Chapter 3 - Blood and Milk
The first three days inside the fortress passed in a blur of intense physical necessity and crushing emotional weight.
Rose needed to nurse every two to three hours. Her digestive system was fragile, bruised by weeks of improper nutrition, and my body responded to her need with a fierce, biological obsession. Every time her tiny lips latched onto me, every time her small, warm hand pressed against my chest, a bittersweet ache bloomed in my heart.
She was not my child. My boys, Leo and Samuel, were buried under six feet of damp earth in a cemetery outside Boston. Yet, holding Rose in the quiet dark of the night, feeding her, watching the color return to her pale cheeks, was the only thing keeping me from shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.
On the fourth night, a storm raged outside, rattling the heavy glass panes of the nursery window.
I sat in a velvet rocking chair, Rose nursing peacefully against my breast under a soft cashmere blanket. The room was dark, save for the flickering embers of the fireplace in the adjoining sitting room.
The nursery door creaked open silently.
Nathan stepped into the room. He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing only a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing complex black tattoos of dragons and Latin script. He looked exhausted, lines of tension etched deep around his eyes.
He paused when he saw us, making a movement as if to step back out.
"It's alright," I said quietly, my voice cutting through the soft crackle of the fire. "She's almost done."
Nathan slowly walked in, his heavy boots making no sound on the thick carpet. He stood near the rocking chair, looking down at his daughter. Rose’s tiny fingers were curled around my thumb, her dark eyes half-closed in contented bliss.
"She has gained weight," Nathan remarked softly, a note of rare warmth entering his deep voice.
"Four ounces since yesterday," I replied. "Her color is much better. She’s strong, Nathan. She just needed what nature intended for her."
Nathan sat down on the leather ottoman across from me. He watched us in silence for a long time, the firelight casting long shadows across his sharp jawline.
"I haven't slept in three days," he admitted suddenly. It was the first vulnerable statement I had heard him utter.
"The war with Moretti?"
"Moretti is panicking," Nathan said, his eyes darkening. "We struck three of his primary distribution hubs in Brooklyn last night. Seized forty million dollars in illegal contraband. But he’s hiding. He knows that if I find him, there will be no trial, no negotiations."
"And Thomas's files?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
Nathan reached into his pocket and pulled out a encrypted black memory stick. "Viktor managed to retrieve the backup server from your Boston apartment right before Moretti's hit squad torched the building."
I gasped, my hand tightening slightly on Rose. "They burned my apartment?"
"They burned the entire floor," Nathan said flatly. "They tried to erase every trace of you. If you had been there, Elena..."
He didn't need to finish. The realization that my home—the last place where my sons had laughed, where their toys still sat in the living room—was now reduced to ash struck me like a physical blow. A choked sob tore from my throat.
Rose shifted uncomfortably against my chest, sensing my sudden distress.
Nathan moved instantly. He leaned forward, taking Rose gently from my arms, cradling her against his broad chest with a practiced ease I hadn't expected from him. He began to slowly pace the floor, gently patting her back until she settled against his shoulder.
I buried my face in my hands, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. Everything was gone. My family, my home, my past. I was a ghost living in a mafia lord's mansion, feeding a baby that wasn't mine.
Nathan stopped pacing. He stood over me, holding his sleeping daughter in one arm, and reached out with his free hand. His large, calloused fingers gently touched my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.
"Listen to me, Elena," Nathan commanded, his voice intensely steady. "They took your past. They tried to take your life. But I swear to you, as long as I draw breath, no one touches you again. You are under my protection. You are part of this house now."
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"I don't want to be part of a mafia house, Nathan," I wept softly. "I just want my family back."
"I cannot give you back the dead," Nathan whispered, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. "But I will give you the heads of the men who took them."
