Chapter 12
P aolina
The pain starts like a tightening deep in my back, low and sharp, pulling me out of restless sleep before dawn.
At first, I think it’s just another false alarm—I’ve had Braxton Hicks for weeks now.
But when the second one rolls through ten minutes later, my breath catches. By the third, I can’t stay still.
I shift in bed, my hand reaching instinctively for Donatello. He’s there, as always, curled against me, his palm curved protectively around my swollen belly.
“Donatello,” I whisper. My voice cracks. “It’s time.”
His eyes open instantly, with no haze of sleep. Obsidian sharp, deadly alert, as if his body’s been waiting for this moment. “ Cristo. ” He’s already moving, swinging out of bed, grabbing his phone and barking orders in rapid-fire Italian.
Within minutes, the villa comes alive—guards in motion, the nurse and doctor rushing in.
Faustino and Marcello appear from the rooms they’ve been staying in while they hold vigil with Donatello, calm but intense, like two dark pillars in the hall.
My breath hitches again as another contraction claws its way through me.
Donatello is at my side in a blink, sliding an arm around me. “Breathe with me, bella mia . In. Out. I’ve got you.”
His calmness steadies me, but fear gnaws at my chest. The island feels suddenly too small, too far from the rest of the world. “I can’t do this here,” I gasp. “I need a hospital.”
“You’ll have one.” He sweeps me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, carrying me down the stairs.
The double doors burst open to reveal the helicopter already whirring on the pad, blades cutting the dawn.
The flight is a blur of pain and motion. I’m stretched across Donatello’s lap, his hand gripping mine, his other hand stroking my hair. Faustino sits across, jaw tight, eyes steady on me as if willing me strength. Marcello murmurs into his phone, already clearing landing space at the hospital.
“You’re strong,” Donatello whispers, lips against my temple. “Stronger than anyone. Our daughter is strong too. We’re almost there.”
The contractions come faster, stealing my breath, my pride, my composure. I cling to him, burying my face in his chest, letting the steady thrum of the rotors drown out my fear.
The hospital is chaotic. Bright lights, sharp scents, voices barking orders. And then—faces I never expected.
My mother. Tears streak her cheeks, her hands reaching but not touching, as if afraid I’ll vanish. Behind her, my father stands grim, pale with fury and something else I can’t name.
“Paolina,” Mamma breathes, voice breaking.
I can’t answer before another contraction grips me, dragging a scream from my throat. Donatello’s arms tighten around me, his glare slicing through the crowd. “Back. All of you. She doesn’t need your bullshit.”
And then I see them—his parents. His mother, regal in black silk, eyes sharp and assessing but with a glimmer of warmth. His father, older, stoic, with the same brutal jaw as his sons. They nod once, as if acknowledging me as theirs.
I’m rushed onto a bed, wheeled through double doors, nurses swarming.
Donatello never lets go of my hand. Faustino and Marcello follow close, emanating power at the threshold.
Our parents remain outside, the weight of their worlds pressing against the glass.
Guards block the hallway and stand at my door.
Inside, the pain rips me apart. Sweat blinds me. My screams echo off tile. Even so, he’s there—Donatello, bending close, voice low and fierce: “Breathe, amore . Push when they tell you. I’m here. I won’t leave. Not ever.”
Hours blur. Pain, pushing, tears. Then—the cry. Piercing. Strong.
Our baby girl.
They place her on my chest—tiny, warm, perfect. My body shakes with sobs I can’t control.
Donatello bends, his forehead against mine, his voice raw. “ Nostra figlia. Our daughter.” His hand trembles as it cups her head. “ Ti amo, bella mia .”
The world tilts. Donatello Romano loves me.
“ Ti amo, amore mio, ” I murmur thickly.
“ Grazie a Dio. ”
The smile he gives me shines brighter than Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
For the first time, I don’t think about running. There’s no doubt in my mind. We’re staying.
The decision settles over me like a cloak I didn’t realize I’d been wearing all along. No running. No escape plan humming at the edges of my thoughts. Just here—this man, this child, this family that is ours whether I wanted it.
The room smells of antiseptic and lavender. My body feels emptied, wrecked, yet filled at the same time with something fierce and new.
Cosima. Our daughter.
The nurses lift her gently from my chest to clean her, weigh her, check every detail.
Donatello never leaves her side. He watches with a predator’s focus, as if daring anyone to falter. When they swaddle her, his enormous hands are the first to cradle her.
I blink through tears as he stands over her, his dark head bowed close. The enforcer everyone fears… holding a newborn like she’s made of spun glass.
“Cosima,” he whispers. “Order. Beauty.” His voice cracks on the word beauty, a sound I never thought I’d hear from him.
I want to reach for them both, but I can’t move, not yet. My body is too heavy, too raw. A nurse helps me into a fresh silk nightgown, the pale fabric cool against my overheated skin.
Another gently brushes my hair, pulling it back from my damp face. I should feel like porcelain being arranged, but for once I don’t mind. I want to look… assured. Confident of our family. Our love.
When I’m settled against pillows, Donatello lifts Cosima and crosses to me. He places her in my arms once more, then turns to the doorway. “Bring them in.”
