Chapter 7 - The Fever Night
The storm broke over the Atlantic just past midnight, lashing sheets of torrential rain against the reinforced glass of the east wing.
Elise was pacing the floor of the nursery, her heart hammering against her ribs. Rosie was burning up with a terrifying, sudden fever. The little girl’s skin felt like a hot coal, her cheeks flushed a bright, unnatural crimson, whimpering in her sleep as small, shallow breaths escaped her lips.
Elise had already called the estate physician, but the doctor was stranded on the mainland due to a flash flood washing out the coastal access bridge.
She soaked a small washcloth in cool water from the bathroom basin, gently pressing it against Rosie’s forehead. The little girl stirred, crying softly.
"Shh, baby, I've got you," Elise whispered, blinking back hot tears of helplessness.
Suddenly, the nursery door pushed open.
Vincent stood in the doorway. He was wearing a black silk robe loosely tied at the waist, his hair slightly disheveled, looking as though he hadn't slept a wink. The moment he saw Rosie’s flushed face and heard her weak whimpers, the last vestiges of his composure shattered.
"What's wrong with her?" Vincent demanded, striding across the room in three long strides, his voice sharp with panic.
"A spike in fever," Elise said, trying to keep her own voice steady. "Her temperature is dangerously high. The doctor can't cross the bridge because of the flood."
Vincent dropped to his knees beside the cot, ignoring the pristine white rug. He gently touched Rosie’s cheek with the back of his large, calloused hand. The cold, unflinching mafia boss was trembling.
"Get my medical bag from the master suite," Vincent ordered, his voice cracking slightly. "Top shelf of the walk-in closet. Silver case with a cipher lock—code is 4-1-2."
Elise didn't hesitate. She bolted out of the room, running down the dark corridor toward Vincent’s private quarters. When she returned two minutes later with the heavy silver case, Vincent was holding Rosie in his arms, rocking her against his broad chest, murmuring broken Italian endearments that sounded foreign and deeply tender coming from his lips.
"Code," Vincent prompted, holding out a shaking hand.
Elise punched in the numbers—4-1-2—and the latches clicked open. Inside sat pediatric antipyretics, sterile syringes, and medical supplies.
Working with practiced precision, Vincent administered the correct dosage, his hands steadying the moment he had a task to perform. For the next two hours, neither of them moved.
They sat together on the floor beside Rosie’s cot as the storm raged outside. Vincent held his daughter cradled against his heart while Elise applied cool compresses to the little girl’s wrists and neck.
By three in the morning, Rosie’s breathing had finally deepened, her fever breaking in a light sweat.
The tension in Vincent’s broad shoulders slowly unspooled. He let out a long, shuddering breath, resting his forehead gently against Rosie’s dark curls.
"She's going to be okay," Elise whispered, her voice cracking with exhaustion. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
Vincent turned his head, looking at Elise through the dim amber light of the bedside lamp. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek, wiping away the tear she had just shed.
His thumb lingered on her skin, warm and calloused, tracing the curve of her jawline.
"You didn't run," Vincent said quietly, his voice like velvet in the quiet room. "When the sniper fired through the window yesterday, when my brother threatened you at dinner, when my daughter fell sick... you stayed."
"I told you," Elise whispered, unable to look away from his dark, hypnotic eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."
Vincent leaned in slowly, the space between them vanishing until Elise could feel the heat radiating from his chest. When his lips brushed against hers, it wasn't a demand or a calculated move; it was a desperate, long-overdue surrender to a feeling he had tried for a year to bury.
May you like
Elise’s breath hitched, her hand rising instinctively to grip the lapel of his silk robe as she kissed him back, pouring every ounce of the fierce, unyielding emotion that had kept her in this dark, dangerous house into the embrace.
In that moment, locked inside the nursery while the storm battered the coast, Elise knew she was completely, irrevocably lost.
