43. Dimitri
43
Dimitri
I t’s a strange feeling being handed a newborn baby, swaddled like a tiny burrito, and then told it’s yours and that now you have to take care of it. It’s an ever more surreal feeling when said baby opens their eyes and looks at you for the first time. Granted, they’re likely seeing a giant blur in place of your face, but it still makes your heart skip a beat.
Our son, born first during Gabriella’s emergency c-section, is going to be a handful, just like his mother. That much was clear the moment he emerged, face flushed with a piercing scream about being forcefully dragged into this world. Our daughter, on the other hand, came out quiet and reserved, the complete opposite of her brother.So quiet, the medical team were worried about her at first. But after a series of tests, she's okay. She's just quiet.
I can’t stop glancing between the pair, one wrapped in pink and the other in blue, sleeping in their bassinets. It’s hard to believe they’re finally here, a few weeks earlier than expected, but are thankfully healthy. And that’s all that matters.
“Dimitri?” the soft voice of my angel calls from behind me. I stand and go to her. She reaches for me but winces when the movement pulls at her stitches. I watch as her hand shoots to her belly, which is now visibly flatter, and a wave of panic floods her expression.
Before she can say anything, I grab her hand and squeeze, repeating over and over, “It’s okay. They’re okay. It's okay.”
My reassurance does nothing, though. Her eyes remain wide as she looks around the room, her hysteria growing by the second.
“Gabriella—”
“Where are they?”
“Gabriella, they’re—”
“The blood—” She finally looks at me with tears. “Oh, my God. I told you to save them! Not me!”
Okay, that’s enough of this. I reach up and seize her face in my hands, forcing her to keep her eyes on me because I need her full attention. “The babies are safe. They’re okay.”
All the anxiety and stress vanish from her body, and she slumps into my touch. “Where are they?”
“Right behind me.” I release her face and step back, revealing the pair of bassinets each holding a little miracle. I push them to her bedside, being careful not to disturb the sleeping babies.
Gabriella leans over, mindful of her incision and puts eyes on our children for the first time. “They’re beautiful,” she admires in a soft voice. “And they’re okay?”
“They’re okay,” I repeat.
“Healthy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” A hint of uncertainty layers her tone.
“Yes.” I slip my hands under the soft body of our son and pick him up, cradling his blue hat covered head in my palm. “Would you like to hold your son?”
“Yes,” she says immediately, reaching out to accept him. He wiggles awake at the exchange, and blinks open his eyes with a small cry. It’s too early to tell what color his eyes will be, our daughter’s too, but both have dark hair. “Hi, baby boy. Everything's okay, Mommy’s here now,” she coos to him while she traces his doll face with a single finger. Maybe it’s her soothing touch or her familiar voice, or both, but he quiets down to just stare up at her, like he’s fascinated. Like father, like son. “He’s so handsome.”
“Just like his dad,” I boast, voicing my inner thoughts.
Gabriella tosses me an exasperated look, but doesn’t deny it because she knows she can’t. Her eyes slide to the other bassinet. “Is that her?”
“Yes,” I respond before I scoop up our peacefully slumbering daughter and bring her close to Gabriella. She stays asleep even as Gabriella touches her face, too. “She’s beautiful, just like her mom.”
“Of course she is,” Gabriella agrees right away. And how can I argue with that? “So what happened?”
I’ve been dreading this conversation. But she deserves to hear the truth from me first and not from her doctor.
“You had to have an emergency c-section because our son’s placenta detached. That’s why there was all that blood. The doctors called it a placenta abruption.” From the look on her face, she understands what that is. “They got both babies out in time, but they couldn’t…” I drop my eyes to look at our daughter’s perfect little face. The only daughter we might ever have.
“I had a hysterectomy,” she assumes solemnly and I nod. “They couldn’t stop the bleeding.” It’s not a question, but rather a statement, a fact. “Did they take my ovaries?”
My head snaps up to meet her sad eyes. “No. Only your uterus.” Tears return to her eyes at her loss and I reach out to cup her face. “I’m so sorry, angel. They gave me no choice. You were bleeding out. I couldn't loose you.”
“I know. I mean, I understand.” She raises her hand to cradle mine and leans into my touch before turning her face to kiss my palm. “Thank you. It just means expanding our family is going to be a little more difficult. We’ll have to use surrogacy.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Our children are not even a day old and you’re already thinking about having more?”
“You’re not?” she challenges playfully."Look at them. They're beautiful."
My hand shifts to grip her chin. I lean forward and softly brush my lips on hers as I say, “I want a dozen more with you. Whenever or however they come to us. This is just the start.”
And when she smiles against my mouth, I know we’ll be okay.
“So, what are their names?” Alice, Gabriella’s mom, asks later that day. She’s cradling our daughter, gently soothing her to sleep after a good burp and a tummy full of breast milk. Our son is still nursing, nestled against his mother’s warm chest but is on the brink of sleep himself.
Dante leans over his wife’s shoulder, gazing at his newest granddaughter with genuine awe. It’s still a surprising sight to see the powerful, usually reserved man smiling. But over the past few months, I’ve come to know a different side of Gabriella’s family—one that transcends their criminal ties. They really are just a normal family. They have a family dinner once a month and they celebrate birthdays and holidays together. They make it a priority to be there for the important things. Like right now. Meeting the two newest members of the family.
I meet Gabriella’s eyes, and she nods with a smile. “Our daughter’s name is Angelica.”
“Aw, I love that,” Alice remarks. “That fits her so well.”
