Chapter 28 - A Future Roman Could Not Control
Six months after the wedding, Clara woke Roman at four in the morning.
He sat upright instantly and reached for the gun in his nightstand.
“Someone’s inside?”
“No.”
“Fire?”
“No.”
“Leo?”
“Fine.”
“Adrian?”
“Fine.”
Roman stared at her.
“Then why are we awake?”
Clara held out a small white stick.
Roman looked at it.
Then at her.
Then back at it.
The most feared man in the city stopped functioning.
Clara tried not to laugh.
“Roman?”
Nothing.
“Say something.”
He blinked.
“You’re pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“My child.”
“That is generally how marriage works.”
Roman stood.
Sat down.
Stood again.
Clara finally laughed.
“You faced Salvatore Marcone with snipers on you.”
“This is different.”
“You said that before the wedding.”
“That was also different.”
He looked at her stomach.
There was nothing visible yet.
Still, he knelt.
Roman Duca, who once claimed men like him knelt for no one, placed both hands carefully against her waist.
Clara’s eyes filled.
“Are you happy?”
He looked up.
She saw terror.
Joy.
Disbelief.
All at once.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Her smile softened.
“Neither do I.”
“My father—”
“You are not your father.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“What if I become him without realizing?”
Clara touched his face.
“Then I’ll tell you.”
“Loudly?”
“Extremely.”
He laughed.
Then pressed his forehead against her stomach.
For the next eight months, Roman became unbearable.
He hired three obstetricians.
Clara fired two.
He installed additional handrails.
Clara threatened him.
He banned stairs.
She ignored him.
He ordered Marcus to reduce her work schedule.
Marcus wisely refused.
“He scares me,” Marcus told her, “but you scare me more.”
Adrian enjoyed every minute.
“Her blood pressure is perfect.”
“Check again.”
“I checked five minutes ago.”
“Things change.”
“Roman.”
“What?”
“Leave my clinic.”
Roman did not.
When Clara’s first contraction came, Roman was in a business meeting.
Marcus watched him receive her call.
Roman’s face drained of color.
He stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
“The baby.”
Every executive jumped up.
Roman pointed at them.
“Why are you standing?”
Nobody knew.
He drove to Sofia House under police escort he definitely had not requested.
Clara labored for eleven hours.
Roman stayed beside her.
At hour nine, she threatened to break his hand.
“At least you’re distracted,” he said.
She almost killed him.
Then, just before dawn, their daughter was born.
Tiny.
Furious.
Perfect.
The nurse placed her in Roman’s arms.
He froze.
“What do I do?”
Clara, exhausted, smiled.
“Hold her.”
“I am.”
“Breathe.”
Roman looked down.
Their daughter opened dark eyes.
Her fingers wrapped around one of his.
Roman’s entire face changed.
Tears filled his eyes.
Clara had seen him shot.
Bleeding.
Raging.
Commanding rooms full of killers.
Nothing had ever made him look as defenseless as seven pounds of newborn baby.
“What’s her name?” the nurse asked.
Roman looked at Clara.
They had already decided.
“Sofia Catherine Duca.”
Catherine cried when she heard.
Adrian cried privately and denied it.
Leo did not bother denying anything.
Marcus arrived carrying flowers and stood awkwardly at the door.
Roman held the baby closer.
Marcus smiled.
“Boss.”
Roman looked down at his daughter.
“No.”
Marcus frowned.
“No what?”
Roman smiled.
“Not Boss.”
He looked toward Clara.
Then Sofia.
May you like
“Not in here.”
And for the first time in his life, Roman Duca had a room where power meant nothing.
