Chapter 7 #2
I stared at that screen, at that small outline, and felt like my chest was going to explode.
This was my kid.
My blood.
Mine.
"Ezio."
Olivia's voice cut through.
I turned. She was still watching the screen, tears streaming down her face.
"Our baby," she said, her voice trembling. "You see? That's our baby."
Our baby.
That hit me harder than anything else could have.
"I see," I said.
She turned to look at me, green eyes swimming, but the smile was real. "She's beautiful," she said. "Look at her tiny hand, her fast heart. Ezio, do you think she'll look like you?"
I didn't answer.
Just looked at her.
At that smile on her face, those eyes bright as they could be, her hand gentle on her belly like she was protecting something precious.
"Checkup's done," Dr. Green said, switching off the machine and handing her tissues. "Everything's perfect, Mrs. Visconti. Baby's healthy, you're doing beautifully."
Olivia took the tissues and wiped her eyes. "Thank you, doctor."
"Keep up what you're doing," Dr. Green said. "Rest, stay happy. And—" She looked at me. "Dad's doing great, too. Pregnant women need family support. Your presence matters for her and the baby."
I nodded. Didn't say anything.
Dr. Green printed the ultrasound image and handed it over.
She took that small black-and-white slip in both hands like it was made of glass, studied it for a long time, then clutched it to her chest and closed her eyes. Tears slid silently down her face.
When she sat up and looked around like she needed something to hold onto, and her eyes found me standing right there, she didn't hesitate more than a second before she buried her face in my chest.
My hand froze mid-air.
Her shoulder trembled lightly. I could feel her fingers gripping my shirt, feel the warmth of her forehead through the thin cotton.
My hand came down.
I put it on her back, light, just resting there.
No extra movement. No extra words. But my hand was on her, and I kept it there until she lifted her head.
She looked up at me, eyes swollen but holding something soft and transparent I'd never seen before. "Thank you for coming with me," she said.
"Yeah," I said.
She looked down at her belly, then hesitated and raised her hand. "She's moving. Do you want to...?"
She didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
I looked at her hand on her belly. Stayed silent for a few seconds.
Then I put my hand over hers.
The kid kicked right then. Light as butterfly wings, but real—clear against my palm, through the fabric, through skin, hitting somewhere inside me I don't usually touch.
I stared at my own hand. Couldn't say a word.
Olivia laughed quietly beside me. "She knows you," she said. "She started moving as soon as you came."
"So you just stood there watching the ultrasound for twenty straight minutes?"
Sebastian was in the bar booth with a whiskey, smirk all over his face.
"Not twenty minutes," I said flatly. "Maybe ten."
"Oh, ten." He laughed harder. "Well, that explains why you still look like you're starving for more. You've said 'the baby's fingers were so small' five times since you walked in."
"I didn't."
"You did," he said, leaning forward. "And you asked me if all babies had that small fingers, if their heartbeats were always that fast, and what was that thing—right, fetal movement. You said you saw the baby kick and asked me if that meant she'd be really active."
I drained my whiskey.
"You're talking a lot today."
"Because you're entertaining as hell today," he said, settling back in his chair, swirling his drink. "Ezio Visconti, coldest mafia boss in New York, sitting here telling me how adorable his unborn baby's fingers are."
"I didn't say adorable."
"Your face did," he laughed. "When you pulled out your phone to show me that ultrasound picture—"
I glared at him.
He didn't care. Kept laughing.
"Real talk, man," he said. "I've known you for twenty years. Never seen you like this."
"Like what?"
"Like a guy about to be a father," he said. "An actual father. Not some cold-blooded family man who needs an heir. A real one. The kind that goes soft over baby fingers."
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know what to say.
Was he right?
In that exam room, I definitely—
I definitely felt something strange.
Watching that screen, watching that small outline, hearing that fast heartbeat, I suddenly realized that wasn't just a Visconti heir.
That was a real life.
A life with fingers and a heartbeat and a kick and a yawn.
And half of that life came from me.
"This is good," Sebastian said, voice softer now. "You got a beautiful wife, a healthy kid. You should be happy."
"She's not..." I paused. "This is just a transaction."
"A transaction?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Man, you talked my ear off about that ultrasound. Baby's hands, fetal movement, and how fast the heartbeat was. Your eyes were glowing the whole time."
"I just—"
"You're just caring about your kid," he cut me off. "Nothing wrong with that. Being a father is a good thing."
"I know," I said. "I'm not saying it's bad."
"So what are you twisted up about?" he asked, leaning forward. "She's carrying your baby. You married her. You went to the checkup together and watched the ultrasound together. That's normal, right?"
"But it's not a real—" I stopped. "It's not a real marriage."
"Oh," he drew it out, smirk spreading. "So you're telling me you feel nothing for her?"
"No. The right woman for me should be like Bianca, someone from a strong family."
"Come on, man. You're lying to yourself."
I stared at him. Had nothing to say.
He laughed, and there was pity in it, and mockery too.
"Ezio, you haven't mentioned Bianca once," he said. "Not once in the last half hour."
I picked up my glass. Stayed quiet.
Silence stretched between us, heavy.
Outside the window, Manhattan glowed against the night—lights bleeding into lights, the skyline burning in the distance. Sebastian shifted the conversation, talked about family business, recent moves, and money. I gave the right answers and kept it smooth.
But part of my brain was still somewhere else.
Still in that small exam room. In that fast heartbeat. In that butterfly kick against my palm. In the minute she buried her face in my chest, and my hand found her back.
I tried to pull up Bianca's name in my head. Her face. The reasons why she was supposed to be the right choice. Elegant. Calculated. Fluent in this world. Could handle the old men. That's who should be standing next to me.
"I won't love her," I said quietly, barely loud enough for my own ears. "That's not going to happen. It can't."
Sebastian was talking about something else, maybe he didn't even hear.
I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket. A pair of green eyes flashed through my mind, then disappeared.