The doctor stepped out of the theatre tiredly, exhaustion on his face. He looked at the sea of anxious faces in the waiting room and the lobby, the Mafia Don and his immediate family, six children or was it seven, he thought as he rubbed his forehead wearily, and a host of other people including a number of men who were obviously the Don’s guards.
All of them had turned, as one, to look at him. He could see the fear, the way the elder children watched him with bated breath. And he thought of the young woman inside the operation theatre he had just left, who had fought so valiantly, despite going into a preterm labor which had in all probability, been brought on by stress.
He sighed as the Mafia Don strode to him, his expression enough to make anyone feel alarmed. The doctor discreetly took a few steps back but he was not frightened, just cautious, he told himself.
“She is ok, your wife is still unconscious but the surgery went off well.’ He said it quickly and felt vindicated when he saw the big man’s body which seemed to sag with relief, just for an instant. His daughter, the girl with long blonde hair and an expression of agitation on her face, immediately asked,
“And…the…the baby…?’
The doctor rotated his shoulders, stiff with tension and he said in a low voice,
‘The child is in an incubator. Doing well for a baby that is 34 weeks.
The youngest Delano children, who had also appeared, their faces agog, now let out shouts of excitement which were immediately quelled by a look from their father.
The eldest daughter, her eyes overflowing with relief, cried, as she wrapped her arms around her father,
‘Is it…? I mean…a girl?’
‘The baby is a boy.’ Said the old doctor, a faint smile on his face as he noted the momentary flash of disappointment on her face.
*
Lucien had turned when the doctor told him about his Woman and Schwartz was beside him, arms outstretched. Lucien hugged his best friend, and the two men stood silently for a minute, absorbing the consolation only they could provide each other. Both of them loved the young woman who lay within the operation theatre and only Schwartz could truly understand Lucien’s plight. Then, his dark face hollowed with relief, the Don turned and looked around at his collected children.
With his hands on his hips, he surveyed his family.
Ria and Piers stood with Claude; his daughter was laughing and crying, all at once. Tara was with them, Piers’ arm around her shoulders. As though sensing his father’s eyes on him, Piers turned, and then, he was beside Lucien, hugging his father, his face in the older man’s chest.
“Pappa, I am sorry…’ he said, his voice muffled. Lucien grunted then, an overwhelming feeling of love coursing through him. This was his family, the seven children he had sired and the one in the incubator, eight of them. And the beautiful woman he loved, his wife. He gripped his son’s shoulder as Claude came up and stood beside him too.
Louis and Dom were arguing with Tara, deciding upon the name of the baby. Schwartz looked on, grinning like an idiot. Melissa Lord was sobbing into her husband’s chest and Tristan was gently comforting her. Lucien remembered belatedly that they had lost a child when Melissa had miscarried; possibly, the woman had been fearing for Proserpina.
He raised his eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude for his family and his friends and then stopped.
F*ck, his Woman had made him a better man, after all he thought with a small inward smile.
*
Hila
She lay on the bed on her stomach, clicking away on her laptop. A tablet was beside her, the phone within reach. She was doing more research on the Delanofamily and the more she read up on them, for information was very few and far in between, she was intrigued.
Rolling onto her back, she stared out at the white world outside. It would be Christmas in a few days. And once again, another year would be slipping away, silently, unobtrusively. She lay on her side, staring at the snowflakes, almost mesmerized. Dusk was gathering and soon, there would only be the sound of the howling wind. Everything else would be obscured in the shroud of darkness. Hila was feeling particularly melancholy that day and the weather made her feel even lower in spirit than before. She had had a message from the hospital where Moshe was housed and the news had only served to make her feel weary and anxious. . She had already had more than two cups of wine and she knew she should stop,
What had she achieved in her life, she who had had such great dreams when she was growing up? Her father had been so proud of her when she joined the Mossad.
She was fighting for her country, serving her nation. Something he felt honored to tell the neighbors what his daughter was doing he had said on more than one occasion, his pale eyes brimming with affection and pride.
And today, she was a mercenary. For a fleeting second, she imagined that she could see the disappointment on his face as he shook his head.
No, her father would not have been happy to see what she had become. Even as she thought so, the phone rang. She took it up, half knowing who it was for only one person had access to this number.
The monk’s voice, cold and hard, came over the line.
“The business you had left unfinished? You need to complete it.’
With that ultimatum, issued in a tone that was bereft of any emotion, the line went dead. Hila swore loudly, ugly words as she tried to check her fury and flung the phone onto the floor where it bounced on the carpet once and slid under a chair. She sank back onto the bed, hugging her knees as she sat up , staring out through the window, bleakly.