This is perfect,all three voices whisper in unison, their harmony so complete it almost sounds like one voice instead of three.
And I completely agree with them.
The next hour passes in a blur of excited planning and wild speculation.
Bella immediately starts talking about nursery decorations and baby names, while Dad begins debating how to rearrange security protocols to account for a pregnant underboss.
Alessandro just holds my hand and watches me with this expression of wonder, like he still can’t quite believe this is real.
The twins, meanwhile, have decided that they’re going to be the best big cousins in the history of the world and spend their time arguing about what they’re going to teach the baby.
“Trucks!” Giovanni insists, glowering at his sister.
“No, dolls!” Arianna counters, stamping her foot in frustration.
“Both,” I tell them diplomatically, trying to stave off the inevitable fight. “The baby can learn about trucksanddolls.”
“And books,” Dad adds, looking up from his feverish writing. “DeLucas always learn to read early.”
“And self-defense,” Alessandro chimes in, making everyone laugh.
“The baby’s not even born yet and you’re already planning their combat training?” Bella asks in dismay, shaking her head.
“It’s never too early to start thinking about protection,” Dad says seriously, and I can see him already calculating potential threats and security measures.
He looks at Bella. Speaking of that,piccola, the twins should probably start self-defense training. I’ll have Antonio add that to their schedule.”
Bella looks ready to pounce on him and Alessandro stifles his laughter behind his hand while I bite the inside of my cheek. If Bella sees us laughing, she’ll have our heads.
Some things never change.
As the afternoon fades into evening and the initial excitement settles into contented planning, I find myself studying the faces of the people I love most.
Dad looks younger somehow, lighter, like the prospect of becoming a grandfather has lifted some invisible weight from his shoulders.
Bella scrolls through baby websites, occasionally showing me nursery themes and car seats.
Alessandro hasn’t let go of my hand since the announcement, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin.
This is legacy, I realize.
Not just the businesses we’ve built or the territories we control, but this—love passed down through generations, children raised by people who would die to protect them, family bonds that can survive anything.
The baby growing inside me will inherit power, yes.
They’ll grow up understanding violence and navigating danger and making impossible choices.
But they’ll also inherit love.
They’ll know what it feels like to be wanted, protected, cherished.
They’ll learn that strength and tenderness aren’t mutually exclusive, that you can be dangerous and still choose mercy.
Exactly as it should be,the voices murmur approvingly.
Exactly as it should be.
Later that night, after we’ve gone home, I find myself staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
