Okay… maybe I went a little overboard.
Ignoring the asshole, I make my way straight to the woman in the hospital bed. She looks exhausted, almost swallowed by the bulky blankets. I place my floral offering on the bedside table and drop to one knee beside her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,sorellina,” I whisper.
Her amber eyes gloss over with tears. She blinks them back and smiles up at me, tired but warm. “Thank you, Rafael.Fratello. And for all the gifts… you didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.” I pat her hand gently, then turn to Michael,giving him a gruff nod. “I trust everything is good?” I ask him awkwardly, not sure how to phrase questions about complications without sounding intrusive. Aren’t these matters usually private? But despite my initial reservations about Gianna when they first started dating, I’ve grown genuinely fond of her. She’s good for Michael. She calms him.
“Yeah, we’re good. We’re all great.” He glances at the bassinet next to him where the two small bundles are wriggling softly. I pat Gianna’s hand one last time before walking over and peering down at them.
My heart tightens, melting at the sight of these tiny little humans wrapped up like burritos, squirming slightly in their sleep. Fuck. I’ve never fallen in love so fast in my life. I lean down to touch them but hesitate midway. Aren’t newborns fragile? They’re too clean, too pure for hands like mine.
“You can hold them if you want,” Gianna offers gently, clearly sensing my hesitation.
I nod, glancing towards the ensuite bathroom. “Give me a moment to wash my hands.”
Inside, I scrub my hands like I’m preparing for surgery, staring at my reflection.When did I become the kind of man who gets emotional over babies?
When I return, the room’s dynamics have shifted subtly. Maximo and Elira are engaged in a private conversation, Romero is tapping away on his phone, and Michael is huddled close to Gia, their foreheads nearly touching.
I make my way back to the bassinet, and my breath catches. The girls’ eyes are open now. Blue, like their dad’s. It’s jarring to see Michael’s eyes on someone else. I wonder what color their hair is, but those tiny heads are covered with cute little hats, hiding any clues.
Carefully, I reach for the one on the right… and end up straightening with empty hands. How the hell do you even handle such precious cargo without breaking it? What if I drop her? What if I?—
“No. It can’t be,” Maximo starts. “The great Rafael Moretti… scared of little babies?”
I shoot him a glare as Romero chuckles.
“That’s rich coming from you when you were exactly the same,” Elira returns, lightly punching her husband’s arm.
Here goes nothing.Steeling myself, I try again, this time successfully extracting a baby from the crib. She blinks up at me, her little tongue poking out of her mouth like she’s tasting air.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful. So small.
“That’s Nora,” Michael informs me.Nora. Somehow, the name fits her perfectly.
“Hello there, little one,” I whisper. She simply blinks in response, but something in my chest expands until it hurts. And when her sweet scent hits my nose, I have to savagely suppress the urge to nuzzle her tiny form.
I could hold her forever.
But her sister deserves attention too, so with a reluctant sigh, I carefully settle Nora back into the bassinet and pick up the second baby, who blinks up at me with the same familiar blue eyes. I suppose blinking is the only thing they can do right now.
“That’s Emma,” Michael says.
“Hello, Emma.” My voice has never achieved such softness; I didn’t know I could pitch it this gently, but startling her seems unthinkable. She’s the splitting image of her sister—except for the tiny, heart-shaped mole at the corner of her mouth, like a quiet rebellion. As if she’s already set on carving out her own identity away from her sister.
Emma’s tiny mouth stretches into a perfect ‘O’ as she yawns, andfuck me, I’ve never seen anything more enchanting in all my blood-soaked years.
These aren’t even my children, yet I can’t imagine loving my own more fiercely than the emotions currently surging through my veins for Nora and Emma. How do parents even survive such suffocating intensity without combusting?
As if sensing my existential crisis, Emma’s face suddenly scrunches up, and she lets out a fierce cry.Jesus.For something this tiny, she has a powerful pair of lungs.
Okay, I stand corrected. Blinking isn’t the only thing they can do. Yawning, crying, and—soon enough—eating are all part of the package, I guess.
“Shh, it’s okay, love,” I croon to her in gentle Italian, instinctively settling her into the crook of my arm and rocking her softly. “You don’t have any reason to cry. You and your sister are going to be the most spoiled and protected princesses in the world.”
Miraculously, she does go quiet. Her little mouth still moves, but no sound comes. Just big, watery eyes staring straight into mine, like shegetsit. “That’s it, sweetheart.”
“Wow, Rafael, you’re so good with her,” Elira says, sounding genuinely surprised. Then she sighs dreamily. “Seeing you guys being so gentle with the girls is not good for my ovaries. They’re making me want babies of my own.”
