why didn't you run out the front door when she hit you?"

Lily swallowed hard, pressing Ethan’s tiny blanket closer to his chest.

"Because he has no one else," Lily said softly, looking Victor dead in the eye.

Victor raised an eyebrow. "He has me."

"You're never here, Mr. Blackwood," Lily said, her voice trembling slightly, but her words entirely truthful. "You're running your business. When you're gone, this house is full of strangers who smile at your face and look at your baby like he's an inconvenience. I love him. I don't care who her father is. Nobody hurts him while I'm breathing."

Victor stared at her for a long, silent moment.

In the underworld, loyalty was bought with cold hard cash or enforced through terror. Victor had lived forty years surrounded by men and women who would sell their own mothers for a piece of his power.

Yet here was a penniless nineteen-year-old girl, sitting in his fortress, nursing broken ribs because she refused to abandon his child.

"Mikhail," Victor spoke toward the dark corner of the room where his lieutenant stood.

"Boss?"

"Seal the gates. Nobody enters or leaves the estate without my personal thumbprint."

"What about Miss Montigue?"