Gabriel continues to stare at me, his hand still pressed against my stomach. His expression is calm and neutral. For a brief moment, I expect him to simply turn and walk away without saying a word.
Instead, his eyes soften in a way I’ve never seen before. Something breaks—the control, the calculation, the composure—it all crumbles.
His hand trembles against me, and a corner of his mouth curls just a bit.
“We made a baby,” he whispers. There’s something in his voice, something like awe. “We made a baby.”
“We did.”
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving my face. “I… I can’t…” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “You’re…”
And then he drops to his knees.
Right there in his study, this powerful, deadly man who commands killers—who is a killer himself—falls to his knees infront of me and presses his face to my stomach. His shoulders shake.
“Dio,” he breathes against the fabric of my dress. “Dio mio.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, and he leans into my touch like I’m an anchor.
“Gabriel,” I say softly, “look at me.”
He lifts his head. His eyes are wet.
“I’m terrified,” he admits.
“I know. Me, too.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not of Kolya. Not of the danger. I’m terrified that I don’t… that I won’t… that I can’t…” he stops, swallows hard. “That I don’t know how to be a father. That I don’t know how to be good.”
His words do something to me I can’t explain.
“You kept me alive, looked out for me my whole life.” I look down at him; my hands still lost in the thick tangle of his hair. “You protected me, fought for me, brought me to this moment. You’ll figure this out, too.”
“What if I can’t? What if I’m too—what if the violence, the blood on my hands—what if I ruin our child?”
He presses his forehead against my stomach and speaks.
“Mio figlio,” he whispers. “I’m your papa. And I swear on my life that nothing will ever hurt you or your mama.”
Tears form in the corners of my eyes as I take in what I’m seeing, what I’m hearing. This is the man I’m falling in love with. Not the don or the killer. This man.
He lifts his head up.
“Everything is different now.”
“I know.”
“Everything. Not just us. The Bratva. Kolya.” His hand moves over my stomach, protective and possessive. “This is about something bigger than just me or just you. This is aboutfamiglia.”
Family.
The word is almost too hard to process. But that’s what this is, what we’re making. A family.
“I’ll get you doctors.” I can practically see his mind shift into planning and strategizing mode. “The best doctors the city has. Twenty-four-hour monitoring. We need to move you someplace safer, maybe the compound upstate, or?—”
“Gabriel.”
“We need to?—”