“We thought so,” Gabriella agrees before she hands our son to me, who has finally stopped nursing.
“And our son,” I start while I wipe the milk from his mouth and then prop him up to tap at his back until he burps. “Is Gabriel.”
Dante nods his head in an approving manner. “After his mother.”
“Yes.”
“May I hold him?” Dante asks.
“Of course.” If I thought it was odd seeing him smile before, it’s an even stranger sight seeing him hold a tiny baby in his large hands.
“He’s strong,” Dante notes when the baby latches on to his finger with his tiny fist. “You did well, Princess. You both did.”
“Thank you.” Gabriella smiles.
“Have you thought about what to do next?” Dante asks.
His question brings the mood down a level in the room. It’s been hard for me since I left the Bratva. No one but Alexei knows that I’m alive and because I’m technically “dead,” it’s too risky to be seen in public. I’ve kept busy. Preparing the nursery mostly but there’s only so much to do around Gabriella’s house. We’ve known and accepted for a while that our time in Miami is limited, but we didn’t want to make any plans until Gabriella graduated and the babies were born.
“I hate the idea of you having to leave,” Alice admits softly with a hitch in her voice.
“I know, Mom,” Gabriella says. “I do too, but we can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous for all of us.”
There’s a part of me that feels guilty over Gabriella having to leave her family. But as she has said each time I bring it up, I am her family now. Me and the twins. Where we go, she goes.
“We’ve thought about Europe,” I share the only idea we’ve agreed on.
“It’ll take me a little time to get accredited over there to practice medicine,” Gabriella explains. “But it’s safe. And Evie has agreed to help with new identities and all that, too.”
Dante is quiet. So is Alice as they process the new information.
“We know it’s not a very detailed plan,” Gabriella continues when her parents stay quiet. “And that there’s still a lot to think about. Like where are we going to live? Do we pick a big city or a small town? What about—”
“The family island,” Dante interrupts.
“Island?” I didn’t know the DiAngelos had an island. Well…another island that is, since the family estate rests on an island here in Miami.
“Yes. The Angelos island off the coast of Naples,” Dante explains. “We haven’t been back for a few years, but it’s private and safe. It's only a quick thirty-minute boat ride to the mainland and fifteen by helicopter.”
“What are you saying, Dad?”
“Until you decide what to do, stay there. Raise Gabriel and Angelica there. Immerse them in our culture. Live, love, and be happy. Together. You deserve it and there’s nothing more I want for my little girl than that.”
Gabriella smiles with teary eyes. “Thank you, Dad.”
He stands and gives his daughter a hug before placing a kiss on both her cheeks. “Just don’t forget about us.”
She laughs as she wipes away her tears. “I could never. You’ll come visit, right?”
“Of course we will,” her mom assures her and rises to stand by her husband’s side. She cradles Angelica in the crook of her arm while tightly grasping her daughter’s hand. “How about Christmas this year?”
“I’d love that.” Gabriella reaches for my hand with her free one and then smiles at me. “We both would.”
Later that evening, we lay together in Gabriella's hospital bed with our children resting between us. Some baking show is on the television with the volume low enough to hear but not be overly disturbing.
“Maybe I’ll take up baking in Italy,” I suggest.
Gabriella had been resting her head on my shoulder, and at my admission, looks up at me. I glance over at her with a smirk so she knows I’m joking. Mostly. I’ve given little thought to what I will do in Italy since being gifted the family island, but making cannolis and macaroons sounds like a decent idea…for a while at least.
“You burned toast the other day.”
“In my defense, your toaster is a piece of shit.”
“Language, Dimitri,” she scolds me.
I snort and glance down at the sleeping babies. “They can’t talk, let alone understand what I’m saying.”
“That’s not the point. They will before we know it, so you may as well start practicing safe language now.”
“Practicing safe language?” I repeat as a wicked idea forms in my mind. Looking back up, I snag Gabriella’s eyes, and she visibly shivers beneath my gaze. “Okay. How’s this for safe language? When your doctor gives you the all clear, I’m going to fuck you over and over, until you shout my name and come so hard, you see stars. And then, I’ll do it all again. All. Night. Long. And trust me, angel, you won’t need any safe words when I’m done with you.”
Gabriella clears her throat with a bright red blush blooming across her face. “Well, that’s…yeah, that’s good, and yeah, good use of the…safe…words.” She looks back to the television and fans her face with a hand. It’s adorable when she gets so flustered. Especially when I know exactly how dirty my angel can be. I lean over, being mindful of Gabriel and Angelica, and kiss her exposed neck, which makes her shiver and moan my name out on a gentle exhale. “Dimitri.”
“Yes?”
“The babies.”
“Are asleep.”
She turns toward me and grabs my shirt. For a second, I think she’s going to push me away, but then she pulls me forward. She kisses me like her life depends on it. “Then put them in their bassinets and show me just how safe you can be.”
I once believed life was a simple matter of black and white: good versus bad. Whichever side you nurture most takes control. For a time, I grappled with finding a balance, fearful that darkness would prevail. Yet it was in that very darkness that I discovered an angel residing among the devils. An angel sent to show me that there’s another way if I’d only admit the truth. The truth that it’s okay to straddle the line between right and wrong. That it’s okay to swim in the gray between dark and light. And that the man I was before was not the man I was always meant to be.
Because just as every choice has a consequence, the truth is we control the outcome. We just have to be brave enough to risk burning the world for the ending we want. And I’ll strike a match every time.