Page 101 of Damon

She squeezes my fingers. "How are you doing, Daddy? You look like you're about to pass out."

I probably am. The past fourteen hours have been the longest of my life, watching the woman I love go through labor, feeling completely helpless while she did all the work. But holding Lorenzo for the first time twenty minutes ago—feeling that tiny weight in my arms—changed something fundamental in me.

I understand now what my father meant when he said having children makes you vulnerable in ways you never expected. I would die for this baby. Kill for him. Burn the world down to keep him safe.

"I'm great," I say. "Couldn’t be better."

We're family now. Really, truly family.

"He has your chin," my father observes, still studying Lorenzo's face. "But Viviana's nose, I think."

"All I care about is that he's healthy," Viviana says. "Ten fingers, ten toes, strong lungs—did you hear him crying when he was born?"

I did hear him. The sound was the most amazing thing I'd ever experienced, proof that our son was alive and breathing and perfect.

"The whole hospital heard him," I say. "Kid's got excellent lung capacity."

"Just like his mother," Roberto adds with a grin. "Viviana could wake the dead when she cried as a baby."

"Papa!"

"It's true. You were very opinionated from the beginning."

My father stands carefully, still holding Lorenzo, and moves closer to the bed. "Viviana, you did a wonderful job. He's absolutely perfect."

"Thank you," she says, tears threatening again. "For everything. For welcoming me into the family, for supporting our marriage, for being here today."

"Where else would I be? This is my grandson." He looks down at Lorenzo again. "The future of both our families."

The weight of that statement hangs in the air. Lorenzo is more than our son—he's the living symbol of the alliance that's brought peace between the Lombardis and Bonaccis. He's the bridge we hoped he would be, the reason our families will never go to war again.

But looking at him now, I don't see a political symbol.

I only see my son.

"Can I hold him?" Viviana asks, and my father immediately brings Lorenzo to her.

She takes him with the confident movements of a woman who's spent the past nine months preparing for this moment, cradling him against her chest like she was born to be a mother.

"Hi, baby," she whispers. "I'm your mama. I've been waiting so long to meet you."

Lorenzo settles against her immediately, and I feel my throat tighten with emotion.

"He knows your voice," I observe. "He's been listening to you for months."

"And yours too. You talk to him every night."

It's true. For the past few months, I've gotten into the habit of talking to her belly before bed, telling Lorenzo about his day, about the family he's going to meet, about how much we already love him.

"The nurses said he'll probably sleep for a few hours," Viviana continues. "Something about all the excitement of being born."

"Good," Roberto says. "That gives us time to make some calls. Everyone's been waiting for news."

"Not yet," I say immediately. "Let us have a few more hours to ourselves first. The world can wait."

Both grandfathers nod, understanding. In a few hours, this room will be full of flowers and visitors and the weight of expectations. For now, it's just us.

"He's going to have a lot of expectations placed on him," Viviana says quietly, looking down at Lorenzo. "Being the son who united the families."