Chapter 9 - Midnight Fever and Domestic Grace
The heavy mahogany doors of the townhouse closed behind us, cutting off the lingering buzz of the gala and plunging the foyer into blessed, protective silence. I kicked off my high heels with a sharp sigh of relief, letting my velvet evening wrap slide down my arms onto the bench.
"You handled Vance brilliantly back there," Romano said, loosening his black tie and tossing it onto the console table as he followed me inside. "I think you left him speechless for the first time in twenty years."
"He deserved it," I murmured, rubbing my aching feet against the cool hardwood floor. "Though I think my feet are going to mutiny after two hours in those designer shoes."
Before I could take another step, a sharp, frantic cough echoed down the second-floor hallway, followed by a soft, tearful whimper.
My heart seized in my chest. Lily.
Without another word, I bolted up the grand staircase, my velvet gown bunched up in my hands. Romano was right behind me, his long strides eating up the steps in seconds. When we pushed open the door to Lily’s bedroom, we found her sitting up in her pink canopy bed, flushed and shivering under a mountain of blankets.
"Mommy," she sobbed, her small hands clutching her chest. "My throat hurts so bad."
I rushed to her bedside, pressing the back of my hand against her forehead. Her skin was burning hot. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. "Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up. Let me get a cold cloth—"
"Stay with her," Romano’s voice interrupted, steady and commanding. He was already rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing the dark tattoos looping around his forearms. "I'll handle the fever protocol."
Before I could argue, Romano disappeared down the hall toward the master bath. Within minutes, he returned with a basin of cool water, a stack of clean washcloths, and a digital thermometer from the medical cabinet. There was no hesitation in his movements, no awkwardness—just the calm, efficient focus of a man who had weathered crises far worse than a childhood fever.
He sat gently on the edge of Lily’s mattress, speaking to her in a low, soothing tone that immediately stopped her crying. "Hey there, kiddo. We’re going to cool you down, okay? It's just a little bug. Nothing your mom and I can't handle."
As Romano expertly dabbed her forehead with the cool cloth and administered the pediatric dose of medicine he’d retrieved from his immaculate supply kit, I watched him from the bedside chair. The cold, dangerous corporate strategist from the ballroom had vanished, replaced by a man who treated my daughter with absolute gentleness.
An hour later, Lily’s breathing had evened out into soft, steady rhythms as she drifted back to sleep under Romano's watchful eye. We stepped quietly out into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door half-shut behind us.
"She'll be fine by morning," Romano whispered, leaning his back against the hallway wall and running a hand through his dark hair. "Just a passing flu."
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"Thank you, Vincent," I said softly, looking up at him in the dim amber light of the sconce. "You didn't have to jump in like that."
"She’s my family now too, Elena," he replied quietly, his dark eyes holding mine with a depth that made my breath hitch. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we finish this."
