Page 102 of The Kingpin’s Bride

Morena looked up first. Her eyes moved over me in one quick, practiced sweep. They paused for half a second on the cufflinks of my shirt. I reached for the gold crowns.

I had washed most of it off before coming up, but a faint rust-colored smear clung near the crown. My wife did not comment. She simply reached to the side table, picked up the clean folded cloth she had clearly left there for exactly this reason, and held it out. I took it and wiped the last of the blood away. “Thanks, baby.”

Then I leaned down and kissed her. When I pulled back I brushed my fingers carefully over Zeno’s dark hair, then over the finer swirl of Pietro’s. Neither of them woke.

Camilla’s head snapped up the second my shadow hit the sketchbook. “Matteo!”

She said it like a shot going off, bright and too loud for the sleeping twins. The pencil rolled off her knee. She was already scrambling down the sofa on her hands, sketchbook forgotten, pink jacket flapping open.

“You’re home. I finished the sun. I got the cane right this time, look, look!”

She skidded to a stop at my chair, then thought better of the volume and dropped to a stage whisper that was not a whisper at all. “I got Pietro’s missing sock. And your bird. The mad one. I gave him a plant like I said I would.”

She bounced once on her toes, then again, like she could not decide whether to climb or present the work first. Her whole face was lit. Almost six and still unable to hide it when she was glad to see someone.

“Hi, little lady,” I said.

“Hi.” She grinned, then clapped both hands over her mouth when Zeno made a small sound against Morena’s chest. She peeked through her fingers, whispered, “Sorry, babies!”

Morena adjusted both boys against her chest and spoke in the same calm tone she used for most things now. The woman who had once stood naked on an auction stage while men bid on her was now the mother of my twins. Camilla’s pencil kept moving across the page. The twins slept on, one fist each in their mother’s blouse.

I let my eyes move over Morena’s face, the diamond on her finger, the steady way she held both of our sons. She sat at my side in every way that mattered now. And the city had finally learned to treat her accordingly.

Camilla set her pencil down and held up the sketchbook with both hands.

“I finished it,” she announced.

I held out my hand. She climbed off the sofa, walked over, and placed the paper carefully.

“That’s you,” she said, pointing at the figure with the cane. “You’re holding the babies so Rena can rest. I drew Pietro’s sock on the floor because he always loses it.”

“It’s good,” I told her. “Better than good. I’m having this one framed.”

Camilla blinked, then nodded, satisfied in the serious way she got when someone treated her work like they should. She climbed back onto the sofa, settled against Morena’s side, and peered down at both sleeping faces with the expression she reserved for them alone. I set Camilla’s sketchbook on the side table and reached for the small box I had left on the console when I came in.

“Don Salvatore sent something,” I said. Morena glanced at the box. I opened it and tilted it so she could see.

Nestled in dark velvet were two heavy gold rattles, solid and ornate, each engraved with the brand new Ventura crest on one side. Zeno’s initials on the first. Pietro’s on the second. The kind of gift that weighed more in politics than just in gold.

Morena studied the rattles for a long moment, thumb brushing Pietro’s initials like she was checking they were real. “And you’re all right with that?”

“I’m all right.” I closed the box and set it aside. “As long as they keep their distance.”

Pietro shifted against her and did not wake. Zeno’s fist tightened in her blouse. Camilla had already flipped to a fresh page, pencil hovering, as if the last drawing had only been a draft.

Years ago, wee had been expecting one child. One heartbeat. The technician had frowned at the screen, adjusted the wand, and turned it toward us. Two small shapes. Two separate rhythms.

I had not been able to speak. The Families had demanded heirs… They had not demanded this. Two boys at once felt like being given more than I had any right to keep. I was going to have to become a better man.

Zeno came first, furious and loud, already looking like me. Pietro followed eight minutes later and went quiet the second they laid him on her chest. Camilla had been the first person allowed in. She stood on the visitor chair, looked into both bassinets, and announced that she was going to draw them.

She had been drawing them ever since.

I closed the rattle box with a click that was quieter than it should have been. Gold that heavy never arrived as kindness. Salvatore didn’t send toys. He sent a reminder that two Ventura heirs now existed in the world, that their names had weight, and that every Family from here to the water would start counting the years until those boys could join us.

Morena’s thumb was still on Pietro’s initials.

“Salvatore wants a seat at their baptisms,” I said. “And a photograph he can pass around when he needs to prove he’s still in the conversation.”