Roman’s security team moved with frightening speed.
Within two minutes, both doors to the first-class car were secured.
Passengers were told there was a mechanical issue.
No one believed it.
Especially after two men in dark suits began quietly checking every compartment.
I sat inside the private cabin holding Jude while Matteo and Gabriel slept in their stroller.
Roman stood near the window, speaking into a secure phone.
“Change the route.”
A voice answered through the speaker too quietly for me to hear.
“No,” Roman said. “Union Station is burned. We get off before Washington.”
He listened.
“Use Alexandria.”
Another pause.
“And get the pediatric team there.”
I stared at him.
“You have a pediatric team?”
Roman covered the phone.
“I have three premature newborns.”
That was apparently explanation enough.
He returned to the call.
I looked down at Jude.
His cheeks were pinker now.
His breathing had steadied.
For several minutes, the fear surrounding Roman Vale stopped mattering.
There was only a baby in my arms.
Then Salvatore entered.
“The men from Baltimore are gone.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“Gone where?”
“Off the train.”
“At what stop?”
“They jumped off when we slowed near Bowie.”
Roman’s expression darkened.
“That means they were scouts.”
I didn’t understand.
Roman noticed.
“They weren’t here to attack us,” he explained. “They were confirming where we were.”
My stomach tightened.
“So someone else is waiting.”
“Yes.”
That should have been the moment I demanded to leave.
Instead, Jude stirred.
Then cried.
My body answered him almost immediately.
Roman looked away while I fed him again.
The gesture surprised me.
A man with his reputation, his money, his power—and yet he gave me more privacy than half the strangers I had encountered while nursing Lily in public.
“Why won’t you go to a hospital?” I asked.
“I already told you.”
“Because of Kincaid.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds insane.”
“It is.”
“Then why are you meeting him?”
Roman stared out the window.
“Because war is worse.”
I waited.
He sighed.
“Silas Kincaid runs a network from Baltimore down through Virginia. For years we stayed out of each other’s territory.”
“And now?”
“Elena’s death made him think I was distracted.”
“You are distracted.”
Roman looked at me.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“He wants control of three East Coast ports,” Roman continued. “If I refuse, he starts attacking my businesses.”
“Businesses?”
“Some legal.”
“And the others?”
His mouth almost curved.
“You ask dangerous questions.”
“I’m sitting on a train with a suspected mob boss while breastfeeding his newborn son. I think we passed dangerous fifteen minutes ago.”
Salvatore coughed, perhaps hiding a laugh.
Roman looked at him.
Salvatore immediately became expressionless.
But I saw it.
So did Roman.
For one strange moment, the impossible tension in the cabin cracked.
Then Roman’s phone buzzed.
His face changed.
He answered.
“Kincaid.”
I couldn’t hear the other man.
Roman’s eyes went cold.
“No.”
Another pause.
“No, you do not speak her name.”
He turned slightly away from us.
“If you come near my sons, there will be nowhere on this coast your people can hide.”
The response on the other end must have been ugly.
Roman’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Try.”
He ended the call.
The silence afterward felt dangerous.
“What did he say?” I asked.
Roman didn’t answer.
Salvatore did.
“He claimed Elena owed him something.”
Roman spun around.
“Enough.”
But I had already heard.
“Elena knew him?”
Roman’s expression was unreadable.
“Years ago.”
“How?”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
I looked down at Jude.
“Maybe not.”
I hated how much that answer bothered me.
Less than an hour ago, these people were strangers.
Now I was involved in a feud that sounded like something from a crime documentary.
The train slowed.
Salvatore checked his watch.
“Seven minutes.”
Roman turned to me.
“There will be vehicles waiting at Alexandria. You’ll come with us until the boys are examined.”
“I need to get to Washington.”
“Claire.”
“I have a job interview.”
“I’ll pay you.”
My head snapped up.
Roman’s tone changed immediately.
“That sounded wrong.”
“It did.”
“I meant I’ll compensate you for missing the interview.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“You told me you were traveling for work.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m for sale.”
He stared.
Again, I had the strange feeling Roman Vale was not used to anyone speaking to him that way.
Finally, he nodded.
“Fair.”
I adjusted Jude’s blanket.
“But your sons need food.”
“Yes.”
“And until we know what’s wrong…”
I hesitated.
“I’ll stay for a little while.”
Roman’s face softened.
“Thank you.”
We left the train through a restricted platform entrance.
Three black SUVs waited outside.
No plates.
Dark windows.
Men with earpieces surrounded us.
I should have been terrified.
