34. Alessandro
The walls of the hospital room feel so bright they’re blinding, sterile, and far too white. I pace the small space, my footsteps echoing off the blue tile floor. My hands flex and curl into fists at my sides. Every second drags on, slowly.
I've stared death in the face countless times—guns, knives, fire. But nothing compares to this. Waiting for my daughter to be born is a different kind of fear. It crawls under my skin and makes my chest feel too tight like I'm being crushed by the weight of everything I can't control.
Serafina shifts in the hospital bed, a low groan escaping her lips, and I immediately go to her side. Her hand, slick with sweat, grabs mine, she squeezes so hard I hear a crack. Despite the pain written across her face, she's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"You're doing so well," I murmur, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from her forehead. My thumb smooths over her temple in slow, steady strokes.
She lets out a soft, breathless laugh. "Your pacing isn't helping."
I manage a crooked smile, though my nerves are still shot. "I can't just sit here. I feel useless."
Her grip tightens on my hand—stronger than I expected. "You're here. You're useless. This is the one thing you can't do. Suck it up and stop wearing a hole in the floor."
God, she's right. I wasn't there for Leo. I missed the moment he came into this world, missed holding him in those first breaths of life. I swore I'd never let that happen again. Not this time. Not with our daughter. This time, I'm here—and nothing is going to pull me away.
But being here doesn't make me feel any less helpless.
"Do you need anything?" I ask, desperate to do something—anything.
Serafina shakes her head slowly. "Just you."
My throat tightens. I lean in, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Always."
The rhythmic beep of the monitor is the only thing marking the agonizingly slow passing of time. I sit by her side, holding her hand through every contraction. She grips me like a lifeline, and I anchor myself to her—to us.
"Do you remember the first time we talked about kids?" she asks suddenly, voice thin but laced with humor.
I let out a quiet chuckle. "How could I forget? You told me you wanted a big family, and I thought you were out of your mind. But we were kids then."
Serafina smiles, her eyes squeezing shut against another wave of pain. "And now look at you. Two is big enough, okay, I don't want to do this again."
"Yeah, well, turns out I didn't know shit back then." I squeeze her hand gently. "I can't imagine life without Leo—and now her."
Her breathing slows, and she turns her head slightly toward me. "You're going to spoil her rotten."
I smirk. "Damn right. She'll never have to wonder how much she's loved."
Serafina's eyes glisten. "You're already a better father than you realize."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut—but in the best way. I've lived my entire life trying to be the man my father wasn't. And now, with Serafina and our kids, I finally have the chance.
"You're breaking my hand."
Serafina breathes deeply, her expression softening despite the pain. "It's your own fault; you did this to me." She is holding even tighter, and this time she screams.
It feels like a lifetime passes before I hear it—that tiny, beautiful cry. It slices through the silence, sharp and raw, like the first breath of life itself.
Everything stops. My heart stalls, and for a second, I'm afraid it might never start again. The weight of this moment is crushing and breathtaking all at once. The doctor lifts our baby, and for a fleeting moment, I see her—tiny, fragile, alive. They lay her on Serafina's chest, and I can't move. I can't even blink, afraid that if I do, I'll miss something I'll never get back.
Serafina is crying now, tears streaming down her face as she holds our daughter close. "Alessandro," she whispers, voice breaking. "She's here."
For a moment, I can't speak. Words are stuck somewhere in my chest, caught between disbelief and overwhelming love. Finally, I press a trembling hand to my mouth. My knees feel weak and unsteady. "She's... she's perfect."
I lean down, kissing Serafina's temple, then our daughter's tiny head. Her hair is dark, like mine. She smells like new life, a scent so pure it almost makes me ache. She's everything I never knew I needed.
The nurse gently takes her to clean her up, and I watch every second, my eyes glued to her tiny form. I've seen death. I've watched men crumble under the weight of their sins. But this—this is life. And it's more powerful than anything I've ever known. When they bring her back, Serafina looks at me with a tired, glowing smile. "Do you want to hold her?"
