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.

Two months later, on a snowy January night, the Russo estate was transformed into a high-tech medical command post.

Instead of risking a public hospital where security could be compromised, Dominic had built a state-of-the-art private delivery suite inside the estate, staffed by the top obstetricians and pediatric surgeons in Illinois.

Labor hit me suddenly at 2:00 AM.

For twelve intense hours, Dominic never left my side. The crime boss who commanded thousands of men stood by my bed in his shirt-sleeves, holding my hand, wiping sweat from my forehead, and letting me squeeze his fingers until his knuckles turned white.

"You're doing so well, my love," Dominic whispered, kissing my sweaty hair as another contraction hit. "Just a little more. You're so strong."

"It hurts, Dominic!" I cried out, gasping for air.

"I know, baby, I know," he murmured, his eyes filled with unbearable empathy. "Focus on my voice. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

At 2:14 PM, a loud, healthy cry echoed through the suite.

"He's here!" Dr. Miller announced with a huge smile. "A healthy, strong baby boy!"

The medical staff quickly cleaned the baby and wrapped him in a warm blue blanket before placing him directly onto my chest.

I burst into tears of pure joy as I looked down at our son. He had a tuft of thick, dark hair just like his father’s, dark gray eyes, and chubby, perfect cheeks.

Dominic leaned over the bed, looking down at our son with tears glistening in his own eyes—a sight I knew no one else in the world would ever see.

"He's perfect, Chloe," Dominic whispered, his voice cracking with deep emotion. "He's absolutely perfect."

"What should we name him?" I asked softly, reaching up to touch Dominic’s face.