Chapter 40: The Tour
The private maternity ward at Mount Sinai smelled like antiseptic and fresh linens, the kind of clean that made every sound feel sharper—the soft beep of monitors down the hall, the quiet squeak of nurses’ shoes on polished tile, the low murmur of voices behind closed doors. We arrived at dawn, before visiting hours, before the hospital woke up fully. Marcus had cleared the floor with the admin; only our people were here now. Security in scrubs, techs in plain clothes pretending to check wiring, snipers on the roof disguised as maintenance.
Bella walked ahead of me, hand resting lightly on her stomach, eyes scanning every corner like she was memorizing it for a fight. She hadn’t slept much. Neither had I. The photo of the incubator sat heavy between us, a promise we
