Chapter 2 - Sanctuary in the Iron TowerThe Callaway penthouse occupied the top three floors of a reinforced concrete monolith overlooking Lake Michigan. It was a fortress of steel, bulletproof glass, and absolute control.
Dela lay resting on a massive velvet sofa in the private study while Dr. Miriam Vance, a trusted family physician who asked no questions, finished checking her vitals.
"The baby has a strong heartbeat," Dr. Vance said, packing away her stethoscope and offering Dela a reassuring smile. "She’s resilient. But you need complete rest, zero stress, and proper nourishment. The bruising on your ribs and wrist will take a week to heal."
Royce stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city lights blur behind sheets of cold autumn rain. When the doctor left the room, the heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet expanse of the penthouse.
"You shouldn't have brought me here," Dela said softly, pulling a heavy cashmere blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Cordelia Vance’s father is on the city council. Her husband’s firm handles the municipal bonds. If you make an enemy of them for a pregnant waitress—"
"I don't make enemies of people like the Vances, Dela," Royce turned slowly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a burning intensity that made her pulse race. "I eradicate them."
Dela swallowed hard, remembering the streets she had run from four years ago. "I thought you didn't remember me. That night behind the docks... it was a lifetime ago."
"People like me don't forget faces, Dela," Royce said, walking slowly toward her and stopping just feet away. He looked down at the pale scar on her forearm—the exact mark left behind during a night of syndicate crossfire she had narrowly escaped. "When you vanished from the district, I spent six months looking for you. Then you reappeared as a nameless face hiding behind a hotel uniform in my own building. Why didn't you come to me?"
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"Because your world is a graveyard, Royce!" she flashed back, a sudden spike of fear and pride driving her upright. "I wanted a normal life. I wanted to raise my child away from blood debts, guns, and men who settle arguments with concrete shoes!"
Royce didn't flinch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, bringing himself to her eye level. "And how is that normal life working out for you? Getting thrown into a mirror by a spoiled socialite who thought she could treat you like trash because you were wearing an apron?" He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "You tried to run from the fire, Dela. But you're carrying my child now. And nobody touches what belongs to a Callaway."
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