My breath catches. This is it—the moment I've been terrified of and desperate for. I nod slowly, my hands shaking as I cradle her.
She's so small. So fragile. But she wraps her tiny fingers around my pinky, and it feels like the strongest grip in the world. That tiny hand anchors me in a way nothing else ever has.
"Hey, Piccola," I murmur. "I'm your daddy. And I swear I'll protect you. Always."
Serafina watches, eyes soft and full of emotion. "Do you have a name yet?" the nurse asks us.
I smile, looking down at the baby. "Amara. She's strong. Just like her mama." The name feels like a promise—one I'll spend the rest of my life keeping.
Later, Leo bursts into the room with Enzo, his eyes wide with curiosity and excitement. "Is that my baby sister?" he asks, practically bouncing on his toes.
I kneel, carefully holding Amara close. "Come meet her, bud. But be gentle."
Leo takes slow, deliberate steps forward, his little face scrunching up as he peers at her. "She's so small," he says, tilting his head. "How come babies are so tiny? I thought she'd be, like, bigger."
I grin, pulling him closer to my side. "You were just as small when you were born—smaller, actually. But she'll grow, and one day, you'll wonder how she got so big."
Serafina smiles from the bed, her voice soft but teasing. "Now you're the big brother. You have to look after her, Leo."
Leo puffs out his chest, standing taller. "I will. But I'm not changing diapers. My friend Mason says baby poop is disgusting, and you have to touch it to clean it up. I wipe my own butt."
Serafina covers her laugh with her hand while I shake my head, smirking. "That's a solid plan, bud," I say, ruffling his hair. "No diaper duty for you."
I glance at Serafina, her gaze warm and soft as she watches us. "Why don't I take him home for a bit so you can rest?" I suggest gently. "We'll come back later."
She nods; her smile is tired but genuine. "Okay. But don't stay away too long."
I settle Amara into her bassinet with slow, careful movements. Leo peers over the edge, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "She's cute," he finally declares, "but only for a baby."
Serafina chuckles from the bed. "That's a start."
I lean down, brushing a kiss to Serafina's forehead, then gently cup her cheek. "Rest. We'll see you soon."
Leo tugs on my hand, leading me toward the door. But before we step out, he glances back at the bassinet one last time and whispers, "Bye, baby sister."
The villa hums with life. Not the chaotic noise of the mafia world I left behind, but the kind that's gentle and full—Leo's laughter from the garden, Serafina's soft hum as she tidies up Amara's bassinet, the distant crash of waves against the Sicilian coastline. It's peace, wrapped in a warmth I never thought I'd deserve.
I step onto the terrace, the sun dipping low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The sea glimmers in the fading light, an endless stretch of possibility. In my hand, I hold a small, unmarked envelope that arrived this morning. No sender. No name. Just the weight of the past wrapped in thin paper.
Opening it, I find a single note:
"The past is never truly buried, Alessandro. Watch your back."
My jaw tightens, the shadows of old instincts stirring. But then, I look up. Leo races across the garden, his small legs carrying him in joyous circles. Serafina steps out onto the terrace, Amara cradled in her arms, her smile brighter than the setting sun. This is my world now. My reason.
I fold the note and slide it into my pocket. Let them come. They'll never take this from me.
Leo notices me and sprints toward the terrace, his laughter infectious. "Daddy! Come play!"
I kneel, catching him mid-run and spinning him in the air. His giggles fill the space where doubt tries to creep in. "Alright, little man. Let's see if you can outrun me!"
Serafina chuckles softly as she joins us, her free hand resting on my shoulder. Amara stirs, her tiny hand peeking out from the blanket. "Careful, you'll rile him up before bedtime."
I grin, pulling her close. "What's life without a little chaos?"
She shakes her head, her eyes soft. "You've had enough chaos for a lifetime."
"Maybe," I admit, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But this kind? I'll take every day."
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in twilight, I know one thing for certain: whatever comes next—whether from the shadows of my past or the unknown future—I'll face it. Not alone, but with them by my side. My family. My everything.
THE END
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