The door opens, and the families file inside.
My mother gasps softly, tears shining. My father follows, jaw clenched, his silence louder than any curse. Donatello’s parents enter, his father grim but approving, his mother smiling faintly at our baby. Faustino and Marcello stand beside their brother.
I’m surprised when Boss Lucca Lucchese enters, flanked by his twin and Underboss Ludovico and their adopted brother, Consigliere Flavio. Their presence is its own seal of approval, and my heart swells with quiet joy.
Donatello stands tall at the bedside, one hand on my shoulder, the other resting lightly on our daughter’s blanket. His voice carries deep and certain.
“Her name is Cosima Romano. Cosima —for order, for beauty. She carries both in her blood. She is ours.”
The words are both announcement and decree.
For a breath, the room is silent. Then congratulations ripple through: Donatello’s mother kisses my cheeks, murmuring blessings; Faustino grips my shoulder, steady and warm; Marcello smirks but his eyes soften. My mother touches my hand, whispering, “ Bellissima, tesoro. She’s perfect.”
My father lingers back, eyes hard. Anger coils within him. I can see it, but he says nothing. Not here. Not now. He knows better than to challenge Donatello at this moment, when all power radiates from him like heat. Not to mention the imposing presence of the head of the Family.
Inside, my emotions swirl. Pride. Relief. Love that hurts. Fear of what it means to belong so wholly to this man and this Family now.
I look down at Cosima, tiny lips parted in sleep and know one thing for certain: I would walk through fire to keep her safe. And Donatello—God help him—so would he.
When I lift my gaze to him, he’s already watching me, eyes molten, unreadable. His hand tightens just slightly on my shoulder. Possession. Protection. Love.
And in that moment, with everyone gathered, I feel the shift—the old life closing, the new one sealing around me like a favorite blanket.
Surprise hits me again when Donatello quiets everyone, takes my hand, and drops to one knee. He raises a black velvet box. The top pops open to reveal a stunning diamond ring. My eyes widen.
He clears his throat.
“Paolina.” His voice is low but strong, carrying to every corner of the room.
“I took you. I claimed you before you understood what it meant. But I have no regrets—not for one moment—because it brought me here. To this. To you. To her. ” His gaze flicks to our daughter, then returns to me, molten with intensity.
“You and Cosima are my life. My future. My everything. And I want the world to know you are mine—not just by my word, not just by our child, but by choice. By vow. By love.”
The diamond catches the light, scattering rainbows across the walls. My chest tightens until I can barely breathe.
My father shifts, stiff and silent, but no protest escapes him. He knows better than to interrupt. My mother clasps her hands, eyes shining. Faustino and Marcello exchange a glance, both amused and approving. Donatello’s parents watch with quiet pride. Lucca gives a slow, solemn nod .
Inside, my thoughts spin. Kidnapped. Possessed. Protected. Desired. And now… this. Marriage. Permanence. A lifetime bound to a man who tempts me and softens me in ways I never thought possible.
Donatello’s thumb strokes across the back of my hand, grounding me. “Say yes, bella mia. Make me whole.”
My heart pounds. My throat is dry. Everyone is waiting. But all I can see is him—this lethal man kneeling in front of me with a diamond and a promise, his eyes stripped of every mask but love.
A sob catches in my chest. “Yes,” I whisper, tears spilling. “Yes, amore mio .”
The room exhales. Applause, murmurs, congratulations ripple around us, but Donatello doesn’t hear them. He slides the ring onto my finger, rises, and captures my mouth in a kiss that silences everything else.
When he pulls back, his lips brush mine with a vow only I can hear: “Forever, Paolina. You’ll never run again.”
At last, I don’t want to.
Donatello
The diamond settles on her finger as if forged there. Her whisper of yes still vibrates in my chest, louder than any oath I’ve ever sworn to my brothers .
The room erupts in polite applause, murmured blessings, forced smiles.
I don’t give a damn. None of them matter.
Not Marcello with his smirk, not Faustino with his quiet nod, not my father’s measured approval or her father’s thin-lipped fury.
Nor Lucca, Ludo, and Flavio’s confirmation.
The only thing that matters is the woman in front of me—my woman—wearing my ring, holding my child, finally saying yes.
I kiss her, slow and claiming, ignoring the crowd. When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her eyes glassy, her breath caught. Mine.
Triumph rolls through me, sharp and hot. They all saw it. Every one of them. The Corsetti girl, the runaway bride, the woman they thought would shame us—she is here, bearing my name with my heir, agreeing to be mine in front of every witness that counts. No man will ever question it again.
But deeper than the triumph is something I don’t let anyone see. Relief. Gratitude. The way my chest eases hearing her speak the words I’ve waited for.
Still, possession threads through it. I lean close, my mouth brushing her ear so only she hears. “Forever, Paolina. You’ll never run again.”
She trembles, but she doesn’t pull away.
I turn back to the room, my arm circling her shoulders. “She’s mine,” I announce, voice carrying like a decree. “My fiancée. My family.”
And as I look down at her with Cosima swaddled at her breast, I vow again: I’ll destroy the world before I let either of them bleed.
Forever starts now.