Chapter 4 - Venom in the NestThree agonizing hours passed before the pneumatic seal of the bunker door groaned.
The heavy steel door slid open slowly, revealing the grim, blood-stained corridor outside.
Dominic stood in the doorway. His tactical vest was ruined, his shirt torn, and a deep cut across his temple was dripping fresh blood down the side of his sharp face. But he was alive. He held a bloody knife in his left hand, his breath coming in heavy, steady strides.
"Dominic!" Vivien cried out, rushing forward across the room.
She didn't care about the blood. She didn't care about the violence that clung to him. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his collarbone, her body shaking with uncontrollable relief.
Dominic froze for a fraction of a second, surprised by her sudden embrace, before his heavy arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly off the floor, pulling her impossibly close against his chest.
"I told you," Dominic murmured into her hair, his deep voice vibrating against her ribs. "I don't break promises."
"Is it over?" she asked, pulling back slightly to look at his bloodied face.
"Silvio Moretti is dead," Dominic reported coldly. "His lieutenants have been eliminated. The syndicate’s territory in Boston is secured."
He carried her out of the bunker and back up to the main level of the mansion. The estate was a disaster zone—shattered glass, bullet holes in the marble walls, and security teams busily scrubbing blood from the floors.
Dominic brought her into a small, secure medical clinic located in the west wing, setting her gently on an examination table.
Dr. Vance—the same physician from the South Boston clinic—was waiting inside, wearing a clean white lab coat, holding a portable ultrasound machine.
"Mr. Ashford," Dr. Vance bowed his head respectfully. "Let us check on the mother and children immediately to ensure the stress caused no trauma."
"Proceed," Dominic ordered, standing beside Vivien’s table, taking her hand in his, his fingers interlocking tightly with hers.
Dr. Vance spread the cold gel across Vivien’s stomach and applied the transducer wand. The small screen lit up with the familiar black-and-white image, showing three tiny pulses flickering steadily in the womb.
"Heartbeats are strong," Dr. Vance announced with a smile. "All three embryos are perfectly stable."
Relief washed over Vivien, leaving her weak and breathless. She squeezed Dominic’s hand, looking up to see a rare, soft warmth softening the harsh lines of his handsome face.
"However," Dr. Vance continued, pulling out a small syringe from his medical tray, "due to the extreme stress, I recommend an immediate prophylactic injection of progesterone to prevent early uterine contractions."
The doctor stepped forward, reaching toward the IV line in Vivien’s arm.
Suddenly, Dominic’s hand shot out like a striking viper.
He grabbed Dr. Vance’s wrist in a grip so tight the doctor let out a sharp cry of pain, dropping the syringe onto the floor.
"Dominic! What are you doing?!" Vivien gasped.
Dominic didn't answer her. His gray eyes were fixed on Dr. Vance, dark with lethal suspicion. "Progesterone is administered intramuscularly in the thigh, Vance. Never directly into an IV line."
Dr. Vance’s face went chalk-white. He began to tremble violently. "Mr. Ashford... I... I made a mistake—"
Dominic pulled his sidearm from his holster, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against Dr. Vance’s forehead.
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"Who paid you?" Dominic growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Silvio is dead. Who gave you that syringe?"
"It... it was your brother!" Dr. Vance sobbed, falling to his knees, his hands held up in surrender. "Julian Ashford! He paid me a million dollars to end the pregnancy! He said if the triplets died, he would remain your sole heir!"
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