Chapter 165 Chapter 165

Chapter 165 Chapter 165
"It was a good night, Nikolai," I whispered, turning my face slightly to press a kiss against his dark jaw. "Your family loves you. They love what we're doing here." He remained silent for a long moment, his dark eyes staring out over the vast, open water.
"They don't just love what we're doing, Isla," he said softly, his thumb gently tracing a slow circle over my silk-covered abdomen. "They know that as long as you are safe, this family will never fall."

He turned me around gently in his arms, framing my face with his massive hands. His pitch-black eyes burned with that fierce, unshakeable devotion that had anchored my world from the moment I entered his life. "You gave them hope, Isal" he whispered, his voice a deep, rough vibration that settled straight into my heart. "And you gave me a future."

"We gave it to each other, husband," I whispered back, stepping closer, closing the small distance between us to capture his lips in a slow, deep, possessive kiss that tasted of rich wine, cool night air, and absolute, eternal devotion.
“Be prepared because the Valerius family will be descending tomorrow” I said with a smile and he groaned. “If Liz tries anything, your cousin will find herself on a jet back to london” he growled and I couldn’t help but laugh.

The quiet whir of the ultrasound monitor was the only sound inside the private medical room located on the third level of the estate. The room had been transformed over the last three weeks under Nikolai’s direct supervision and Liz’s constant intrusion. What used to be a secondary office was now a state-of-the-art medical clinic, outfitted with the latest diagnostic technology, imported surgical lighting, and direct satellite encryption back to Boston. It was sterile, quiet, and detached from the bustling life of the floors below.

I lay on the cushioned examination table, a white paper sheet draped neatly over my lap. The cool gel against my lower stomach sent a faint shiver through my spine, but I didn't move an inch. To my right, Dr. Evelyn Wynn sat on a low rolling stool, her eyes fixed intently on the high-definition monitor. To my left was Nikolai.
He looked like a monument carved out of black granite. His shoulders squared, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line. He hadn't sat down since we entered the room. His left hand was wrapped around my right, his grip was so fierce and intense that his knuckles were white. His eyes alternated rapidly between my face and the black-and-grey screen, his breathing  was heavy and measured.

He was terrified. He didn't express it with words or gestures, Nikolai Ferro didn't register fear like ordinary men. But I could read the sharp, tension humming  through his blood. We were at the twelve-week mark, the end of the crucial third month. Today was the first official high-resolution scan. For a man whose entire life was built on absolute physical control and tactical certainty, handing over his wife’s well-being to tiny cell divisions was an agony he couldn't beat into submission.

"Everything looks exceptionally stable, Madam Ferro," Dr. Wynn said smoothly, her voice a welcome anchor of professional calm as she moved the transducer probe across my abdomen. "Uterine tone is perfect, fluid levels are ideal, and development is right on target for twelve weeks and two days." Nikolai’s grip on my hand tightened by another fraction of an inch. "Is the baby safe?" he asked, his voice tight and flat, leaving zero room for vague medical jargon. "Is she in any danger?"

"No danger whatsoever, Mr. Ferro," Dr. Wynn answered calmly, adjusting a dial on her control board. "Your wife is in peak physical condition. In fact, if you listen closely right now..." Dr. Wynn flipped a switch on the audio interface. Suddenly, the silent room was filled with a rapid, rhythmic, thunderous sound, a fast, hollow, galloping beat that echoed off the white walls like a miniature war drum.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
The sound was loud, clear, and utterly ferocious. Nikolai froze. The air sucked out of his chest in a sharp, audible gasp. His  eyes locked onto the monitor as Dr. Wynn pointed a gloved finger toward a tiny, distinct shape nestled safely within the dark, warm outline on the screen. A tiny heart, beating at one hundred and fifty-five beats per minute. The rigid, territorial tension that had held Nikolai’s shoulders hostage for three months snapped like thin glass.

His eyes widened slightly, the depth softening into a profound, unshielded shock that I had never seen on his face before. He stared at the monitor, his chest heaving as the rapid, rhythmic beat filled the sterile air. He looked like a man who had spent his entire life staring into the dark, only to be struck blind by a sudden, blinding flash of pure light. "That's..." he rasped, his voice cracking slightly, a raw, rare break in a voice that had only ever issued commands of death and dominion. "That's the baby?"

"That is your child's heartbeat, Mr. Ferro ," Dr. Wynn said softly, a small, respectful smile on her face as she lowered the audio volume slightly so the beat remained a steady, soothing background rhythm. "Strong, perfectly rhythmic, and thriving." Nikolai didn't look at Dr. Wynn . He didn't look at the control board. Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered his heavy gaze from the screen down to me.

I looked up at him, my eyes shining with bright, unshed tears, my smile soft, radiant, and completely unreserved. I reached up with my free hand, touching the side of his neck, feeling the sudden, rapid pulse thudding beneath his skin.
"It's our baby, Nikolai," I whispered, my voice rich with deep, undeniable truth. "Our heart." he sank down onto his knees beside the examination table.

The Don of Riverside, the man before whom international cartels trembled and corporate directors bowed, knelt on the cold tile floor beside my bed. He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a long, hard, trembling kiss against my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. He released my hand gently and brought both of his palms to my abdomen, cupping my lower stomach with a delicate, trembling reverence that brought tears spilling over my eyelashes.

His hands, hands that had snapped bones, held weapons, and signed orders that reshaped global trade now rested over our growing child like an impenetrable iron vault. "I hear you," he said,his forehead dipping down to rest flat against my lower stomach, right above where the tiny heart was beating on the monitor. His voice was a deep, gravelly vibration that passed straight through my skin. "I hear you, little one."

A profound, breathtaking stillness settled over my heart. The irrational shadow of jealousy that had plagued him for twelve weeks, the dark, primitive fear that our child was a rival coming to claim pieces of my heart, vanished entirely into the air of the clinic.