Chapter 18 #2
"Late May, early June. The doctor said." I hesitated, not wanting to shatter the moment but needing him to know. "She said the stress and trauma put the pregnancy at higher risk. The drugs Simpson gave me, everything with Marco, all of it. She wants to monitor me closely."
Alessio's hand stilled. "Risk how?"
"She didn't specify. Just said we need weekly ultrasounds, to watch for complications, minimize stress." The irony wasn't lost on either of us. "Which is going to be difficult while testifying against Marco and figuring out witness protection and—"
"We'll make it work," he said. "Whatever you need. Whatever they need. We'll make it work."
"You sound so certain."
"I am." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "You survived your father trying to murder you while pregnant with my children. If that didn't break you, nothing will. We'll handle whatever comes next."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to feel that same certainty.
Instead, I felt overwhelmed. Unprepared.
"I don't know how to be a mother," I admitted quietly. "My own mother left when I was eight. Marco was—well, you know what he was. I don't have good models for this, Alessio. What if I'm terrible at it? What if I mess them up the way my parents messed me up?"
"You won't." He tilted my chin up and made me meet his eyes. "You're nothing like Marco. Nothing like the people who hurt you. You're brave and kind and strong. You'll be an amazing mother."
"How do you know?"
"Because you ran when you discovered the truth instead of staying comfortable.
Because you fought back when it would've been easier to submit.
Because even now, scared and hurting and overwhelmed, your first instinct is to protect them.
" His hand pressed gently over my stomach.
"That's what good mothers do. They protect their children even when they're terrified. You're already doing it."
The words cracked something open inside me. Fresh tears spilled over.
"We're really doing this," I whispered. "Having babies. Building a family."
"We really are."
"In the middle of everything falling apart."
"Best time for new beginnings." He smiled, and despite the bruising and blood and exhaustion, it transformed his entire face. "When everything else is burning down, you build something better from the ashes."
I laughed through my tears. "That's very poetic for a man who just beat up my father."
"I'm multifaceted."
"Clearly."
We lay like that for a long time, wrapped around each other carefully, his hand never leaving my stomach. Processing. Adjusting. Beginning to believe this impossible thing was real.
A knock interrupted us. The nurse from earlier.
"Sorry to interrupt, but we need to admit Ms. DeLuca for overnight observation. Mr. Valestri, you're cleared to stay if you'd like, but we're moving her to a regular room."
"I'm staying," Alessio said immediately.
"One more thing," I said before she could leave. "My mother—Sofia DeLuca. She was brought in earlier with a gunshot wound. Is she—can you find out how she's doing?"
The nurse nodded. "I'll check with the surgical floor and let you know."
They transferred me to a private room on the fourth floor—quieter, more comfortable, away from the ER chaos. Alessio never left my side, limping along beside the gurney despite his own injuries, refusing to let go of my hand.
Once settled in the new room, the nurse returned with an update.
"Your mother is out of surgery and stable. She's in the ICU for observation, but the doctors expect a full recovery. There are FBI agents posted outside her door."
Relief flooded through me. "Can I see her?"
"Not tonight—she's sedated, and you need rest. But tomorrow, if you're both stable, we can arrange something."
Tomorrow. I could wait until tomorrow.
After the nurse left, I finally asked the question that had been burning in my mind since Dr. Chao left.
"Are you scared? About the babies?"
Alessio was quiet for a moment, staring at our joined hands.
"Terrified," he admitted. "I have no idea how to be a father. My own father trained me to be a killer from age ten. Taught me strategy, violence, and how to run a criminal empire. Not exactly helpful parenting skills."
"So we're both completely unprepared."
"Completely." He smiled slightly. "But we'll figure it out. Read books. Take classes. Ask Sofia for help. Make it up as we go."
"Very reassuring."
"I'm being honest." His thumb stroked the back of my hand. "We're going to make mistakes. Probably lots of them. But we'll love them fiercely and protect them completely. That's more than either of us had growing up."
He was right. Low bar, but true.
"They're going to have such a weird origin story," I said. "Conceived while their parents were running from the mafia. Born while testifying against their grandfather. This is not how normal families start."
"We were never going to be normal." Alessio shifted carefully to face me more fully. "But we'll be ours. That's better than normal."
A knock interrupted before I could respond.
Dr. Chao returned with more paperwork and instructions. Prenatal vitamins. Diet recommendations. Warning signs to watch for. Follow-up appointment in one week.
"Given your circumstances, I'm referring you to a high-risk OB," she said. "Dr. Patricia Morrison at Phoenix Maternal Health. She specializes in complex pregnancies and trauma cases. You'll be in excellent hands."
