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Chapter Nineteen

Nora

I ’m happy—truly and blissfully happy. It’s a kind of happiness I never expected, especially not in a marriage within the famiglia and certainly not with Il Mietitore. But here I am, in what is—against all odds—a happy marriage.

When Rafaele said he’d never get enough of me, I thought it was just words in the heat of the moment, something people say. But no, he meant it. And the truth is, I can’t get enough of him either.

When he’s home, he can’t keep his hands off me—not just for sex, though there’s plenty of that. Sometimes, it’s sweet and gentle, and other times, it’s hard and fast, a reflection of the two sides of the man I married. The duality of him—the dangerous, controlled reaper and the tender, fiercely protective husband—captivates me in ways I never imagined.

But it’s more than that. It’s in the quiet moments, too, like when we retreat to our cocoon in the library after a long day. He holds me close, his arms wrapped around me as we talk about our day. I shamelessly revel in the feel of his warmth, the comforting scent of him that lingers long after he’s gone.

He makes me feel safe, cherished—even in a world that’s anything but. And every day, I realize more and more that this isn’t just a marriage of convenience or duty.

I’m also getting used to the version of Rafaele he shows the world during our few public outings. I’m lucky that, like me, he shies away from the pretenses and fake friendships of the high-society circles we occasionally find ourselves in. During those times, he remains cold and distant, but the subtle brush of his fingers against mine means everything. It’s his way of reminding me that even in the harshest light, we’re connected, and that connection grounds me in ways I never knew I needed.

I haven’t officially moved into Rafaele’s room—it’s not something that’s common in our world. Spouses usually keep separate rooms, a tradition of sorts. But we’ve made an unspoken agreement. Every night, we share a bed, whether he comes to my room or I go to his. It’s a tacit rule, one that I’ve come to rely on. I don’t think I’d have a restful night’s sleep without him by my side anymore.

We’re both busy, our days and weeks blurring together. Rafaele’s role as the sottocapo is becoming more and more demanding as his father continues his relentless pursuit of loyalty, always searching for enemies where there might not be any. And me? I’m busy with my courses, adjusting to life as his wife, and my growing friendship with Lucia.

Life has settled into a rhythm, one that I’ve come to cherish, though I can’t shake the feeling that it’s the calm before the storm.

Even my chronic illness has granted me a rare respite, and I’ve almost forgotten that I’m burdened with it… almost. That is, until an early February morning when I wake up to a renewed ache in my knees, ribs, and back. At first, I try to brush it off, blaming it on last night’s rough lovemaking, the new position we experimented with, but deep down, I know the truth. The dull ache in my bones feels too familiar, too sharp to be ignored. My body is giving me a harsh reminder—a reality check I had hoped to avoid for just a little longer.

As I lie there, feeling the pain creeping back in, I realize that the peace I’ve been enjoying might be slipping through my fingers. The storm I’ve been dreading feels like it’s coming—inside and out. And I’m not sure how long I can keep it at bay this time.

I have plans today—a trip to the city to meet with my professor, followed by a girls’ day out with Lucia. I force myself to follow through despite the nausea, the aching joints, and the uncomfortable sweats that cling to me. I can’t let it stop me. Not today.

At breakfast, as we sit in a cozy little café, Lucia gives me a curious look as I grimace at my plate of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, pushing it around with my fork.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern lacing her voice. "You look like you’re about to be sick."

I force a smile, rubbing my stomach lightly. "Yeah, sorry. My stomach’s just a little off. I must’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with me."

"Or maybe you’re pregnant," she says with a teasing grin, her tone light, but her words hit me like a truck.

I freeze, my smile slipping as the color drains from my face. Pregnant? I hadn’t even considered the possibility.

Lucia's teasing expression falters when she sees my reaction. "Hey, I was joking. Is it… possible?"

I nod slowly, my mind racing. “I mean, yes. We’ve been… quite active.” My voice is a little shaky as I speak, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how many times Rafaele and I have been together over the past few weeks.

She cringes, scrunching her nose. “Gross, but also… wow. Do you think you could be?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, my thoughts swirling. My periods have always been irregular, and with everything that’s been going on, I haven’t been paying attention. But now that I think about it… it’s been at least seven weeks.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden rush of emotions—part panic, part excitement. "I guess… I’ll have to find out."

The thought consumes me—baby, or rather, potential baby. What if I’m pregnant? Does Rafaele want a child? Of course, he’ll need an heir. But does he want the baby just for that reason? And what about my health? The risks? A flood of questions crashes through me, none of them easy to answer.

Lucia watches me closely, sensing my unease. She leans in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Do you think the baby Reaper will be the antichrist?”

I can't help but chuckle, the tension easing just a bit. She's trying to lighten the mood, and somehow, it works.

We finish our lunch, though I can barely focus on the food. Every bite feels mechanical, my mind elsewhere—on the test, on what could be. Lucia, sensing my nerves, keeps up a steady stream of light conversation.

