The room felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it in a single second. The rhythmic, rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump of the baby's heartbeat on Dr. Miller's ultrasound machine was the only sound echoing through the sterile examination room.

Living at the Russo estate took adjusting. Within forty-eight hours, my quiet, lonely life was replaced by an army of private chefs, high-end maternity stylists, and personal security details.

Yet, despite his terrifying reputation as the head of the Chicago Syndicate, Dominic was shockingly attentive. He adjusted his schedule completely. The man who usually ran his operations late into the night was suddenly sitting at the dining table every morning, eating fresh fruit with me and asking detailed questions about my prenatal vitamins.

On Thursday evening, two weeks after I moved in, a high-level meeting was scheduled at the estate. The captains of the five major families in Chicago were arriving to discuss turf boundaries and port logistics.

I was sitting in the library reading a book on infant care when Dominic walked in, dressed in a sleek charcoal suit.

"You don't have to stay upstairs, Chloe," Dominic said, leaning against the doorframe. "You are the lady of this house now. If you wish, you may join us for dinner."

"Are you sure?" I asked, setting my book down. "Won't your associates find it strange that a woman is sitting at the head table during a syndicate meeting?"

Dominic walked over, taking my hand and kissing the back of my knuckles. "Let them try to complain. I want them to see you. I want every man in this city to know exactly who you are to me."

An hour later, I sat at the right hand of Dominic at the long, polished mahogany table in the formal dining room. Surrounding us were six hardened, intimidating men whose names usually appeared in crime headlines.

Among them was Don Carmelo—an elderly, traditional mafia boss from the South Side who was known for his rigid, old-world views.

"Dominic," Don Carmelo grunted, cutting into his steak and glancing at me with skepticism. "We came here to discuss the shipping docks in Milwaukee. Is it wise to have a civilian woman... especially an pregnant organizer... listening to family business?"

The room went dead silent. The other captains stopped chewing, nervously glancing at Dominic.

Dominic didn't raise his voice. He set his wine glass down with a slow, heavy clink.

"Carmelo," Dominic said coldly, leaning back in his chair. "The woman sitting to my right is carrying the future of the Russo family. She survived a night under fire with me, and she possesses more strength in her little finger than half the men working your docks."

Carmelo shifted uncomfortably under Dominic’s gaze.

"If you have a problem with her presence at my table," Dominic continued, his tone sharp as a razor, "you may leave the table permanently. Along with your territorial rights in the North District."