I was about to become a father. Not the kind of father who ruled through fear and manipulation, as my own had been. Not a man who saw his child as an heir to a bloody legacy.
Just a father. A man who would teach his son to swim in the cove below our home. Who would show him how to build things with his hands. Who would love him fiercely and protect him always.
As Sophie's next contraction began, I held her steady, our foreheads pressed together, breathing in unison.
"We're ready," I told her. "Luca is coming home."
CHAPTER 20
Sophie
The world narrowed to a single point of focus: breath in, breath out. Another contraction built like a wave, starting low in my back and wrapping around until my entire body tensed against the pressure.
"That's it," Vittorio murmured, his voice steady in my ear as he pressed his palm against my lower back. "You're doing perfectly."
I leaned into his strength, grateful for the solid wall of him behind me as we swayed together through the pain. When the contraction eased, I sagged against him, catching my breath in the brief reprieve.
"How much longer?" I gasped, though I knew he couldn't answer.
We'd arrived at the small private clinic two hours ago, where Dr. Martinez had confirmed I was progressing well but still had "some way to go." The clinical white walls and soft lighting created a cocoon around us, the world outside this room ceasing to exist.
"Not long now," Vittorio lied smoothly, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. His eyes never left mine, intense and focused as if this labor was a mission he was determined to complete flawlessly.
Another contraction began building. I gripped his forearms, my nails digging half-moons into his skin.
"Talk to me," I demanded through gritted teeth. "Distract me."
Without hesitation, he began speaking in low, measured tones. "When Luca is three, I'll teach him to swim in our cove. By five, he'll be catching the small waves on his own. We'll build sandcastles with moats that actually work. I'll show him how to find the best shells after a storm…"
He continued painting our future in vivid detail as pain crested through me. His voice became my anchor, something to focus on beyond the overwhelming sensations of my body working to bring our son into the world.
Hours blurred together. I walked the room with Vittorio's support, swayed on a birthing ball, and stood under the shower's warm spray with his hands steadying me. Through it all, he remained my constant, never showing fatigue or impatience.
"I can't," I whispered during a particularly brutal contraction that left me trembling. "It's too much."
Vittorio cupped my face between his palms, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You can. You're the strongest person I've ever known, Victoria. The woman who stole from my brother, who survived his abuse, who faced down assassins and kidnappers." His thumbs brushed away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "Bringing our son into the world is just your next impossible feat."
Dr. Martinez returned to check my progress, his experienced hands gentle but sure. "It's time to push," he announced with a smile. "Your baby is ready to meet you."
A rush of adrenaline cut through my exhaustion. Vittorio helped me onto the birthing bed, positioning himself behind me so I could lean against his chest. His arms encircled me, hands finding mine.
"Remember to breathe," he reminded me, demonstrating the pattern we'd practiced.
The urge to push was primal and overwhelming. I bore down with everything I had, Vittorio counting steadily in my ear. Between contractions, he wiped my brow, offered water, and whispered encouragement.
"I can see his head," Dr. Martinez announced. "Dark hair, just like his father."
Vittorio's breath caught. I felt his heart pounding against my back as he peered over my shoulder.
"One more big push, Victoria," the doctor instructed.
I gathered my remaining strength, Vittorio's hands squeezing mine as I pushed with a guttural cry that tore from somewhere deep inside me.
And then—release. A slippery sensation, followed by the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard: our son's first angry wail at entering the world.
"He's here," Vittorio whispered, his voice breaking. "Victoria, he's perfect."
Dr. Martinez placed our squirming, wet baby on my chest. I stared down at the tiny, red-faced miracle, his eyes screwed shut as he continued to announce his arrival.
