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Ginny glances over, smiling softly. “How are you holding up?” she asks, running a hand over her small bump.

Yes, only a few days after I found out I was pregnant, Ginny found out she was expecting again. Nico and Sofia, her wild little twins, are currently running circles around us, their laughter echoing through the bakery like little bursts of joy.

There’s something so comforting, so grounding, about going through this experience alongside her. Watching her with her two little ones, knowing she’s done this before—it gives me a strange sense of peace.

I feel a gentle kick and instinctively rub my bump, letting this little one know I’m right here.

I sigh. “I’m okay. I think Matteo is the one I worry about the most.” I meet Ginny’s gaze. “I don’t know how to help him. He won’t talk about it. He just… works. I get that he doesn’t want to drown in his sorrow, but I worry that avoiding it will only cripple him down the line.”

Ginny nods knowingly. “It’s hard. These men—they carry everything on their shoulders, thinking they have to be strong for everyone else. Sometimes they forget that we’re strong, too. We made vows to them just like they did to us.”

I chuckle. “Exactly. I just want to be there for him, but I don’t know how to break through.”

“You just have to keep trying,” Ginny says. “He’ll let you in when he’s ready. And in the meantime, you just love him. Hold him that extra bit longer, kiss him softer and more often, and remind him you’re there. That’s what we do.”

I exhale and nod, accepting the advice. “You’re right. He needs time.”

The baker hands us the box, and I smile in gratitude before we walk out to our cars. I see my bodyguards posted up by the back door waiting. Neither Dario nor Matteo lets us touch the wheel while pregnant, and though I wanted to fight him at first, I know he does it for his own peace of mind.

“Dinner at our place next week?” Ginny offers. “He won’t admit it, but I know Dario is dying to get another round of chess in with Matteo.”

I laugh. “Those two are secretly besties.”

“Yup.” She laughs with me. “How does Thursday sound? Maybe tacos—I’ve been craving Mexican food like crazy.”

I nod. “That sounds perfect.”

We hug briefly before parting ways. I place the cake gently on the passenger seat before settling in and letting Tony drive me home. My fingers tap anxiously against the leather of the seat as I think of my husband—of how distant he’s been. Maybe tonight will be the night I reach him.

When I arrive home, the penthouse is quiet. Matteo’s study door is slightly ajar, and I peek inside to see him hunched over his desk, paperwork spread across the surface, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

I step inside, my voice soft. “You’ve been at this all day.”

He looks up, the dark circles beneath his eyes evidence of too many sleepless nights. But when he sees me, something in his face softens.

“I have to make sure everything is in order,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t have the luxury of slowing down.”

I approach, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You do,” I whisper. “You just don’t let yourself.”

Matteo reaches up, taking my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my palm. “I can’t lose you, too.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, then slowly guide his hand to my small but growing bump. “You won’t,” I promise. “The threats are gone, and there’s peace—well, as much as this world will allow, anyway. We’re okay, amore mio. We’re fine.”

His eyes soften as he runs his fingers gently over my stomach. The baby instantly recognizes their father’s touch and starts jumping.

“I’ll protect you. Both of you. Always. How was our little mango today?”

Matteo has a pregnancy app on his phone that shows the baby’s size each week. He takes such pride and joy every time we reach a new fruit or vegetable. This week, we’re a mango.

“They were fine.” I smile, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “But I think it’s time we finally figure out exactly what we’re having. I got the cake—it’s in the kitchen.”

He looks at me, confused for a moment, before realization dawns. I grin and nod toward the kitchen.

“Come on,” I say, tugging at his hand. He threads his fingers through mine and lets me lead the way.

Matteo follows me into the kitchen, his fingers laced tightly with mine, the warmth of his touch grounding me. The cake sits on the counter, an innocent thing hiding a life-changing secret. I grab two glasses of sparkling juice, handing one to him as excitement flutters in my chest.

“Close your eyes,” I say, my voice filled with a mix of nerves and anticipation.