Fortress

**Sofia's POV:**

My fingers trembled as I adjusted the blanket around Jaxon's tiny body. Forty-eight hours had passed since Ice delivered the news about Raven's coordinated strikes—forty-eight hours of Ace coordinating security sweeps, armed guards rotating in six-hour shifts, and me flinching at every sound that echoed the monitor's flatline from five days ago.

The hospital discharge papers crinkled in my pocket as Ace carried the car seat through the reinforced exit. His jaw was locked tight, eyes scanning the parking garage like a predator assessing threats. Three SUVs idled in formation—front, rear, and our vehicle in the center.

"The house isn't the same," Ace said quietly as he secured Jaxon's carrier. His hands moved with mechanical precision, double-checking every strap. "Dante's turned it into a fortress."

I slid into the backseat beside our son, my gaze fixed on the rise and fall of his chest. *Breathe in. Breathe out.* I'd counted every breath for seventy-two hours straight in the NICU. The rhythm was burned into my brain.

"Good," I whispered. But my voice cracked on the single word.

The convoy pulled out with military precision. Ace's phone buzzed—Ice's third update of the hour. He read the message, his expression darkening.

"What?" My hand shot to Jaxon's carrier, protective instinct overriding exhaustion.

"Two more businesses hit overnight. Small fires, symbolic." Ace's knuckles whitened around the phone. "They're not trying to destroy us. They're sending a message."

*We know where you are.*

---

The mansion loomed ahead, but I barely recognized it. Chain-link fencing surrounded the perimeter. Floodlights turned the grounds into permanent daylight. Men in tactical gear patrolled with automatic weapons.

Ice met us at the door, his usual smirk replaced by grim efficiency. "Nursery's been swept three times. Dante installed pressure sensors on every window, motion detectors in the hallways, and—" He hesitated, glancing at Jaxon. "The crib has a medical-grade monitor. Tracks heart rate, oxygen, breathing patterns. Alerts go straight to your phones and mine."

I felt my throat close. *Another monitor. Another screen that could flatline.*

"Show me," Ace demanded, already moving toward the stairs with Jaxon's carrier.

The nursery looked like a pediatric ICU ward merged with a panic room. Soft blues and whites couldn't disguise the reinforced door, the tablet mounted beside the crib displaying real-time vitals, the emergency oxygen tank in the corner.

I set Jaxon down with shaking hands, watching the numbers populate on the screen. **Heart Rate: 142. O2 Saturation: 97%. Respiration: 42.**

Normal. All normal.

So why couldn't I breathe?

"Sofia." Ace's hand found my shoulder. "He's okay."

"For now." The words escaped before I could stop them. "But what if—what if it happens again and we're not fast enough, or the monitor glitches, or—"

"It won't." But Ace's voice lacked conviction. He stared at his own hands like they were unfamiliar weapons. These hands had killed, tortured, destroyed. Could they really protect something this fragile?

Ice cleared his throat from the doorway. "I'll be downstairs. Extra guards arrive at midnight."

When we were alone, Ace pulled me against his chest. His heart hammered against my ear—proof he was just as terrified.

"I almost lost both of you," he murmured into my hair. "That seven seconds when his heart stopped... I've faced bullets, explosions, torture. Nothing came close to that."

My fingers curled into his shirt. "We're here. We're all here."

But for how long? The unspoken question hung between us.

---

**2:47 AM**

Jaxon's cry shattered the silence like a gunshot. I was on my feet before consciousness fully returned, muscle memory from NICU night shifts taking over. Ace lunged toward the crib, his hand hovering uselessly over our son.

"I've got him," I whispered, scooping Jaxon up. The tablet glowed green—all vitals normal. Just hunger. *Just normal, beautiful hunger.*

I settled into the rocking chair, guiding him to latch. Ace stood frozen in the shadows, watching with an expression caught between awe and horror.

"You can hold him after," I offered softly. "He needs to burp."

"I might drop him." Ace's admission was barely audible. "My hands—they're not made for this."

"They're learning." I extended one hand. "Come here."

He moved like a man approaching a landmine, sinking down beside the chair. I guided his palm to rest on Jaxon's back, feeling the warmth, the tiny heartbeat pulsing against skin.

"Feel that? You're already protecting him."

Ace's breath hitched. For a moment, the feared mafia boss disappeared, replaced by a nineteen-year-old boy who'd never known gentleness until I taught him.

Jaxon finished feeding. I demonstrated the burping technique, then carefully transferred our son into Ace's rigid arms. "Support his head. Just like that."

Ace held Jaxon like he was cradling a live grenade—terrified, reverent, utterly out of his depth. A tiny burp broke the tension. I laughed, the sound foreign after days of silence and fear.

"See? You're a natural."

"I made him come early." Ace's voice cracked. "My decisions, my enemies—he paid the price. Seven seconds, Sofia. His heart stopped for *seven seconds* because of me."

"No." I cupped his face, forcing him to meet my eyes. "He's here because of *us*. And we're going to keep him safe. Together."

Ace kissed my forehead, then Jaxon's. "Together," he echoed.

But when he finally laid our son back in the crib, his gaze drifted to the reinforced door, the cameras, the arsenal of precautions that couldn't guarantee safety.

*How do you protect someone from a threat you can't see coming?*

---

**7:23 AM**

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. Unknown number. My thumb hovered over 'decline,' but something made me answer.

Silence.

Then breathing—deliberate, controlled.

"I know you're there," I said, my voice steady despite my racing pulse.

A distorted laugh crackled through the speaker. "Brave little queen. Does Hernandez know you sneak calls at dawn?"

*The voice from before.* The one that had warned me in the hospital.

"What do you want?"

"To give you a choice." The distortion couldn't hide the cold amusement. "Walk away now. Take the baby. Disappear. We'll provide new identities, protection, money."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then watch everything burn. Starting with the people you love most." A pause. "Tick-tock, Sofia. Raven doesn't wait forever."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, my reflection ghostly in the black screen. Downstairs, I could hear Ice coordinating security rotations. In the nursery, Jaxon slept peacefully, unaware he'd been born into a war zone.

I could run. Take Jaxon somewhere safe, far from bullets and blood.

But that would mean leaving Ace to face Raven alone. And despite everything—the fear, the exhaustion, the trauma still fresh in my bones—that wasn't an option.

I deleted the call log and stood. My reflection in the mirror showed hollow eyes and tangled hair, but my jaw was set with determination.

*Let them come.*

I'd survived my father's abuse, Ace's initial coldness, childbirth complications, and watching my son's heart stop. Whatever Raven planned, I'd face it the same way I'd faced everything else.

With Ace beside me. With my son in my arms. With knives hidden and ready.

The war had started whether I wanted it or not. And Sofia Diaz Hernandez didn't know how to surrender.