Epilogue
MATTEO
“Matteo.” Contessa’s voice cuts through the darkness of our bedroom, sharp and strained. “Matteo, wake the fuck up.”
“What’s wrong?” I’m already scrambling out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Is it the baby? Is something wrong with the baby?”
She lets out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-groan. “No, I just woke you up at three in the morning because I felt like it. Of course it’s the fucking baby!”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I’m pacing now, running my hands through my hair like that’ll somehow make me think clearer. “Okay. Okay, we need to—what do we need to do?”
“Time the contractions, genius.” She doubles over, her face contorting with pain. “That’s what the doctor said, remember? Time them.”
“Right. Right, timing.” I grab my phone from the nightstand, fumbling with the lock screen. “Fuck, what’s my passcode? Why can’t I remember my own fucking passcode?”
“It’s the due date, you idiot.” She’s breathing hard, her forehead beaded with sweat. “You set it that way because you couldn’t remember anything else.”
“Right. Right.” I finally get the phone open and pull up the timer app. “Okay, when did this one start?”
“It’s ending now, you useless man.” She glares at me, her purple hair plastered to her damp forehead. “Start the timer for the next one.”
“I should call Dr. Chen.” I’m already dialing before she can respond, my fingers shaking so badly I almost drop the phone. “She said to call when contractions are—fuck, what did she say? Five minutes apart? Ten?”
“Five minutes apart, lasting a minute each for at least an hour,” Contessa recites through gritted teeth. “And I’ve only had three so far, so calm the fuck down.”
“Calm down? CALM DOWN?” I’m practically shouting now, pacing the bedroom like a caged animal. “You’re in labor with my baby and you want me to calm down?”
“Yes, because you’re being a fucking lunatic and it’s not helping!” She grabs the pillow and hurls it at my head. “Now stop pacing and get me some water.”
I catch the pillow mid-air; my reflexes still sharp even if my brain has apparently abandoned ship. “Water. Right. Water.”
I bolt to the kitchen, nearly breaking my neck on the stairs in my haste. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely fill the glass without spilling it everywhere. I grab a kitchen towel, dunk it in cold water, and sprint back upstairs.
“Here.” I thrust the glass at her, then press the cold towel to her forehead. “Drink. Stay hydrated. That’s important, right? Hydration?”
She takes a sip, then sets the glass aside. “Matteo, breathe. You’re going to pass out before we even get to the hospital.”
“I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” I’m not fine. I’m the furthest thing from fine that has ever existed. My stellina is about to push a human being out of her body, and I’m supposed to just...watch? Help? What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Contraction starting,” she announces, her voice tight.
I fumble with my phone, starting the timer. “Okay, timing. We’re timing.”
She grips my hand hard enough to cut off circulation, her nails digging into my palm. I don’t give a fuck. She can break every bone in my hand if it helps.
“Breathe,” I tell her, trying to remember the stupid breathing exercises from the birthing class we took. “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Like the hippie lady showed us.”
“Don’t you dare bring up that hippie lady right now,” she hisses between breaths. “She told me to visualize my cervix as a flower opening. A fucking flower.”
“Okay, no hippie lady. Got it.” I’m nodding like a bobblehead, completely useless. “Should I pack the hospital bag? Did we pack the hospital bag?”
“It’s been packed for three weeks.” She releases my hand as the contraction passes, slumping back against the headboard. “In the closet. Go get it.”
I practically trip over myself getting to the closet, yanking the door open so hard it bangs against the wall. The bag is right there, exactly where she said it would be. I grab it and haul it to the bed.
“Should I check it? Make sure we have everything?” I’m already unzipping it, pawing through the contents. “Diapers? No, that’s for after. Clothes? Blankets? What about snacks? Do we need snacks?”
“Matteo.” Her voice has that dangerous edge that usually precedes her threatening to castrate me. “Close the bag and sit down before I kill you.”
I zip the bag back up and sit on the edge of the bed, my knee bouncing uncontrollably. “How long until the next contraction?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a fucking oracle.” She’s breathing hard, her face flushed. “Stop asking me questions I can’t answer.”
“Right. Sorry. I’m sorry.” I’m apologizing for everything, for nothing, for existing. “Should I call Rocco? Get the car ready?”
“Not yet. We have time.” She reaches for my hand again, her grip surprisingly gentle this time. “Matteo, look at me.”
