"Move, Evelyn."

Her eyes hardened.

"You're not in a position to give me orders. Your attorney has explained the situation. The court is concerned about your ability to provide a stable home, and I am his closest maternal relative."

Roman looked past her.

Nicholas made a faint, strained sound.

It was no longer a full cry.

That frightened Roman more than anything else.

"Get away from the door."

Evelyn's composure cracked.

"Do you think you can simply take him back and pretend nothing happened? You have spent six months hiding behind armed men and locked gates. Claire would be ashamed of you."

Roman went still.

The name struck him exactly where she intended.

Evelyn leaned closer.

"Your men blocked the driveway the night my sister died. You ordered them to keep the main gate closed. You chose your criminal empire over her life, and now you intend to raise her son as though you deserve him."

Roman remembered rain on the gravel. A security guard shouting that the Moretti cars might be an ambush. The ambulance driver demanding a clear route.

He remembered giving the order to use the rear road.

Eleven minutes.

He could still hear the tires spinning.

For a fraction of a second, Evelyn saw the memory open in his face and mistook it for surrender.

She moved to close the car door.

Roman caught it with one hand.

"Don't."

"Roman—"

He stepped forward, and she retreated despite herself.

"Three seconds," he said. "That's how long you have to move before I have my security team escort you out of here and call the sheriff."

"You wouldn't dare."

"One."

Thomas straightened.

"Two."

Evelyn stepped aside.

Roman leaned into the car.

The heat struck his face. The leather burned beneath his fingers. He had never secured Nicholas in an infant carrier. He had never needed to. Nurses handled the equipment, drivers checked the straps, and other people made sure his son arrived safely wherever Roman's business required him to go.

Now his hands trembled against a plastic buckle.

"Come on, Nico," he whispered.

He pressed the release.

Nothing happened.

His breathing turned shallow.

"Come on."

The buckle clicked.

Roman slid one hand beneath his son's head and the other under his small body, lifting him into the sunlight.

Nicholas gave a weak cry and pressed his damp face against Roman's shirt.

The baby felt frighteningly hot.

Roman held him close, supporting his head with one broad palm. He could feel the tiny movements of his son's breathing against his chest.

"Get the car," he told Marco, who had appeared behind him with two members of the security team. "And get a physician here. Now."

Evelyn's voice followed him.

"This changes nothing. The court will hear about this."

Roman turned.

"No. The court will hear about what you did."

He walked away without waiting for her answer.

By the time he reached the main house, sweat had darkened the collar of his shirt. Nicholas was making small, exhausted sounds against his chest, and Roman could feel each one through the fabric.

Martha hurried from the kitchen with a damp cloth.

"Oh, Lord. What happened?"

"Call the doctor."

"Dr. Sterling is in Columbia until four."

"Then find another doctor."

Martha froze.

Roman's voice filled the hallway, echoing off the marble and plaster.

"Call every pediatrician in Charleston if you have to."

Nicholas stirred.

Roman immediately lowered his voice.

"Please," he whispered, looking down at the child. "Please, Nico."

The word surprised him.

He had issued orders all his life. He had threatened men who refused to obey him. He had watched powerful people negotiate, lie, and bargain for things they wanted.

But he had never pleaded with anyone as helpless as his son.

Rachel appeared at the foot of the stairs, Sophie beside her.

Sophie took one look at Nicholas and walked forward.

"He's too hot."

"Sophie, stay back," Rachel said.

The girl ignored her.

She stood between Roman's knees and held up her red plastic stethoscope.

"Move your hand."

Roman looked at her.

"What?"

"Your hand is covering his chest."

Nobody in the hallway moved.

Marco stared at the child. Martha pressed the damp cloth against her own apron. Rachel looked as though she wanted to scoop Sophie up and disappear through the nearest door.

Roman slowly moved his hand.

Sophie placed the plastic disc against Nicholas's chest.

She listened for several seconds, her brows knitted together.

"He's hot," she announced.

"I know."

"He needs his cold juice."

She pointed at the bottle on Martha's tray.

Rachel stepped forward.

"She means the oral rehydration solution, Mr. Bellini. But he needs a doctor immediately. We shouldn't try to treat him ourselves."

Roman looked at her.

"Then tell me what to do until the doctor gets here."

Rachel moved closer, her fear giving way to the practical calm that had carried her through years of raising Sophie alone.

"Take him to the coolest room. Keep him lightly dressed. Don't force him to drink if he's not fully alert. And have someone call emergency medical services now."

Roman turned to Marco.

"You heard her."

Marco was already reaching for his phone.

Rachel looked at Nicholas's face and felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The baby was awake, but his eyes seemed unfocused. His small mouth moved without producing much sound.

"Roman," she said, forgetting the formal address for the first time. "Stay with him. Let the doctors take care of the rest."

He stared at her.

She had never used his first name before.

For a moment, neither seemed to know what to do with the intimacy of it.

Then Nicholas made another small sound.

Roman bent his head over his son.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm right here."

Sophie sat cross-legged on the marble floor, her plastic stethoscope resting in her lap.

"See?" she said. "Now somebody's staying."

The emergency physician arrived twenty minutes later.

By then, Roman had moved Nicholas into the nursery, removed his own jacket, and sat beside the crib while the doctor examined him. He answered every question with clipped precision, except when asked how long the child had been inside the car.

"I don't know," he said.

The words tasted like failure.

The doctor continued the examination and arranged further monitoring. Nicholas needed careful assessment for heat-related illness and dehydration, but after treatment and observation, his condition improved.

Roman stayed beside him.

He did not answer his phone. He did not ask Marco for updates about Evelyn. He did not return to his study to finish reviewing the guardianship papers.

For three hours, he sat in the nursery with his son's tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers.

At some point, Nicholas fell asleep.

Roman remained where he was.

When he finally looked up, Rachel stood in the doorway holding a tray with two cups of coffee. Sophie had fallen asleep against her shoulder, her red stethoscope twisted around her neck.

"He's resting," Rachel whispered.

Roman nodded.

"Thank you."

Rachel looked at him for a long moment.

"You don't have to thank me for being here."

"Most people would disagree."

"Most people aren't raising a four-year-old."

He glanced at Sophie.

"She's unusual."

"She's stubborn."