“So,” she says, playfully nudging my elbow as she sips her coffee, “you’re telling me that if this baby has Rafaele’s hair and your eyes, it won’t be the most gorgeous child to ever exist?”

I manage a smile, pushing my plate away. “You think?”

“Please,” she scoffs. “The Reaper’s baby? That kid’s going to be ruling playgrounds by the time he’s two.”

I chuckle, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. “God, I hope not.”

She grins. “Nah, he’ll be too busy inheriting your brains and charm. You’ll have a mini-genius on your hands.”

I roll my eyes, though the thought is oddly comforting. “Or a terror.”

Lucia waves a hand dismissively. “Either way, I call dibs on godmother. Obviously.”

I laugh, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “Obviously.”

She finishes her meal and leans back in her chair, looking at me more seriously for a moment. “Listen, whatever happens, you’ve got this. And Rafaele? He adores you. I’ve never seen anything like it. If you’re pregnant, he’ll be over the moon. And if you’re not, well, you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. No pressure, okay?”

I nod, feeling a bit more grounded thanks to her words. “Thanks, Lucia. Really.”

“Anytime.” She pats my hand, then checks her watch. “Okay, enough mushy stuff. Let’s get you home and see what’s what. I’ll drive.”

When we arrive back at the house, she pulls up in front of the door and turns to me, a small smile on her face. “Remember, no matter what, I’m here. But…” she raises a brow, her voice taking on a teasing tone, “I totally get that this is something you need to do alone. Or with Rafaele. It’s your moment.”

I smile back at her, touched by how well she understands. “Thanks, Lucia. And don’t worry, you’re still first in line for godmother duty.”

“Damn right, I am.” She grins. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be waiting for the update.”

With one last encouraging smile, she drives off, leaving me standing at the front door, the realization of what’s coming settling on my shoulders. I head upstairs, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

In the bathroom, after taking the tests, I wait, leaning against the sink. My thoughts keep returning to the idea of a baby—Rafaele’s baby. My chest tightens, but not with fear this time. Instead, it’s hope. If I’m pregnant… God, I think I’m already in love with this child.

I stare down at the tests, my heart racing as the two pink lines appear on each one. Positive. All of them.

A surge of joy rushes through me, an overwhelming sense of happiness I can’t even begin to explain. I’m pregnant. I’m carrying Rafaele’s baby. It’s real. A part of him, a part of me—it’s growing inside me right now. I place my hand on my belly, already imagining the life ahead, the tiny person we’ll bring into the world together.

But just as quickly as the joy comes, the fear creeps in, gnawing at the edges of my excitement. My family doctor’s warnings echo in my head as clearly as if she were standing right beside me. The risks… the autoimmune diseases I’ve lived with for so long. Pregnancy was always a gray area for me, a potential complication that I’d been told to approach with caution, if at all. And now, here I am, standing on the precipice of the unknown.

I sink down onto the edge of the bathtub, clutching one of the tests in my hand. What if my body can’t handle this? What if the pregnancy triggers a flare-up or something worse? The what-ifs pile up so fast I can’t keep track of them all, and the joy starts to blur into anxiety, each new fear tugging at the happiness I felt just moments ago.

And then there’s Rafaele.

I love the way he looks at me now—strong, capable, his equal in every way. If he finds out about the risks, will he still see me the same way? Or will I become something else in his eyes—a weakness, something fragile he needs to protect? I don’t want that. I don’t want to be a burden to him, not when things between us are so good. I know he’d never say it, but if he looks at me differently… I’m not sure I could bear it.

I bite my lip, tears welling up in my eyes as I try to swallow the panic rising in my throat. This should be a moment of pure joy, and it is, but it’s also tainted with the uncertainty I’ve lived with for so long. I want this baby so much it hurts, but I’m terrified of what it might mean for me, for us.

I press my hand to my belly again, trying to steady my breathing. I need to be strong. I need to figure out how to tell Rafaele—how to share this joy without revealing the fear that’s eating away at me. I don’t want to ruin this—this moment, this incredible thing that’s happening between us.

But I know, deep down, I can’t hide it forever.

Taking a deep breath, I wipe away the tears before they can fully fall. One step at a time. I’ll figure this out. I’ll find a way to protect our happiness—our family. But for now, I need to let this moment sink in.

I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby.

As terrifying as that is, it’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.

For the rest of the day, I go back and forth about when to tell Rafaele. I try to research, but the more I look online, the more I scare myself. I should know better than to consult Dr. Google, but now I’m even more afraid. I want to see a doctor first before speaking to Rafaele. Maybe I won’t have to tell him everything—just about the baby.

But as the hours slip away, the firelight flickering in the background, exhaustion finally takes over, and I fall asleep in front of the fireplace, my mind tangled with thoughts of the future.

When I wake, I’m not on the couch anymore. I’m in Rafaele’s bed, his strong arms wrapped protectively around me, his chest pressed warmly against my back. His breath tickles the back of my neck, steady and comforting, and I can feel the slow rhythm of his heartbeat against my spine. As if sensing I’m awake, his grip tightens slightly, and he presses a soft kiss against the nape of my neck, pulling me closer.