I force myself to meet her eyes, those beautiful brown depths that have been driving me crazy since the moment I first saw her.
“We’re going to be fine,” she says, her voice steady despite the pain I know she’s in. “Both of us. All three of us.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know. I just—fuck, Contessa, what if something goes wrong? What if—”
“Nothing is going to go wrong.” She squeezes my hand. “Dr. Chen is the best. You made sure of it. The hospital is ten minutes away. We’ve done everything right.”
I know she’s trying to reassure me, but my brain is stuck in worst-case-scenario mode. I’ve spent my entire life planning for every contingency, controlling every variable, and now I’m facing the one thing I can’t control, can’t plan for, can’t fix with money or threats or violence.
Another contraction hits, and I start the timer again, watching the seconds tick by with my heart in my throat. This one seems longer than the last, or maybe that’s just my perception because I’m fucking losing my mind.
“Okay, that was four minutes since the last one,” I announce when it finally passes. “They’re getting closer. We should go.”
“Matteo, they need to be five minutes apart consistently for an hour before—”
“I don’t give a fuck what the timeline says.” I’m already on my feet, grabbing the hospital bag. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”
“Matteo—”
“No arguments.” I’m using my don’t-fuck-with-me voice, the one that makes grown men piss themselves. It has zero effect on her, but I’m too panicked to care. “I’m calling Rocco.”
I dial his number, pacing the bedroom while it rings. He picks up on the second ring, his voice alert despite the hour.
“Sir?”
“Rocco, get the car now. We’re going to the hospital. Contessa’s in labor.” I’m practically shouting into the phone.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be out front in two minutes.”
I hang up and turn back to Contessa, who’s watching me with an expression that’s equal parts amusement and exasperation.
“You realize you just woke up your driver at three in the morning when you could have just gotten the car yourself,” she says dryly.
“He doesn’t mind. It’s his job.” I’m already pulling clothes out of the dresser, throwing on whatever’s on top. “Can you walk? Should I carry you?”
“If you try to carry me down those stairs, I will cut your balls off and feed them to you.” She’s trying to stand, one hand on her belly, the other on the nightstand for support. “I can walk, Matteo. I’m having a baby, not dying.”
I’m at her side instantly, my arm around her waist, taking most of her weight.
“Easy,” I murmur as we make our way to the door. “One step at a time.”
“Matteo, I’m the one in labor, not you.” She pauses at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing. “Stop acting like I’m made of glass.”
“I’m not—I just want to help,” I finish lamely, my hand hovering uselessly at her back as she descends the stairs one at a time, her knuckles white on the railing.
We make it to the front door just as Rocco pulls up in the black SUV, the engine still running. I’ve got the hospital bag slung over one shoulder and Contessa’s arm looped through mine.
“About fucking time,” I mutter as I help her into the back seat, making sure she’s settled before slamming the door and tossing the bag in after her. I climb in beside her, my knee bouncing with nervous energy.
“Drive,” I bark at Rocco the second I’m inside. “And drive fucking fast, but safe. You understand me? If you get us there in one piece, I’ll double your bonus. If you crash this car with my woman and my baby inside, I’ll fucking bury you in a ditch myself.”
Contessa lets out an exasperated groan beside me. “Matteo, for fuck’s sake, stop threatening to murder Rocco. He’s literally doing his job, and what you just said is the most hypocritical, contradictory bullshit I’ve ever heard. Drive fast but safe? Make up your mind, you absolute psycho.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off with a glare that could freeze hell.
“And can you please just shut the fuck up? Your voice is irritating me right now, and I’m the one having contractions every four minutes, not you.”
I snap my mouth shut, wounded pride mixing with the panic still churning in my gut. She’s never spoken to me like that before—well, not in front of other people. I cross my arms and stare out the window, jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.
The silence stretches for a full minute before I feel her hand on my face. She turns my head toward her, her fingers smoothing the deep furrow between my brows.
“See?” she says softly, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips despite the pain I know she’s in. “I knew that would work. Now you’re done panicking.”
“You little brat,” I mutter, but the tension drains from my shoulders as I lean into her touch. “Using my own tactics against me.”
She laughs, then winces as another contraction hits. “Worked, didn’t it?”
I take her hand in mine, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Yeah, it worked.”