When Labor Became My Prison

"The contractions were ripping me in two. My vision was going dark.My husband, Don Vittorio, the man who ruled Chicago, squeezed my hand. His dark eyes burned with love."Just a little longer, mia cara. You'll meet our baby soon."Sweat poured down my face. I still found the strength to smile for him.Then a nurse walked in. She held a syringe. I thought it was to stop the pain.But Vittorio’s hand fell away. He took a single step back.The needle sank into my arm. I heard Vittorio’s voice. It was cold steel. "Dose her carefully. She holds on until midnight. Not a minute sooner. Not until after Ornella delivers."And then I knew. He thought I married him for the money.He was stopping my labor. All for a sick Falcone family rule: the first son born is the next heir.Pain tore through me. I reached for him. Tears streamed down my face. I begged him to stop.He bit his lip. His voice was pure ice."My brother is dead. Ornella carries his only heir. You will do as you are told. You and your child will not steal his birthright."The drug hit my veins. The violent squeeze in my belly, like some invisible hand, just… stopped."