Ria
The moment they entered the hospital, the smell of disinfectant and medicines hit her nostrils and Ria winced.
They were led, flanked protectively by the men, to the hall facing the Operation Theatre. There were no patients around and Ria wondered fleetingly what her father had done with them. The sound of their heels clicking on the polished tiles was the only sound and the low hum of the machinery. The place was almost deserted except for…
‘Pappa…’ said Ria softly. Her father sat alone, on a couch, his grey hair ruffled as though he had been rifling his hands through it, his face was grey and gaunt and she felt a deep feeling of remorse swamp her. If anyone had had any doubts about whether the great Don loved his wife, this was proof, this bleak look in his normally fierce hawk-like gaze, the emptiness staring out of his eyes as he looked at them, uncomprehending. Even his powerful muscular body seemed smaller and with a sob, she ran to him. She did not want to see her Pappa, her hero, in this way, looking defeated.
She threw her arms around him for her had got to his feet on seeing them, a look of anger, mild at that, and astonishment, battling on his face. She threw herself into his arms with force and he staggered back lightly taken by surprise. Again, she felt a strong feeling of sorrow engulf her. The Mafia Don had quick reflexes; now he was too disturbed to care and seemed to have aged, had become slower.
. Ria buried her face in her father’s jacket, inhaling the familiar scent she had inhaled from the time she was a child, a cologne she connected with him…
‘Pappa, oh Pappa…’ she sobbed. She felt Tara beside her, clutching Lucien’s waist too, and then he was winding his arms around his daughters, his head bowed as he took them in his arms, protective, loving…
*
Schwartz
He stood and watched his heart swelling. The love the children had for their father made him long, for a brief moment, to be loved like that. But then Ria broke from her father’s embrace and came to Schwartz, the man who was the closest she had to an uncle. She wound her arms around his waist and clung to him,
“My Mumma…’ she said in a soft voice, ‘Will she be alright, Uncle James?
Lucien had come closer, still holding Tara to his chest.
” Your Mumma is a fighter.’
He said it in a hoarse voice, the emotion he was holding back with difficulty, surfacing.
The older boys, Pies and Claude, were not as easy to forgive their father for having precipitated this.
Claude growled coldly,
‘Yeah, Mumma has had a lot of experience. ”
When Lucien swung his head to frown at his son, eyes narrowed, Ria stepped up to her brother and said, quietly but firmly,
‘We need to be together now Claude, not find fault with each other, not make Pappa feel worse. That is what Mumma would want.’
She paused for a beat, swallowing as she thought of her mother, and continued,
“Mumma is going to be fine.’ She spoke with a conviction she did not truly experience because she knew her family needed to hear it. But in her mind, she was not sure. The doctor’s words, which Piers had texted to her while they were on their way to the hospital, hung like swords above her head.
Would Mumma make it?
Would she lose the baby?
*
Lucien
He sat, his daughters beside him, the younger boys sitting on couches too in the exclusive room he had occupied from the time he had come in. It was now mid-afternoon. The doctors had been in the surgery for a few hours now and he had been drinking steadily, despite the mild protestations from his daughter, Ria. Finally, she had taken away the hip flask and sternly instructed Beston to forbid a refill. Lucien had been in a haze of self-reproach, too far gone to protest.
*
He thought of his wife, who now lay, battling for her life, battling to save the bay.
She had been so excited that he was finally beside her during her pregnancy.
“You have never been with me throughout my term, Lucien, not for any of the children. So this is something to celebrate,’ she had whispered as he lay beside her that night.
He had grunted, pulling her into his arms and she had giggled.
And of course, the matter of all their children taking after Lucien was also uppermost in her mind.
A few nights ago, as they lay, bodies damp from their lovemaking, she had whispered, her hand on his hirsute chest as she said softly,
‘Do you think maybe…this baby will have my coloring?’
