Icouldn't sleep.
Valentina had finally drifted off around midnight, exhausted from the day's trauma and the pregnancy revelation still settling over us like unexpected snow. She slept curled on her side in the hospital bed, one hand protectively over her stomach even in sleep—instinct already taking over, maternal protection for lives she'd only learned about hours ago.
I sat in the uncomfortable chair pulled close to her bedside, watching her breathe. Counting each rise and fall of her chest like I could keep her alive through sheer vigilance.
Twins.
The word kept circling my mind, refusing to fully land.
I was going to be a father. Of two children. In seven months.
The enormity of it pressed down on my chest until breathing felt difficult.
I'd spent twenty years running a criminal empire. Had killed men without hesitation. Had made impossible choices and lived with the consequences. Had survived things that would break most people.
But fatherhood?
I had no idea how to do that.
My own father had been a monster—training me from age ten to be his successor, teaching violence and strategy and ruthlessness. The only tenderness I'd ever seen from him was directed at Eva, my sister. And even that had limits. When she died, he'd negotiated peace instead of revenge. Called her sacrifice "strategic."
What kind of father does that?
The kind I was terrified of becoming.
I reached over carefully, rested my hand over Valentina's, where it curved protectively over her stomach. Felt the warmth of her skin, the steady pulse in her wrist.
Two lives growing inside her. Half me, half her. Innocent. Vulnerable. Completely dependent on us not to fuck this up.
Cristo.What had we done?
But even as the fear pressed in, something else stirred underneath. Something fierce and protective and utterly foreign to everything I'd known before Valentina.
Hope.
These children would never know violence the way I had. Would never be trained as weapons. Would never have to choose between honor and conscience.
They'd have what Eva never got—safety, love, the chance to be children instead of soldiers.
I'd make damn sure of it.
Even if I had no idea how.
A soft knock interrupted my spiral. I looked up to find Agent Morris in the doorway, looking apologetic for the intrusion.
"Mr. Valestri. Sorry to disturb. Can we talk briefly?"
I glanced at Valentina—still sleeping peacefully—then nodded and followed Morris into the hallway.
"How is she?" Morris asked.
"Exhausted. But stable." I crossed my arms, wincing as the movement pulled at my taped ribs. "What do you need?"
"Preliminary statement about tonight's events. Nothing formal yet—full debriefing will come later. But I need the basics for my report."
We found an empty consultation room. I gave her the abbreviated version—infiltrating the estate, confronting Marco, the fight, and SWAT's arrival. Left out the emotional weight, the blood debt implications, the moment I'd almost killed him.
Just facts. Clean. Professional.
