"The mafia boss ordered his men to silence his screaming newborn, but when a waitress finally took the baby into her arms, he heard her whisper a name that made his blood run cold.

The safe room slammed shut, sealing them in reinforced steel and concrete. The muffled sounds of gunfire still echoed faintly through the thick walls.

Sophie sat on the emergency cot, holding Julian close, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Dominic stood by the door, monitoring the security feeds on a wall-mounted tablet. Suddenly, he let out a low hiss of pain, pressing a hand against his left side.

Sophie noticed red blood pooling through his crisp white shirt.

“You’re hit,” she said, her nursing instincts immediately kicking in.

“It’s just a graze,” Dominic grunted. “Stay put.”

“I’m a nurse, Dominic. Sit down!”

Her voice had that same unyielding authority she used at the restaurant. Dominic looked at her, surprised, but submitted, sitting on the cot beside her.

Sophie carefully laid Julian in a secure travel bassinet on the floor, then turned to Dominic. She ripped open his shirt, revealing a nasty bullet graze along his ribs. Blood was flowing heavily.

She grabbed the emergency first-aid kit from the wall. Her hands, which used to shake at the sight of medical supplies, were steady now. She sanitized the wound, applied pressure, and expertly wrapped his torso in tight gauge.

Dominic watched her hands work. As she finished, she looked up, her face inches from his.

“You could have run,” Dominic whispered, his dark eyes searching hers. “When the bombs went off, you could have tried to escape.”

“I’m not leaving this baby,” Sophie said fiercely. “And I’m not leaving you.”