Chapter 25
Alessio
Day two in the NICU, and I still couldn't breathe properly when I looked at them.
Eva and Ezio. Our children. They were so impossibly small in their isolettes, covered in wires and monitors that beeped with every heartbeat.
Ezio was thriving—he'd gained two ounces overnight, his oxygen levels were perfect, and he was already trying to pull out his feeding tube. The nurses called him "feisty."
Eva was fighting harder. She was still on CPAP respiratory support, her tiny chest rising and falling with mechanical assistance. But her oxygen saturation had improved from yesterday, and the doctors seemed cautiously optimistic.
Small victories.
I stood between their isolettes, one hand in each, touching my children through the ports.
"Morning, babies," I said softly. "Daddy's here. Mama's sleeping—she needs to heal—but she'll be back soon."
Ezio's hand wrapped around my finger with a determined grip. Eva's eyes tracked toward my voice, focusing with surprising awareness.
"You're both doing so well. Getting stronger every day."
Nurse Sarah appeared, checking monitors with practiced efficiency.
"They had a good night," she reported. "Ezio's taking two ounces every three hours, which is excellent. Eva's respiratory numbers improved overnight—we might try weaning her off CPAP in a few days if this continues."
"Really?"
"Really. She's a fighter, Mr. Valestri. They both are." She smiled. "Premature twins at thirty-four weeks doing this well? You're very lucky."
Lucky. I'd never felt lucky until these two tiny humans proved they were stronger than everything trying to kill them.
"Thank you," I said. "For everything."
Valentina appeared an hour later, moving slowly, one hand on her healing incision.
"You're supposed to be resting," I said, immediately moving to support her.
"I rested. Now I need to see my babies."
I helped her to the rocking chair between the isolettes and opened both ports so she could reach them simultaneously. One hand on Ezio, one on Eva. Both babies settled under her touch.
"Hi, my loves," she whispered. "Mama's here. You both did so well last night."
I watched her with our children, and something in my chest cracked open. This woman had given me everything—family, hope, a future worth fighting for. And I'd almost lost all three of them yesterday.
My phone buzzed. Domenico: Outside. Can I come up?
Valentina nodded without looking away from the babies.
Come to the NICU. Floor 3.
Domenico appeared a few minutes later, carrying a gift bag that said "It's Twins!" in obnoxiously glittery letters.
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
"Really? Glitter?"
"Babies deserve glitter." He set the bag down and approached the isolettes with uncharacteristic hesitation. "Can I see them?"
"Meet your godchildren," Valentina said.
He peered in at Ezio first. "Madonna. He's so tiny."
"Five pounds, two ounces. Good size for thirty-four weeks."
"He looks like you—same serious expression." Domenico moved to Eva's isolette. "And she's even smaller."
"Four pounds, nine ounces. But getting stronger every hour."
Domenico stared at both babies with complete, unguarded awe.
"They're perfect," he said, voice rough. "Absolutely perfect."
"They are." I moved beside him. "We talked about this before they were born, but now they're here. Now it's real. I want you to be their godfather. Padrino. The old way, with witnesses and everything."
He turned to me, eyes wet. "Alessio—"
"There's no one else I'd trust. You've been my brother for twenty-three years. You've saved my life more times than I can count." I met his eyes. "I want you to be part of their lives. Officially."
"It would be my honor, fratello." He gripped my shoulder. "I swear on everything I am—on our brotherhood, on Eva's memory—I will protect these children with my life. They will never face a threat alone."
The oath landed with the weight it deserved. Domenico invoking my sister's name—Eva, gone fifteen years now but never forgotten—meant he understood exactly what he was promising.
"We know," I said simply. "Why do you think we asked?"
Valentina was crying silently, one hand still on each baby.
Domenico pulled gifts from the glittery bag—tiny onesies that said "Godfather's Favorite" in Italian, soft blankets, and stuffed animals.
"The elephant is for Eva. The lion is for Ezio. So they remember their Uncle Domenico loves them."
"They're perfect," Valentina said through tears. "Thank you, Dom."
"Always, Valentina." He squeezed her shoulder. "You did well. Both of you."
We stood together—two exhausted parents, one loyal brother, two fighting babies.
Family.
For one perfect moment, everything felt okay.
Then Domenico's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, frowned, and stepped into the hallway.
I watched through the window as his expression transformed from confusion to horror.
He was back in seconds, face ashen.
"Alessio. Outside. Now."
The tone made my blood run cold.
