Chapter 24
Valentina
Morning came with a knock on our bedroom door.
I'd woken feeling off—a low, dull ache in my back that wouldn't ease no matter how I shifted, tightness across my belly that came and went. Braxton-Hicks, probably. I'd been having them for weeks. But something about today felt different.
Alessio was already awake—I'd felt him slip out of bed hours ago, heard the low murmur of phone calls from the hallway. Something was wrong.
"Come in," I called, sitting up carefully, one hand on my belly—thirty-two weeks now, the twins restless this morning, all elbows and knees against my ribs.
Alessio entered with Domenico, both wearing expressions that made my stomach drop.
"What happened?"
"We need to talk about Livia," Alessio said quietly.
Ice flooded my veins. "What about her?"
Domenico showed me phone records on his tablet. "She made three calls to a blocked number the week before she appeared. We traced it. The number is connected to Marco's organization."
No. Not Livia. Not after everything we'd shared—
"She's been in contact with Marco's people," Alessio said, voice tight. "Right before she showed up."
"There has to be an explanation—"
"There is." Livia's voice came from the doorway.
We turned. She stood there in pajamas, pale but determined.
"I was monitoring Marco's cooperation filings," she said. "That number belongs to a legal document service that tracks federal cooperator disclosures. I've been following his case since his arrest."
Alessio's hand moved toward his weapon. "Explain. Now."
"My mother worked for a private investigation firm.
She taught me how to access court records, track case filings, and monitor public disclosures.
" Livia pulled out her phone and showed a series of documents.
"When Marco was convicted, I started tracking his cooperation agreement with prosecutors.
I wanted to know if he'd ever mention me, acknowledge I existed. "
She scrolled through the files. "Instead, I found he's been trading information for better conditions. And he's been asking about you, Valentina. Where you are. Whether he can request contact."
My blood ran cold. "He's looking for me?"
"He's obsessed. Every filing, he works it in. 'Where's my daughter? Is she safe?'" Livia's voice shook. "But it's not a concern. It's a strategy. He's positioning for something."
Domenico was cross-referencing on his tablet. "Preliminary check holds up. These files match public court records. I'll need more time for full verification, but so far, she's telling the truth."
"Why didn't you tell us from the beginning?" Alessio demanded.
"Because I wasn't sure you'd believe me! I'm Marco's secret daughter with convenient warnings—that's exactly what a spy would do." She looked at me desperately. "I needed you to trust me first. Then I could explain."
"So you lied," I said slowly.
"I withheld information. There's a difference." She stepped closer. "I've never spoken to Marco. Never met him. Never worked for him. I've been watching him, trying to understand what he's planning. And what I found scared me enough to risk everything to warn you."
Alessio exchanged a look with Domenico.
"Keep verifying," Alessio said. "Everything."
An hour later, Domenico confirmed it. "She's telling the truth. The service she used is legitimate—legal professionals use it to track cooperator disclosures. She's been monitoring the service. She's been tracking Marco's case for six months. Everything checks out."
Relief and fury warred in my chest.
"You still should have told us," I said to Livia.
"I know. I'm sorry. But you need to hear what I found." She pulled up more files. "Marco's building toward something. And you're at the center of it."
We gathered in the living room—me, Alessio, Domenico, Sofia, and Livia.
Agent Rodriguez joined us after Domenico briefed her.
Livia connected her phone to the TV and displayed transcripts.
"Three weeks ago, Marco started cooperating with prosecutors.
Offering names, locations, evidence." She highlighted sections.
"But he keeps steering conversations toward protective custody protocols —how cooperating witnesses and their families are relocated, what information gets shared with defendants. "
"He's trying to find us," Alessio said flatly.
"And he started asking about visitation rights. 'I have a right to see my pregnant daughter.' Playing the concerned father." Livia met my eyes. "He's filed a formal request. Prosecutors are reviewing it. They don't understand what he really wants."
"Which is?" I asked, dread pooling in my stomach.
"Access. Once he knows your general location through visitation logistics, he can position his people." She paused. "He's not trying to see you. He's trying to find you."
The babies kicked hard against my ribs.
Rodriguez was on her phone. "I'm calling this in. If Marco's manipulating prosecutors, we shut it down."
"There's more," Livia said. "His network is still operational. The money-laundering operations, the shell companies—someone's keeping them running from the outside. Which means he still has people who can act on whatever information he gets."
Alessio's expression went deadly cold. "Then nowhere is safe until we know who's running his operations."
The weight settled over us.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"Get ahead of it," Alessio said. "Domenico's already tracking the network. We find who's running it, we cut Marco off."
