SHE MUST BE MINE.

episode 16:The Healer's Reign

The sun barely crested the city skyline as Sophia stepped into St. Mary’s Hospital, the familiar antiseptic scent hitting her like a wave of memory. The chaos she once knew—gunshot victims bleeding out, understaffed nurses scrambling—had been tamed, replaced by a quiet hum of order. Vincenzo’s overhaul was evident: security guards in crisp uniforms patrolled the entrances, new equipment gleamed in the ER, and the staff—some familiar, some hand-picked by him—moved with a purpose she hadn’t seen before. It was hers now, a kingdom he’d built for her, and today was her first day as its queen.

She wore scrubs again, the fabric loose over her barely-there bump, a stethoscope around her neck like a badge of honor. Vincenzo trailed her, a shadow in his tailored coat, his eyes scanning every corner despite the fortress he’d made this place. “You don’t have to hover,” she said, adjusting a clipboard at the nurse’s station, her voice teasing but firm. “It’s safe. You made sure of that.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Can’t help it,” he replied, his tone low, warm. “You’re carrying my kid, running my hospital. I’m allowed to stare.” His hand brushed her lower back, a fleeting claim, and she rolled her eyes, though heat crept up her neck—she’d never tire of that look, possessive yet proud.

The day unfolded in a blur—patients streamed in, minor cases mostly: a kid with a broken arm, an elderly woman with chest pain. Sophia moved between them, her hands steady as she stitched, diagnosed, comforted, the rhythm of healing grounding her. The staff watched her, some wary, some awed—a nurse turned boss, Vincenzo Ricci’s wife—but she met their gazes with quiet authority, proving she belonged. “Keep the IV steady,” she directed a new hire, her voice calm, and the nurse nodded, quick to obey.

Vincenzo lingered, a silent sentinel, his presence a comfort she wouldn’t admit. Midday, a man stumbled in—disheveled, clutching his side, blood seeping through his shirt. Sophia’s pulse spiked, old instincts flaring, but the guards intercepted him, frisking him before she could blink. “Clean wound,” one reported, and she relaxed—knife, not gun, no threat. She stitched him up, her hands swift, Vincenzo’s eyes on her the whole time, a mix of worry and admiration.

By afternoon, she took a break in her new office—a small space he’d carved out, a desk piled with charts, a window overlooking the ER. He followed, closing the door, and she sank into the chair, exhaling. “It’s different,” she said, rubbing her neck. “Good different. I feel… useful again.”

He knelt before her, his hands on her knees, his gaze soft but intense. “You’re more than useful,” he said, his voice rough with feeling. “You’re everything—this place, us, the baby. I’d burn it all down to keep you happy.” His fingers slid up her thighs, a gentle tease, and she laughed, pulling him up to kiss him—slow, deep, tasting coffee and him.

The moment broke when a nurse knocked, urgent. “Car accident—two incoming, critical.” Sophia stood, adrenaline surging, and Vincenzo stepped back, nodding. “Go save lives,” he said, pride in his eyes, and she did—leading the team, barking orders, her hands steady as she intubated one, stemmed bleeding on the other. The chaos was hers to command, and she thrived, the hospital bending to her will.

Night fell, and they drove back to the estate, her head resting on his shoulder, exhaustion tugging at her. “You were incredible,” he murmured, his hand on her belly, feeling the life they’d made. “My fighter, my healer.” She smiled, lacing her fingers with his, the day’s weight lifting in his warmth.

At home, they curled up, her body pressed to his, his promises whispered against her skin—“I’ll always keep you safe, you and our little one”—and she drifted off, content, her hospital hers, their future bright.