Chapter 22 Beatrice #2
He mutters something in Italian—dark, sharp, probably a threat to the universe itself—but he never releases my hand.
The drive to the clinic blurs—sirens of my own breathing, the thud of my pulse, Matteo’s voice grounding me through every contraction. Then hands are on me, machines, monitors. The steady rapid beat of our baby’s heart fills the room.
Matteo never leaves my side. Not for a second.
Not while they check me. Not while they prep the room. Not while the contractions claw their way through me.
He stands there—steady, immovable, a wall I can lean on—every breath, every moment, every wave of pain anchored by his presence alone.
Matteo’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows, his hair a wreck from running his hands through it. He looks on edge—wired tight—but he holds it together, calm in a way I’m absolutely not.
“Oh my God, get out!” I scream, voice cracking. “Get this baby out of me!”
Sweat burns down my face. Hair clings to my forehead. Every breath feels useless. None of those stupid breathing exercises are doing shit.
“You’re doing great, baby,” Matteo murmurs, kissing my temple. “Breathe through it. Just breathe—”
“If you say breathe through it one more time, I’m going to whack you,” I snap—
right before another scream tears out of me. The contraction hits like a freight train, ripping me apart from the inside.
When it passes, I collapse back onto the pillow, shaking.
“Where is Dr. Brown?” I whimper, staring at Matteo like he can conjure her out of thin air.
Right on cue, the door opens. Dr. Brown strides in, masked, gloved, ready like she’s entering a battlefield.
“Are we ready to meet our little bundle of joy?” she asks, settling onto the stool at the end of the bed.
“GET THIS BUNDLE OF JOY OUT OF ME NOW!”
I want to pretend childbirth is empowering or spiritual or whatever people on the internet say.
It’s not. It’s torture. It’s my body splitting in half while a whole human bulldozes their way into the world.
But then—I hear it.
That cry.
That sharp, furious little cry slices through the room, and suddenly everything stops hurting.
Or maybe it still hurts and I don’t care anymore.
The baby is placed on my chest and I suck in a shaking breath.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, smiling through tears. “You’re here. Hi, little one… hi, love bug.”
Nurses crowd around us, wiping him down. Matteo is at my side, kissing my temple again, but this time his voice breaks. His eyes shine and the look on his face mends something in me I didn’t even know was fractured.
“Congratulations, Mom and Dad,” Dr. Brown says as she stands. “You have a healthy baby boy.”
“Daniele,” Matteo and I say at the same time.
Matteo leans in closer, voice low and rough as gravel.
“Ciao, Daniele. I’m your papa.”
The words strain out of him like they weigh a thousand pounds. “And this… this is your mama. We’ve waited a long time to meet you.”
Daniele settles the moment he hears Matteo’s voice, his tiny body relaxing against my chest. A nurse drapes a warm cloth over him, but I instinctively lay my hand over his back, shielding him.
“I’ll always protect you,” I whisper into his damp hair. “For the rest of my life. I’ll protect you and love you. Always.”
He lets out a soft whimper and burrows closer. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s my heartbeat—the steady rhythm he’s known since he was nothing but a cluster of cells finding its way into this world.
Either way, he knows me. And I know him.
“Welcome home, Daniele Davacalli.”
Three days later…
I stare down at the little life I pushed into the world less than seventy-two hours ago. The rocking chair moves beneath us in a slow rhythm while sunlight pours into the nursery, warming everything it touches.
Valerio stands over us, staring at Daniele like he’s witnessing a miracle he can’t quite compute.
“I still can’t believe he fit inside you a few days ago.”
The great Davacalli soldier—stone-faced, feared, unshakeable—looks absolutely terrified. His eyes haven’t left Daniele once. It’s been endlessly amusing watching him turn into mush over a seven-pound baby.
“The beauty of nature,” I whisper with a small laugh. “Thank you for coming to see us. Well—mainly your nephew.”
We’re officially moved into the Davacalli estate now. Three weeks earlier than planned, but Matteo had everything ready and waiting. And truthfully, I love it here.
I breathe easier. I feel safe.
“He looks so… breakable,” Valerio murmurs, mesmerized. “Can he open his eyes?”
Matteo and I exchange matching, entertained looks. Seeing the big, intimidating soldier completely undone by one tiny human has been the highlight of my week.
“He can,” Matteo says, clapping a hand on his second’s shoulder. “But he’s blind.”
“Blind?”
I shake my head. “Not forever. Newborns don’t see clearly at first. Shapes, maybe shadows. But he hears everything. Especially voices he recognizes.” I glance down at Daniele, nestling against my chest. “Like Matteo’s. He loves the sound of his father.”
Matteo straightens just slightly—shoulders back, chin up—his whole presence threaded with quiet pride.
Valerio shakes his head, stepping back as if afraid to get too close again. “Congratulations again, boss. But I need to head out. A few loose ends to tie up. France is calling; I need to make sure everything stays on track.”
Their voices fade as I focus on Daniele, warm and heavy in my arms.
Matteo walks Valerio out. I stay in the nursery, rocking slightly as I stand. I move toward the crib intending to lay him down—then stop halfway.
Peace. That’s all I feel when I look at him. A stillness I’ve never known.
“You are my greatest treasure,” I whisper.
“How’s my boy doing?” Matteo returns, stepping close beside me. He brushes Daniele’s cheek with his pinky. Daniele squirms but doesn’t wake. “Perfect,” Matteo murmurs. “In every way. And you… you did incredible.”
He’s been telling me that for days. And he’s right—the birth was brutal, but the moment they put Daniele on my chest, everything shifted. Everything made sense.
My Daniele. My little sunbeam. My whole universe in seven pounds.
He whimpers, his tiny face scrunching like he’s threatening to cry.
“No, it’s okay, baby,” I soothe him. I look up at Matteo. “I could stay like this forever. Just watching him. Thank you, my love.”
Matteo’s hand settles at the small of my back. “Why thank me?”
I look around the room—the crib, the warmth of the walls, the life we somehow built—then back at him.
“When I came into your life, I was falling apart. I’d lost my freedom, my safety, everything that made me feel like myself. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life running from a world I barely escaped.”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard and keep going.
“But then you… you stitched me back together. You took on burdens that never should have been yours. You chose me. You built this home. You showed me that life doesn’t end when everything falls apart; it can start again.”
The tears slip before I can stop them.
Matteo leans in, kissing my temple. His voice drops to something low and certain.
“Amore, you don’t need to thank me. Loving you isn’t a choice—it’s fate.
We were always going to find each other.
This lifetime, the next… all of them. Our beginning wasn’t traditional, no.
But when I look at you and our son?” He touches Daniele’s back gently. “I see my entire world.”
My chest tightens—not from fear, but from a kind of fullness that feels almost too big to hold.
“I love you, Matteo Davacalli.”
His eyes soften, steady and sure. “And I love you, Beatrice Davacalli. In this life and the next.”