"Working on it," Domenico said, fingers flying.
I stood —too quickly. The room spun.
The ache in my back sharpened. The tightness I'd been ignoring all morning clenched harder, longer.
Alessio was beside me immediately. "You okay?"
"Just dizzy—"
Then pain—sharp, cramping, low in my abdomen.
Not Braxton-Hicks.
Something wrong.
"Alessio—" I gasped, doubling over.
Wetness between my legs. I looked down, saw fluid soaking through my pants.
My water had broken.
"Oh God," Sofia breathed. "The babies—"
Another contraction seized me, so intense I couldn't breathe.
"Hospital," Alessio said, already moving, supporting my weight. "Now."
"She's only thirty-four weeks," Sofia said, voice tight. "It's too early—"
Rodriguez was on her radio. "Medical emergency. Premature labor. Immediate escort to Bozeman Memorial—"
Another contraction. Stronger. Closer.
This was happening.
Six weeks early.
Alessio half-carried me to the FBI vehicle.
Sofia grabbed the hospital bag with her good arm. Livia appeared beside us.
"I'm coming with you."
"Livia—"
"You're my sister. I'm coming."
Another contraction stole my ability to argue.
The drive took twenty minutes that felt like hours.
Contractions every three minutes. Too fast. Too strong.
Thirty-four weeks. Babies this early needed NICU care, respiratory support—
"They'll be okay," Alessio kept saying. "They're strong. You're strong."
I wanted to believe him.
The hospital was ready—wheelchair waiting, team prepared.
They rushed me inside, Alessio running beside me, refusing to let go of my hand.
"Valentina DeLuca, thirty-four weeks with twins, water broke thirty minutes ago, contractions every three minutes—"
"Her records from Dr. Morrison in Phoenix are already in the system," someone confirmed. "High-risk pregnancy, twins, no prior complications."
The medical team swarmed. Vitals checked. IV started. Monitors tracking both babies' heartbeats.
Two distinct rhythms filled the room—rapid, fluttering, alive.
"We need to get you to Labor and Delivery," Dr. Reyes said. "Thirty-four weeks is early but viable. We'll try to delay delivery if possible, but if they're coming, we're prepared."
"What are their chances?" Alessio asked.
"Good. Very good at thirty-four weeks. Over ninety-five percent survival rate. They'll need NICU care initially, but most babies this age go home healthy within weeks." She squeezed my hand. "Try to stay calm."
Stay calm. While my babies came six weeks early because of stress, fear, Marco's shadow—
"This isn't your fault," Alessio said fiercely. "You hear me?"
But it felt like my fault.
They wheeled me to Labor and Delivery, Alessio beside me.
Sofia and Livia were directed to the waiting room—only one person allowed with twins.
"We'll be right here," Sofia promised.
"You've got this," Livia added.
Then just Alessio, me, and the medical team.
"We're going to try to slow labor," Dr. Reyes explained, administering medication. "Give the babies more time."
The medication helped—contractions spaced to five, then six minutes.
Maybe we could delay this.
Then alarms screamed.
"Baby A's heart rate is dropping," a nurse called.
Dr. Reyes checked the monitors. "We can't wait. Emergency C-section. Now."
"No—"
"Their heart rates are unstable. We need to get these babies out safely."
I nodded, tears streaming.
Alessio's hand tightened on mine. "I'm right here."
They wheeled me to the OR. Alessio gowned up beside me.
"You'll feel pressure but no pain," Dr. Reyes said. "Babies out in minutes."
Alessio settled beside me, hands framing my face. "Look at me. Just me."
I focused on his dark eyes.
"I'm scared."
"Me too. But we've survived everything else." His thumb stroked my cheek. "Eva and Ezio—they're fighters. Like their mother."
Eva and Ezio. The names we'd finally settled on during those quiet weeks with Livia—poring over baby books, arguing playfully, until these two felt right. Strong names. Survivors' names.
"Applying pressure now," Dr. Reyes announced.
Strange tugging, pressure without pain.
"First baby coming."
Movement behind the drape.
Then—a cry.
"It's a boy. Small but strong."
Ezio.
"Five pounds, two ounces. Breathing well."
"Second baby."
More pressure.
Then—silence.
"She's not breathing."
Eva.
Hands moved fast. Equipment appeared.
Then—finally—a sound.
"She's breathing. Needs NICU support."
"Four pounds, nine ounces."
Both alive.
They brought Ezio briefly—tiny, screaming. I touched his hand.
"Hi, baby. Mama's here."