Chapter 9 - THE NIGHT THE WORLD STOPPED
By the final month of Madeline’s pregnancy, the DeLuca house no longer felt like a mausoleum.
There were baby blankets over furniture that had once belonged in magazines.
Boxes crowded the hallway.
A half-built crib occupied the nursery because Adrian had refused help and then discovered that assembling furniture required abilities not included in criminal leadership.
Madeline found him one evening sitting on the floor surrounded by screws.
“How many men work for you?”
“Several hundred.”
“And none could build this?”
“I am building my daughter’s crib.”
“You appear to be losing.”
“The instructions are malicious.”
She laughed.
He looked up.
At thirty-five, Adrian DeLuca had changed so completely that sometimes Madeline caught glimpses of the man from the antique store and hardly recognized him.
The darkness remained.
So did the power.
But something warmer lived beside it now.
The criminal cases were progressing.
Carlo had been denied bail.
Mercer had agreed to testify.
Senator Whitmore was under federal indictment for financial conspiracy and obstruction.
Nicholas had relinquished every claim under the family trust and left Tennessee.
Pierce & Pine was thriving.
Carol had begun referring to Adrian as “that ridiculous man you married,” which meant she loved him.
And Madeline was nine months pregnant.
Peace felt suspicious.
She had learned that from Adrian.
So had he.
“Hospital bag,” he said one night.
“Packed.”
“Car seat?”
“Installed.”
“Backup car seat?”
She stared at him.
“Why would we need a backup car seat?”
“In case something happens to the first.”
“What exactly are you imagining?”
“Many scenarios.”
“This child hasn’t even been born and you’re already exhausting.”
He placed a hand on her enormous stomach.
“She will be protected.”
“She will be allowed to fall down sometimes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Children fall.”
“Not mine.”
Madeline smiled.
“You are going to be a nightmare.”
“I know.”
His daughter kicked beneath his palm.
Adrian smiled.
Later that evening, he found Madeline in the nursery holding one of the antique restoration brushes he had given her during their first week of marriage.
“Why do you still have those?”
She looked offended.
“They’re mine.”
“You barely use them.”
“Because they’re too beautiful.”
“Objects are meant to be used.”
“Interesting coming from a man with a dining room nobody eats in.”
“We eat there now.”
“Because I forced you.”
He came behind her and rested his chin near her hair.
“You changed everything.”
Madeline went quiet.
“Do you regret it?”
He turned her gently.
“Do I regret you?”
“The marriage. The scandal. Losing half your old alliances. The investigations.”
Adrian looked at her as though the question were absurd.
“The day I walked into that shop, I thought I was solving a business problem.”
“And instead?”
“I met the first person who had ever looked at me without seeing something she wanted.”
“I wanted my store.”
He almost smiled.
“You hated me.”
“A lot.”
“You still married me.”
“You extorted me elegantly.”
His smile disappeared.
“I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
Madeline touched his face.
“I won’t.”
He frowned.
“I wish I’d had a choice then.”
She shook her head.
“I wish you’d been the man you are now.”
His eyes softened.
“That man did not exist.”
“No.”
She kissed him.
“But he does now.”
At 1:36 the next morning, Madeline woke with pain.
At first she thought it was a contraction.
She had been having irregular ones for days.
Then she stood.
The pain became sharp.
Too sharp.
“Adrian.”
He woke instantly.
One look at her face and he was out of bed.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
She took one step.
Then collapsed.
Adrian caught her.
“Madeline.”
Something warm spread across her nightgown.
Blood.
Adrian’s face went white.
“No.”
“Adrian…”
“Gabriel!”
The house exploded into movement.
An ambulance had already been stationed nearby during the final weeks, one of Adrian’s many excessive precautions Madeline had mocked.
She never mocked it again.
Within four minutes, paramedics were inside.
Within nine, they were moving.
Adrian rode beside her.
“Stay with me.”
“I’m here.”
Her face twisted in pain.
“Something’s wrong.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“No.”
He held her hand with both of his.
“You stay with me.”
The paramedic checked the monitor.
“Fetal heart rate is dropping.”
Adrian looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“We’re moving as fast as we can.”
“What does it mean?”
Madeline squeezed his hand.
“Stop scaring him.”
The paramedic almost laughed from pure nerves.
Adrian stared at his wife.
She was pale.
Sweating.
Still trying to protect everyone else from fear.
“I love you,” he said.
Madeline blinked.
He had said it before.
Privately.
Quietly.
Never like this.
Never as if the words were the only weapon he had left.
“I love you too.”
The ambulance doors opened at St. Catherine’s.
Everything became lights and voices.
“Possible placental abruption.”
“Thirty-nine weeks.”
“Prepare OR.”
Adrian tried to follow.
A nurse blocked him.
“You need to stay here.”
“No.”
“Mr. DeLuca—”
“I’m her husband.”
“We know.”
“She’s bleeding.”
“We know.”
“Then do something.”
“We are.”
The doors closed.
For the first time in his adult life, Adrian could not command the outcome.
He called doctors.
Security.
Hospital administration.
Anyone.
Nobody could tell him what he wanted.
That Madeline would live.
That his daughter would breathe.
At 2:07 a.m., he was pacing outside the maternity wing when Madeline screamed behind the locked doors.
Adrian slammed his hand against the wall.
“Get me a doctor!”
His voice tore through the hallway.
“Any doctor. I don’t care who. Get someone out here now.”
Two security men struggled behind him.
A nurse stepped into his path.
“Mr. DeLuca, you cannot go through those doors.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“My wife is in there.”
“So are six medical professionals. Move back.”
He stared at her.
She did not move.
“Mr. DeLuca,” she said quietly, “if you want to help your wife, stay out of our way.”
And suddenly Adrian was exactly where his story had begun.
Helpless.
Terrified.
Begging.
He sat down.
For eighteen minutes, Adrian DeLuca did something he had not done since his father died.
He prayed.
Not elegantly.
Not correctly.
He made promises to a God he was not certain he believed in.
Take the money.
Take the company.
Take the house.
Take the name.
Just not them.
Please.
Not them.
At 2:31 a.m., the delivery-room doors opened.
A doctor stepped into the hallway.
Her surgical mask was stained.
Adrian stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
The doctor looked at him.
“Mr. DeLuca…”
May you like
He stopped breathing.
And then, from somewhere behind the doors, a baby began to cry.
