Chapter 7 - The Cry in the Dark
Roman’s hands froze in midair. His breath hitched in his throat as the tiny sound echoed again through the freezing, shattered cabin of the Subaru.
Waaah...
Savannah’s eyelids fluttered open weakly. Her gaze was unfocused, glassy with exhaustion and hypothermia, but the moment she saw Roman’s face hovering over her, her dry, cracked lips moved.
"Don't... don't take her," she whispered, her voice barely a rasp. "Please... Roman..."
Tears spilled over Roman’s windburned cheeks, hot and unrestrained. He pulled back the heavy layers of the wool blanket.
Tucked against Savannah’s chest, nestled skin-to-skin beneath her unbuttoned sweater, was an impossibly small infant. The baby was wrapped in the pink crocheted blanket Savannah’s grandmother had made, her tiny face flushed pink, her miniature fists waving against her mother's chest. The umbilical cord had been tied off with a clean silk ribbon from Savannah’s travel kit.
Savannah had delivered their daughter alone, in the dark, in sub-zero temperatures, using nothing but pure maternal instinct and will to survive.
"Savannah," Roman choked out, peeling off his massive, fur-lined cashmere overcoat and draping it over both of them. "I’m here. I’ve got you. I swear to God I’ve got you."
"You... you were with her," Savannah murmured, her body trembling violently as the shock of warmth hit her skin. Her eyes drifted shut again, slipping toward unconsciousness. "You let me go..."
"Never," Roman sobbed, lifting her into his arms, keeping the baby pressed securely between them. "I was an arrogant, blind fool, Savannah, but I will spend every second of my life making you understand. Look at me! Stay awake! Look at me, sweetheart!"
Sirens wailed in the distance. Dante and Marcus arrived at the top of the embankment, followed by an emergency medical vehicle Roman had bribed to tail his convoy through the storm.
Paramedics scrambled down the icy slope with stretchers, thermal wraps, and portable oxygen tanks.
"Hypothermia is severe," the lead medic shouted, carefully taking the infant to assess her airway. "Baby's temperature is low, but she's breathing, pulse is strong! The mother needs immediate transport—she's lost significant blood."
Roman climbed into the back of the ambulance with them, refusing to let go of Savannah’s limp hand. He pressed his forehead against her cold knuckles, murmuring broken, desperate prayers into her skin as the sirens screamed toward the nearest hospital in Elgin.
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For the first time in thirty-five years, Roman Vascari had zero control over the outcome. His wealth, his muscle, his reputation—none of it meant a single thing against the flatline of a heart monitor.
"Hold on, Savannah," he begged into the cold air. "Please. If you leave me, take everything else with you. Don't leave me alone."