In the hallway, he showed me his phone.
News alert: MARCO DELUCA ESCAPED ADX FLORENCE. COORDINATED brEACH—MULTIPLE POINTS OF ENTRY. FOUR GUARDS DEAD, TWO CRITICAL. SUSPECT ARMED AND DANGEROUS.
Again. The bastard had done it again. Different method this time—not a transport ambush but a direct assault on the most secure federal prison in the country. Someone had spent serious money making this happen.
"When?" I asked.
"Two hours ago. The professional team hit the facility at shift change—explosives on the east wall, coordinated assault through three entry points.
His people ambushed the van, killed the guards, got him out before response teams could mobilize.
" Domenico's jaw was tight. "FBI's scrambling, but he's in the wind. "
"Does he know we're here?"
"If he still has people inside the system, he knows exactly where you are."
I looked through the window at Valentina holding our babies' hands, unaware that the monster who'd tried to kill her had escaped. Again.
"Get her out of there," I said. "Quietly. Don't scare her."
Domenico coordinated with Rodriguez while I returned to the NICU.
"Hey," I said softly. "We need to head back to your room."
Valentina looked up and read the truth in my eyes immediately.
"What happened?"
"Not here. Room first."
She touched both babies one more time. "Mama will be back soon. I love you."
In her room, the door closed, I told her.
"Marco escaped two hours ago. Coordinated assault on the prison—professional mercenaries, multiple breach points. He killed four guards. He's out."
Color drained from her face. Her hand went to her still-swollen stomach.
"He knows we're here?"
"We have to assume yes. FBI's locking down the hospital and moving you to a secure location as soon as you're cleared."
"The babies—"
"Stay in NICU. It's the most secure area—restricted access, cameras everywhere. Rodriguez is positioning armed guards at every entrance." I took her hands. "They're safer there than anywhere."
"I just had them two days ago. And now I have to leave them?"
"Just until we neutralize the threat."
"How long?"
"I don't know, amore."
She sank onto the bed, and quiet tears streamed down her face. Not loud sobs—just silent devastation while she processed that Marco was destroying even this—the first days with our newborns.
I sat beside her and pulled her carefully against my chest.
Rodriguez entered thirty minutes later with a tactical plan.
"We're moving you to a secure FBI facility within the hour. A medical team will accompany you to monitor your recovery. The babies stay here under armed guard until they're cleared for transport."
"How long until they can be moved?" I asked.
"Minimum seventy-two hours for Ezio, longer for Eva with her respiratory needs. Could be a week."
A week of our newborns in NICU while we hid. The thought was unbearable.
"What about visiting?" Valentina asked, voice small.
"We'll arrange secure transport for brief visits. But every time you come to the hospital, you're exposed. Marco knows you just gave birth—he'll expect you here."
"So I leave them?" Her voice rose. "I just don't see my children while they're fighting for every breath?"
"We're working on a solution—"
"There is no solution!" Valentina stood, wincing at the pull on her incision. "Either I stay and risk Marco finding us, or I hide while they're alone and terrified. Those are my options?"
Rodriguez's expression was sympathetic but firm. "Until we locate Marco, yes."
The injustice hit like a physical blow. We'd done everything right—testified, cooperated, helped dismantle Marco's empire. And we were still paying the price.
I needed a moment to think. I pulled out my phone, walked to the hallway, and called Domenico.
"I need you to do something," I said quietly.
"Name it."
I looked through the window at Valentina crying, and thought of our babies fighting three floors above.
"If something happens to me—if Marco gets to me first—you take care of them. Valentina and the babies. Forever. That's the price—it's all I'll ask. What resources are you planning?"
"Nothing yet. But I need, whatever it takes."
Silence.
Then: "You know I will. But fratello, you're not dying. We're finding Marco, ending this threat, and you're raising those babies." His voice roughened. "Eva would haunt me if I let you do something stupid."
Despite everything, I smiled. "She would."
"So promise—no heroics. No sacrificing yourself. We do this smart, together."
"I promise. But Dom? Thank you. For twenty-three years of having my back. For being the brother I chose."
"Don't." His voice cracked. "Don't do the goodbye speech."
"Just needed to say it."
After we hung up, I made myself a promise: Marco DeLuca would not destroy my family. Whatever it took, he would not win.
They moved Valentina to the secure facility at midnight.
I rode beside her in the armored transport, watching her stare out the window toward the hospital where our babies slept without us.
"They'll be okay," I said.