Chapter 3 - Inside the Fortress
The Corsetti estate was a sprawling, stone fortress situated on fifty acres of heavily guarded forest outside the city limits. Surrounded by twelve-foot iron fences, security towers, and patrolling guards with attack dogs, it felt less like a home and more like a gilded prison.
When the sleek black limousine pulled up to the main entrance, Serena stepped out into the grand foyer. High ceilings, marble floors, and oil paintings of stern-faced Corsetti ancestors lined the walls.
At the top of the sweeping grand staircase stood Vincent Corsetti.
He had changed into a clean black shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark tattoos of Latin scriptures and crests stretching down his wrists. He looked formidable, breathtakingly handsome, and intensely dangerous.
"You came," Vincent said, walking down the stairs with slow, deliberate steps.
"I came for the baby," Serena corrected, adjusting her small canvas bag over her shoulder. "Where is he?"
Vincent led her through a security door into a state-of-the-art medical nursery equipped with incubators, heart monitors, and two full-time pediatric nurses.
In the center of the room, inside a heated bassinet, little Lucas was squirming frantically, his face red, letting out high-pitched, exhausted whimpers. The two nurses were nervously trying to bottle-feed him, but the infant kept pushing the nipple away, his breathing ragged.
"He hasn't taken any milk since he arrived," Vincent said, his voice laced with suppressed anxiety. "The doctors want to insert a feeding tube."
"No," Serena said immediately, stepping past the nurses. "He's overwhelmed. Look at these lights."
Without waiting for permission, Serena walked over and dimmed the harsh overhead fluorescent lights, leaving only the soft warm glow of a small corner lamp. She turned off the loud digital heart monitor alarm, turning down the volume to a gentle hum.
She washed her hands thoroughly at the sink, warmed her palms under the hot water, and stepped up to the bassinet.
"May I?" she asked, looking up at Vincent.
Vincent nodded once.
Serena gently lifted the tiny boy into her arms, wrapping him tightly in a soft flannel blanket—swaddling him so his arms were pinned securely against his chest. She pressed his small head right against the hollow of her neck, right over her beating heart, and began to sway back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm.
She closed her eyes and began to hum softly—a quiet, mournful lullaby her mother Eleanor used to sing to her and Samuel on rainy nights in South Chicago.
Within two minutes, the baby’s frantic whimpers began to slow.
His tiny fingers relaxed, clutching at the fabric of Serena’s sweater. His ragged breathing smoothed out, matching the steady rhythm of Serena’s heart. Five minutes later, Serena picked up the warm bottle of milk from the counter and offered it to the infant. Lucas latched on instantly, drinking hungrily.
The two nurses stared in absolute amazement.
Vincent stood by the wall, watching the scene in complete, stunned silence. The harsh, brutal lines of his face softened as he looked at Serena holding his son. The sight of this quiet, delicate girl calming the storm in his baby’s chest stirred something deep and forgotten inside his chest.
"How did you do that?" Vincent asked softly, stepping closer.
"He was scared," Serena whispered, not taking her eyes off the baby. "He lost his mother an hour after he was born. He didn't need doctors yelling over him. He just needed to feel safe."
Vincent looked down at his son, then reached out a massive, calloused hand, gently touching the baby’s tiny forehead. His fingers brushed against Serena’s hand, sending a sudden, electric shock through her body.
Serena looked up, her dark eyes meeting his grey ones. For a second, the space between them seemed to shrink, heavy with unspoken tension.
"My wife... Maria," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a raspy confession, "it was an arranged marriage between two families. There was no love between us, but she gave her life for this boy. I don't know how to be a father, Serena. I only know how to fight wars."
"Then learn," Serena said softly, but firmly. "For his sake. He doesn't need a Don, Mr. Corsetti. He needs a dad."
Vincent swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Call me Vincent."
May you like
Before Serena could reply, the thick oak door of the nursery burst open. Marco Rossi stepped inside, his face pale and grim.
"Boss," Marco barked. "We have a problem. The Moretti family just struck our shipment at the docks. Three of our men are dead. And old man Moretti sent a message... he knows the baby survived."
