When Labor Became My Prison

My consciousness was fading.

Elena was still standing there, her insults a distant buzz.

"If you weren't pregnant, Vittorio never would have married some nobody like you."

I tried to do what Dr. Russo said. I tried to use the pain. To bear down with every wave of fire that ripped through me.

But I had nothing left.

"Look at you now," Elena said, staring down at me. "Lying on the floor like a dead fish. Is this the high life you wanted?"

Suddenly, a new pain, worse than anything before, tore through my body.

The drugs were gone.

The baby was coming.

"Ahhh—" I screamed.

Elena rolled her eyes.

"Maria!" she yelled down the hall. "Get in here and look at this woman!"

A young nurse ran in. Her face went white when she saw me.

"Oh my God!" She knelt down to check. "The baby's head is crowning!"

"Then get it out of her," Elena said, her voice flat.

"But..." The nurse was crying now. "I'm not a midwife! She's hemorrhaging! With no tools, no medicine... they'll both die! I'll kill them both!"

Elena's eyes rested on me for a second, then she shrugged.

"Then that's her fate. She did this to herself."

She turned and walked to the door without a second glance. "I'm going to see the real heir being born. You watch her. Don't let her die too quick. It's still Vittorio's kid, after all."

The door closed.

It was just me and the terrified nurse.

"I... I don't know what to do," she cried. "I only know basic nursing."

Another contraction hit. I could feel the baby slipping.

"Help me," I grabbed her hand. "Please."

The nurse nodded, her own hands shaking.

She tried to help, but she had no idea what she was doing.

"Push!" she said.

But I had no strength left.

The blood loss was making the room spin.

"I can't—"

"You have to push!"

She started pulling in a way she thought was right, but it only made the pain worse.

The baby was stuck.

Seconds ticked by like hours.

Every one was agony.

I was about to pass out for good.

Then, I heard a massive crash.

BOOM!

The door was kicked off its hinges.

A team of men in black suits stormed in. They moved fast, disciplined, like soldiers.

The man in the lead was older, gray-haired, with a scarred face and eyes as sharp as a hawk's.

Luca.

My father's consigliere.

The moment he saw me in the pool of my own blood, his eyes went raw with fury.

"Sweet Mother of God..." he hissed, dropping to one knee beside me.

"Signora," his voice cracked. "We're too late."

"Luca—" I whispered.

"Don't talk. Save your strength." He turned to his men. "Marco! Get the medical team up here! Now!"

"Enzo! Secure the room!"

"Giuseppe! Lock down the hall!"

The nurse tried to run, but two men blocked her path.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "This is a Falcone family hospital! You can't just barge in here!"

Luca slowly stood up and turned to face her.

His eyes were ice.

"The Falcones?"

His voice was dangerously quiet. A chilling promise.

"After tonight, the Falcone family will be nothing but a memory in Chicago."