"We should talk about names," Paola said, drying her hands. "We can't keep calling them 'the baby' forever."
"What names do you like?"
"Something Italian," she started. "To honor your family."
"Something strong. They’ll need to be strong."
"What about Lucia? If it’s a girl."
The name settled over me, perfect and right. "Lucia. Light."
"After all the darkness we survived, we're bringing light into the world." Paola's eyes were bright with emotion. "What about for a middle name?"
I thought for a moment. "Velia. It means hidden, concealed. A reminder that she was our secret hope during all the darkness."
"Lucia Velia Monti." Paola tested it. "It's beautiful. I love it."
"And if it's a boy?"
"What about Renzo?" she suggested. "It's strong. Classic."
I considered it. "Renzo Milo Monti."
"Milo for the middle name?"
"It means merciful. After everything we've been through—all the violence, the betrayals—I'd want our son to be strong but merciful. To choose compassion over cruelty."
"That's perfect." She smiled. "So we have options. Lucia Velia or Renzo Milo. We'll find out in a few weeks at the anatomy scan."
"Either way, they're going to be loved. So loved."
I placed my hand on her belly. Still too early to feel movement, but knowing our baby was there—maybe Lucia, maybe Renzo—made it more real.
"I'm going to mess this up," I admitted. "Fatherhood. I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Neither do I. About motherhood, I mean. We'll figure it out together."
"What if I'm like my father? Cold. Distant. More concerned with power than—"
"You won't be." Her hand covered mine on her belly. "You're already different. You chose me and our child over the empire. Your father never would have done that."
She was right. My father had died chasing more power, more territory, more control. He'd prioritized the empire over everything, including his sons.
I'd made different choices. Stepped back from daily operations. Given Piero real authority. Focused on building a life, not just an empire.
"I'm still terrified I'll mess this up," I said.
"Good. That means you care. That's half the battle."
We sat together, my hand on her small belly, talking about the future. Nursery colors. Baby furniture. Whether we'd hire a nanny or handle everything ourselves.
Normal conversations. Domestic planning. The kind of life I never thought I'd have.
"I need to tell you something," Paola said after a while, her voice going serious.
My stomach tightened. "What?"
"I called Anna. My best friend. We're meeting for coffee next week."
