Chapter 2 - Skin to Skin
Claire met Sebastian’s gaze, suppressing the instinctual impulse to retreat. "He was born three weeks early, Mr. Moretti," she explained softly, her professional demeanor grounding her voice. "His mother brought him to the emergency room delivery wing two days ago and left without filling out full discharge papers. Social Services has been notified, but for now... he’s here alone."
Sebastian did not offer a comment on the mother. His dark eyes remained fixed on the tiny boy struggling beneath the soft light.
Without a word, Sebastian walked over to the surgical wash station near the wall. He rolled up his dark dress shirt sleeves, exposing heavy, intricate tattoos covering his powerful forearms. He scrubbed his hands and forearms with antimicrobial soap for two full minutes, his movements thorough, precise, and surprisingly practiced.
He dried his hands with a paper towel and stepped back toward the central rocking chair in the corner of the room. He sat down, his broad frame filling the comfortable healthcare glider.
Claire hesitated for a brief second. In the NICU, premature infants who lacked family contact often suffered from a lack of physical regulation—a condition known to respond miraculously to skin-to-skin contact.
She carefully opened the incubator portal, gently lifted the four-pound baby wrapped in his cream blanket, and brought him over to the seated boss.
Claire lowered the baby gently onto Sebastian’s broad chest.
Sebastian immediately brought up a massive, tattooed hand, supporting the back of the infant’s tiny head with extraordinary care. He began to rock back and forth in the glider, a slow, steady rhythm echoing through the quiet room.
The baby’s frantic whimpering slowed. Within moments, the infant quieted down, resting his cheek directly over Sebastian’s heart. The tiny boy reached out with a pale, delicate hand, his small fingers instinctively curling around Sebastian’s index finger.
Sebastian stared down at the child held against his chest. A subtle, profound shift flickered across his rugged face—a wave of deep, suppressed emotion that softened every harsh line of his jaw.
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Across the room, the other nurses stopped what they were doing, exchanging stunned, incredulous looks. The man who controlled the city’s underground was sitting in a hospital rocking chair, looking down at an abandoned infant with tears glistening in his dark eyes.
Outside, the rain beat against the glass, but inside, the heavy silence remained unbroken.