High-risk pregnancy. The words settled over me like a weight.
"One more thing," Dr. Chao added, pulling up the ultrasound image again. "Would you like pictures? For your records?"
She handed me printouts—grainy black-and-white images showing two tiny bean-shaped forms. So small. So impossibly fragile.
Our children.
I stared at the images until they blurred with tears.
"Thank you," I managed.
After she left, Alessio took one of the printouts, studied it with that intense focus he brought to everything important.
"They're so tiny," he said, voice rough with wonder. "How is something that small already a person?"
"Two persons. Technically."
"Two persons." He shook his head slowly. "Cristo. We're having two babies, Valentina."
"I know. It's insane."
"It's perfect."
The certainty in his voice steadied something inside me. If he could believe we'd handle this, maybe I could too.
"What happens now?" I asked. "With everything. Marco's arrested, but there's still the trial. Testifying. Witness protection. How do we—"
"One thing at a time." Alessio carefully climbed onto the bed beside me, mindful of IVs and his own injuries. Pulled me against his side with infinite gentleness. "Right now, we rest. Tomorrow, we talk to the FBI about next steps. But tonight, we just breathe and remember we survived."
I settled against him, felt his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. Strong. Alive. Real.
"I was so scared I'd lost you," I admitted quietly. "When I saw that hit order on Marco's desk. When I realized he had a sniper waiting for your convoy—"
"But you saved me." His lips pressed to my hair. "You called 911. Warned them. The FBI changed my transport route because of your call—that's why Marco's people had to improvise the ambush instead of the clean shot they'd planned. Your warning gave me a chance to fight back."
I hadn't known that. Hadn't known my desperate 911 call from Marco's study had done anything except bring the police eventually.
"The livestream helped too," I said. "Millions of people calling 911, reporting Marco's location, demanding police response. He couldn't make me disappear quietly with the whole world watching."
"Brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant."
We were quiet for a while, exhaustion pulling at both of us.
Then Alessio's hand moved to my stomach again, settling there like it belonged.
"May," he murmured. "They'll be born in May."
"If everything goes well."
"It will go well." Fierce now, protective. "We'll make sure of it. Whatever you need—rest, medical care, safety, peace—you'll have it. All of it."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He shifted to look at me directly. "Valentina, I believe you."
And I realized, saying it, that I did.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. We'll figure it out."
"We will."
His certainty wrapped around me like armor. Like safety. Like the promise that no matter what came next, we'd face it together.
I pressed my hand over his, where it rested on my stomach. Two lives between our palms. Tiny. Fragile. Ours.
"I love you," I said. "I don't think I've said it enough. But I love you. So much it terrifies me."
"I love you too." He kissed me softly. "You, and them, and this impossible life we're building. All of it."
"Even though everything's a mess?"
"Especially because everything's a mess." His smile was gentle. "We're good at messy. We'll be good at this, too."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to list all the reasons we'd be terrible parents—our trauma, our pasts, our complete lack of preparation.
But lying there in his arms, his hand warm over our growing children, I felt something shift inside me.
Maybe we would be good at this. Maybe surviving impossible things made you stronger, not weaker. Maybe love born from darkness burned brighter than love that had never been tested.
Maybe we'd already proven we could handle anything.
Outside the window, Phoenix sprawled below in glittering lights. Somewhere out there, Marco sat in a cell. Somewhere, Sofia was recovering under armed guard. Somewhere, the world was still processing the viral livestream and the dramatic arrest, the exposure of decades of corruption.
But in this room, in this moment, none of that mattered.
Just us. Just the beginning of our family. Just the future stretching ahead—uncertain and terrifying and beautiful.
"May," I said softly. "Seven months from now."
"Seven months to figure everything out."
"Seven months to testify against Marco, enter witness protection, figure out where we're living, and learn how to be parents." I laughed, slightly hysterical. "Plenty of time," I said, and I heard the smile in my own voice.
We were absolutely insane.
But we were insane together.
And somehow, that made it feel possible.
I drifted toward sleep, safe in Alessio's arms, one hand protectively over my stomach where two tiny heartbeats flickered.
Hold on, I thought to them. We're going to give you the best life possible. Safe. Loved. Free. Everything your parents never had.
Just hold on.
Tomorrow would bring complications—legal proceedings, FBI negotiations, medical appointments, the thousand impossible details of building a life from wreckage.
But tonight, we had this.
Peace. Safety. Each other. And two tiny reasons to keep fighting for the future we deserve.
It was enough.
More than enough.
It was everything.