There had been wistfulness in her voice and he had rolled her onto her back , with a hoarse oath, capturing a nipple in his warm mouth, sucking furiously till she had squealed in surrender, while he held her arms pinned above her head,
“Lucien, stop…stop it…please…’ he had raised his head to look into her flushed face as he growled,
“Woman, my genes are dominant; so all the children that come from your womb, who are only going to be the children of my seed, are going to look like me.’
She had pouted, half serious but then, with a sigh, she had succumbed to his demands…
*
The room, the old nursery, had also been lovingly re-decorated. Since neither of them was interested in knowing the sex of the child before the birth of the child, she opted for neutral colors.
One evening, she had begged him to come and inspect the nursery. He had agreed, to humor her. The joy, the pride on her lovely face as she had waddled about, pointing out the new wallpaper, the shelves, and the covers, while he stood in the doorway, lazily surveying it all, it was again a memory that stood out.
Proserpina had been so ecstatic. At some point, she had turned and noted the disinterest in his face; she had stopped and come to him, had pressed her body to his as he kissed her hungrily.
A trifle sadly, she had said with a sigh, as his mouth moved to her nape, sucking and nipping, his hands on her waist, gripping her,
‘You really aren’t very excited about this, are you?’
She meant that to him, the act of possessing her was the most important; of subjugating her lush body, that was his primal intent. The children she bore him were secondary in his life…
He wished he had tried harder, to convince her that he cared, that he loved her more than he cared to admit. To make her see that he loved her to such an extent, he would indulge her always, no matter how bizarre her demands.
The truth was that she had never asked him for anything. She had only given, of herself, generously, without stinting. And now she lay, helpless and in an unconscious state because of him. As Lucien pulled out the hip flask, one that had been silently replenished by one of his men who hovered about discreetly.
And he loved each of his seven children dearly; they had grown on him and he could not bear to think of being cut off from them.
*
He sighed, and Ria, with her head on his strong shoulder, said softly,
“Pappa, you need to pray. There’s a chant that Mumma had taught us. We are chanting it silently.’
Prayer was foreign to the Mafia Don; he did not believe in any Power that helped mankind. But his wife was obstinately different, although she had never made any attempt to make him believe in her peaceful chants.
Now he looked at his daughter silently. Then Lucien looked at the three children sharing the couch with him. Louis, his hands clasped, eyes shut as he mumbled something seriously, Dominique with his nose red from crying, also chanting, shoulders heaving as he tried not to cry and Tara, leaning against his side, doing the same. He looked into the solemn, beautiful face of his eldest daughter, the steady blue-grey eyes regarding him.
“Pumpkin,’ he grunted and pulled her to his chest.
*
A commotion ensured and he turned to look as he stood and made his way to where Schwartz was standing, looking at his phone, frowning.
Melissa Lord had just rushed in, her face white with worry, followed by her husband, Tristan Lord.
Of course, he thought drily. Melissa Lord was another of his wife’s protectors and one who did not think much of him The feeling was reciprocated.
Melissa came straight to them, her eyes spitting fire as she glared at Lucien. And then, ignoring him completely, she cried,
“Ria, your Mumma?’
Tristan Lord came up behind his wife. He was in his official court-going clothes thought Lucien absently, he must have come straight from the court then.
“Lisa insisted,’ he said, almost apologetically.
Melissa glared frostily at Lucien again. Her unspoken criticism irritated the Mafia Don who grunted and looked away. Lord sank down before Lucien while his wife moved over to where Ria and the younger children were seated. Lucien waved his men away. He needed to talk to Tristan Lord.
*
Maja
She drove up to the big Delano mansion and was stopped unceremoniously by a burly guard. When she smiled hesitantly and said that she had come to see Proserpina St Claire, the man was quite unforthcoming.
“No one at home, Ms.’ He said unhelpfully and refused to let her enter the gated fortress-like compound. Maja sat for a while, her hands on the steering wheel. then she picked up her phone and put a call through to Handsome James, biting her lip, her breath coming faster as she waited for him to respond just the thought of the man had her getting flustered, she thought angrily and turned to look at Maddie beside her, her mouth turned down in disappointment. The little girl had been looking forward, excitedly, to meeting her friend Tara.
Schwartz picked up.