Chapter 1 - THE LATE-NIGHT SUMMONS AT ST. CATHERINE’S
The stark, fluorescent lighting of St. Catherine’s Hospital cast a cold, clinical glow across the polished linoleum floor of the fourth-floor maternity wing. Outside, the city of Chicago lay buried beneath a heavy midnight rain, but inside the corridor, the silence was thick, broken only by the low hum of medical monitors and the soft hum of the ventilation system.
The double doors at the end of the hall swung open with a sharp, forceful push.
Striding down the center of the corridor was Grant Waverly, forty, the newly crowned head of the formidable Waverly crime syndicate. Tall, dark-haired, and imposing, Grant wore a tailored black Italian suit over a dark silk shirt, his coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal the subtle outline of a leather shoulder holster. His sharp jawline was tightly set, his dark eyes burning with suspicion as he swept the empty hallway with a practiced, predatory gaze. He was a man who ruled his territory with iron control, unused to being summoned anywhere without a full security detail—let alone a quiet suburban hospital at 1:30 a.m.
As Grant reached the middle of the wing, an older maternity nurse stepped out from behind a nurse’s station, blocking his path directly in front of Room 418.
It was June Harper, fifty-six, a senior nurse with streak-grey brown hair tied back in a neat bun. Wearing a pristine white-and-blue uniform, June looked exhausted, her face lined with tension, but her eyes held a steady, unyielding defiance that made Grant stop dead in his tracks.
"You called me?" Grant asked, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that carried a subtle, dangerous edge.
June didn't shrink back. She took one step closer to him, her eyes darting briefly toward the closed wooden door of Room 418 before locking onto his face.
"Yes," June whispered, her breath visible in the cool air of the hall. "Your ex-wife is inside."
Grant’s hands clinched into tight fists at his sides. The mention of Mara—the woman who had vanished seven months prior after his mother and inner council publicly accused her of selling family operational routes to rival syndicates—sent a surge of dark, conflicting emotion through his chest.
"She has no right to use my name here," Grant muttered coldly, turning as if to walk away.
June reached out, her fingers brushing the dark wool of his suit sleeve to hold him in place.
May you like
"She didn't use your name, Grant," June lowered her voice to an urgent, raspy whisper. "She came here six hours ago... in labor."
Grant froze entirely. Every muscle in his broad frame went rigid as the word hung in the sterile air between them.
