An IV line ran into his arm—so small, so delicate it looked like it shouldn’t even exist.
But it did.
And it mattered.
It meant he was alive.
A nurse stepped out just as we reached the glass doors, holding a chart.
I moved before she could pass.
Blocked her path.
“Tell me the baby will live.” I said, my voice lower now—strained in a way that felt unfamiliar
She stopped immediately.
Met my eyes.
Calm. Steady.
“He’s stable,” she said. “Premature, but strong.”
My breath hitched slightly.
“We’ll keep him here a few more days—monitor his lungs, regulate his temperature, feed him through the tube until he’s ready.”
A pause.
“But yes,” she added, softer now, “he’ll be healthy.”
Something in my chest loosened.
Just a fraction.
But enough.
Enough to let me breathe.
She started to move past.
Renzo stepped forward, touching my arm lightly—just enough to ground me.
“Excuse me, boss.”
I didn’t look at him.
But I didn’t stop him either.
He stepped aside and spoke quietly to the nurse, their voices low—too low for me to hear.
I caught only fragments, nothing clear.
Then he returned.
Ciro stood nearby, watching me closely now.
“It’s not Matteo who has Elena,” I said to Ciro, my eyes studying him with the suspicion that had been building based on his actions all this time.