Instead, I was carrying Gabriel while Roman held Jude and Salvatore carried Matteo.
The ridiculous normality of three exhausted adults trying not to wake babies almost made me laugh.
The convoy moved through Alexandria and into a gated property overlooking the Potomac.
The house was enormous.
Not flashy.
Worse.
Quiet wealth.
Stone walls.
Security cameras.
Iron gates.
Men stationed at every entrance.
Inside waited two pediatricians, a neonatal nurse, and enough medical equipment to outfit a small clinic.
The babies were examined immediately.
Dehydrated, but not dangerously.
No infections.
No respiratory problems.
No structural issues.
One doctor finally said what everyone suspected.
“They may be rejecting formula because of feeding transition and stress.”
Roman stared at her.
“Stress?”
“They’ve lost their mother. Newborns respond to scent, warmth, heartbeat, familiarity.”
His face tightened.
“So what do we do?”
She glanced toward me.
“For the short term, if Ms. Bennett is willing and medically cleared, breast milk may help.”
Roman looked at me.
I looked at Roman.
“No pressure,” he said immediately.
That surprised me more than anything.
The doctor added, “We can also use screened donor milk.”
“Use that,” I said.
Roman nodded.
But when the donor milk arrived, Jude refused the bottle.
Then Matteo.
Then Gabriel.
The nurse tried syringes.
Different nipples.
Different temperatures.
The crying started again.
Roman paced the room.
I watched for almost ten minutes.
Finally, I picked up Jude.
“Come here, stubborn little man.”
He latched almost immediately.
Roman stopped pacing.
The doctor looked thoughtful.
“He may be responding to direct nursing and comfort, not only the milk.”
That night, I called my mother.
“You’re where?” she asked.
I looked around the luxurious guest room.
“At a private residence.”
“With who?”
I closed my eyes.
“Roman Vale.”
Silence.
Then my mother said, “Claire Anne Bennett, get out.”
“I can’t.”
“You absolutely can.”
“Mom, there are three newborns.”
“There are three newborns attached to a man rumored to bury people in New Jersey marshes!”
“Those are rumors.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
I lowered my voice.
“The babies need help.”
“And Lily needs you.”
That hit hard.
I looked at the photograph of my daughter on my phone.
“I know.”
My mother softened.
“Come home.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I believed it when I said it.
Then someone knocked.
Roman stood outside my room.
No jacket.
No tie.
He looked exhausted.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Kincaid sent something.”
He handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
My blood went cold.
It was me.
Getting off the train in Alexandria.
Someone had circled my face in red.
On the back were five words.
WE KNOW WHO FEEDS THEM NOW.
My hands started shaking.
Roman took the photograph from me.
“I’m sorry.”
“You said this place was secure.”
“It is.”
“They photographed me.”
“Before you reached the property.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Kincaid knows you matter.”
“I don’t matter.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“To the boys, you do.”
The implications hit me all at once.
My mother.
My apartment.
Lily.
“Oh God.”
Roman seemed to know exactly where my mind had gone.
“Your mother and daughter are safe.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I sent people.”
“You sent armed men to my mother’s home?”
“Outside it.”
“Without asking me?”
“I didn’t have time.”
Anger cut through my fear.
“You do not get to put my family under surveillance.”
“I am protecting them.”
“You brought this danger into my life!”
Roman flinched.
That stopped me.
Not because he was angry.
Because he looked guilty.
“You’re right,” he said.
No argument.
No intimidation.
Just those two words.
“You helped my sons. And now Kincaid has noticed you.”
He looked toward the hallway where the babies slept.
“I will fix it.”
“How?”
Roman’s face changed.
For a second, I saw the man behind the headlines.
The man enemies feared.
“Kincaid wanted proof I still had something to lose.”
His voice became quiet.
“Now he has it.”
I stepped closer.
“And what does that mean?”
“It means I stop negotiating.”
A chill ran through me.
“No.”
Roman looked at me.
“If you start a war, your sons could lose you too.”
His expression froze.
I don’t think anyone had said that to him.
Maybe no one had dared.
“Roman,” I whispered, “you have three babies upstairs who already lost one parent.”
He looked away.
“You don’t get to make them orphans because you’re angry.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then a baby cried from the nursery.
Roman closed his eyes.
Jude.
He knew them by sound already.
So did I.
Roman turned toward the stairs.
The crime boss disappeared.
The father returned.
And that was the first time I realized something that would change everything.
Roman Vale’s greatest weakness wasn’t me.
It wasn’t his empire.
It wasn’t his enemies.
It was love.
And Silas Kincaid had just made the mistake of threatening it.
---