Chapter 3 - The Man Inside Declan's House
The pregnancy changed everything.
Declan stopped leaving me alone.
Security doubled.
Then tripled.
He canceled meetings.
Moved operations.
Transferred control of the docks.
For the first time since I had known him, Declan Sullivan was trying to step away from his empire.
His men didn't know what to do with him.
Neither did I.
He attended every doctor's appointment.
He learned the baby's heartbeat.
He watched the ultrasound screen with tears in his eyes when the doctor showed us tiny fingers.
He asked questions.
So many questions.
He bought a notebook.
He wrote everything down.
At first it almost made me laugh.
Then I realized he was trying.
The doctors eventually reassured us that the irregularity might resolve naturally.
More tests were required.
But there was no immediate danger.
That should have been enough to calm us.
It wasn't.
Because someone inside our world knew.
And whoever it was had access to private medical information.
That meant the breach was deeper than money.
Declan called his senior men.
Tommy.
Marko.
Elias.
And Patrick Vale.
Patrick entered last.
Gray hair.
Perfect suit.
Calm smile.
He carried a leather folder.
I watched him from the other end of the room.
He greeted Declan.
Then me.
“Mrs. Sullivan.”
His smile was polite.
I smiled back.
“Patrick.”
Declan watched us.
“Everyone in this room stays in this room.”
Patrick nodded.
“What happened?”
Declan pushed a photograph across the table.
A shell company.
Patrick looked at it.
Then looked at Declan.
“I know the company.”
Declan leaned back.
“Explain.”
Patrick did.
He claimed the company had been used by one of Declan's suppliers.
He denied direct involvement.
I watched his hands.
They were perfectly still.
Too still.
I remembered my father's old advice.
When people lie, they often control their faces.
They forget their hands.
Patrick's thumb kept rubbing the edge of his wedding ring.
I leaned toward Declan.
“Ask him about the dresses.”
Patrick's eyes flickered.
Just once.
Declan noticed.
“Which dresses?”
Patrick looked at me.
“What are you implying?”
“The dresses Norah returned.”
“I wouldn't know anything about that.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
I pulled out a photograph.
A purchase record.
The same shell company had paid for expedited shipping.
Patrick looked at it.
Then sighed.
“This is ridiculous.”
Declan stood.
Everyone went silent.
“Leave.”
Patrick stared.
“Declan.”
“Get out of my house.”
Patrick turned.
But before he reached the door, Tommy stopped him.
Patrick smiled.
“You really believe her?”
Declan's expression hardened.
“I believe my wife.”
That sentence hit me harder than I expected.
Patrick left.
Tommy watched him go.
“Boss.”
Declan nodded.
“Follow him.”
The investigation began.
We discovered Patrick had been siphoning money through dozens of shell companies.
But the most disturbing evidence was not financial.
It was a file from my obstetrician's office.
Someone had requested my medical records.
The request was signed digitally.
The access code belonged to Declan.
But Declan hadn't made it.
Someone had stolen his credentials.
That meant the person had access to his private security system.
We changed everything.
Passwords.
Codes.
Routes.
Vehicles.
Phones.
Then, three days later, my water broke.
I was only thirty-six weeks.
Declan was in a meeting.
He was downstairs when I called.
“Declan.”
He answered instantly.
“What happened?”
“I think the baby is coming.”
Silence.
Then:
“I'm coming.”
The hospital became chaos.
Security blocked the hallway.
Doctors rushed.
I held Declan's hand.
He refused to let go.
“Look at me,” I whispered.
“I am.”
“You're shaking.”
“I know.”
I smiled.
“You can be afraid.”
He looked at me.
“I've killed men.”
“I know.”
“I've survived bullets.”
“I know.”
“But this scares me.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Then maybe you're finally human.”
The baby was born before sunrise.
A girl.
Small.
Furious.
Beautiful.
When the nurse placed her against my chest, I cried.
Declan stared.
He did not speak.
The feared mafia boss stood beside my hospital bed with tears streaming down his face.
He touched our daughter's cheek.
“She's perfect.”
“Yes.”
“What do we name her?”
I looked at him.
“Mae.”
He smiled.
“Mae Sullivan.”
Our daughter opened her eyes.
Declan broke.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Then he looked at me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me something worth becoming better for.”
I cried.
But the celebration lasted only minutes.
Because Tommy entered.
His expression was grim.
“Boss.”
Declan stood.
“What?”
“We found the leak.”
“Who?”
Tommy looked toward the hallway.
Then whispered:
“Your security chief.”
Declan froze.
“Impossible.”
“It's true.”
“Where is he?”
Tommy hesitated.
“Gone.”
Declan's face hardened.
“When?”
“Thirty minutes ago.”
I looked at my baby.
Then at Declan.
Something was wrong.
The attack on the penthouse.
The medical records.
The dresses.
The shell companies.
It had all been designed to get close to me.
But the security chief had access to every floor.
Every camera.
Every schedule.
Every hospital route.
And he knew about Mae.
Before she was born.
The phone on Declan's belt rang.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You're looking for the wrong man.”
Declan's eyes narrowed.
“Who is this?”
“You think Patrick is your enemy.”
A pause.
“He isn't.”
Declan stood completely still.
“Then who?”
The voice laughed.
“Ask your wife what she found sewn into the first dress.”
The line went dead.
Declan turned slowly toward me.
I realized something.
He had never heard the entire story.
There was one piece I had kept hidden.
The very first dress.
The one I had returned before the others.
The one I had never told him about.
Because the note inside it had contained one additional line.
May you like
And that line mentioned a name.
His.
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