I stir, turning over to face him. His lips brush tenderly against my eyelids, warm and sweet. “You look tired,” he murmurs, his voice soft with concern. “Have I been pushing you too much? With the sex, I mean.”

A quiet laugh escapes me. “No, Rafaele. I want you just as much. I’m okay—just a little run down.”

Even as the words leave my mouth, guilt twists inside me. I hate lying to him, but right now, I’m just trying to sort through everything myself. I need to figure out what’s happening with my body, with the baby. I don’t want to overwhelm him with all the risks, especially when I don’t have all the answers yet.

He watches me closely, his dark eyes searching mine, still unconvinced, but he nods, letting it go for now. “Okay,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “But if anything’s wrong, you tell me.”

“I will,” I promise, knowing I’m not telling him everything.

He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes, exhaling softly. “My father wants us to go to his place for dinner tomorrow night. I dodged it as long as I could, but… Unless you really don’t want to go, then I’ll figure something out.”

I hesitate for a moment but then shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” I do mind, though. I hate the way his father treats him—the man who shaped the harsh edges of the man I married—but I don’t want to add more strain between them.

He presses his lips gently against mine, keeping them there for a moment before pulling back. “Stay in bed, amore. I’ll take Fate out.” He glances at the foot of the bed where Fate is curled up in a tight ball. “Or maybe not. Looks like she wants a lazy morning too.”

I smile, burying my face deeper into the pillow. “Your bed is so comfortable. It’s hard to leave.”

He’s quiet for a beat, and when I glance up, I catch him propped on his elbow, just watching me. His gaze is soft but intense, filled with an emotion I can’t quite place.

“What?” I ask, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips.

“Stay.”

I frown, confused. “I’m not going anywhere for the next few hours.”

“No,” he says, his voice lower, more deliberate. “I mean… stay here. In this room. Move your things in and make this our room.”

His lips brush against my forehead, remaining there as his request hangs between us. “You don’t have to decide now. Just think about it. I’d love that… very much.”

And with that, he slips out of bed, leaving me to process what he’s just asked. The warmth of his words wraps around me like the duvet, and though he’s gone, the space he’s left feels fuller somehow.

I drift back to sleep, but when I wake up again a couple of hours later, reality settles in like a weight on my chest. I need to take the next step. I can’t avoid this any longer.

With a sigh, I sit up and reach for my phone. I know what I have to do—I need to book an appointment with my doctor. My fingers tremble slightly as I dial the clinic, and after a brief conversation, they manage to schedule me with the specialized OB-GYN for today. That’s the advantage of wearing the Lucchese name, I suppose, but it also means Rafaele will find out soon.

I feel a pang of guilt as I get ready to leave, knowing he would want to come with me. He would want to be there for this, no question about it. But despite that, I can’t bring myself to tell him—not yet. I want to hold onto the way he sees me for just a little longer before introducing the reality of the risks and complications. The idea of him looking at me differently, with worry or concern, is almost unbearable.

By the time I arrive at the clinic, nerves have fully settled in. The waiting room feels too quiet, the ticking clock on the wall too loud, only heightening my anxiety. When I’m finally called in to see the doctor, I try to take a steadying breath.

Dr. Bennett is a kind-looking man in his fifties, with graying hair and a reassuring smile. He shakes my hand and gestures for me to sit down. “Mrs. Lucchese,” he says, glancing at his chart, “I see you’re here for a pregnancy consultation.”

I nod, my heart thudding in my chest. “Yes. I took a few tests at home, and they were all positive.”

He nods, his expression serious but not unkind. “Let’s confirm that with a proper test here, and then we can talk about the next steps, given your medical history.”

After a quick blood test, he returns with the results. “Congratulations, Mrs. Lucchese,” he says with a gentle smile. “You’re definitely pregnant.”

A mix of emotions surges through me—joy, fear, excitement. But reality quickly settles back in as Dr. Bennett continues.

“I understand you have both fibromyalgia and lupus,” he says, his tone growing more serious. “That does introduce some risks, both for you and the baby, but it’s not insurmountable. We’ll need to monitor you closely throughout the pregnancy. With lupus, the concern is primarily with flare-ups, especially in the third trimester. We want to avoid complications like preeclampsia, and we’ll have to watch for any signs of organ damage or inflammation.” He pauses, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. “As for the fibromyalgia, pregnancy can sometimes exacerbate the pain and fatigue. It’s important to manage stress and get as much rest as possible, though I know that can be difficult.”

I swallow hard, trying to process everything he’s saying. “So… what does that mean? For the baby, I mean?”

“There’s a chance of complications,” he admits, his expression compassionate but honest. “But with proper care and close monitoring, we can mitigate many of those risks. It’s important that you maintain a healthy lifestyle, keep your stress levels low, and come in regularly for checkups.”

I nod, my heart pounding.

Dr. Bennett raises an eyebrow. “What about your husband? Is he here today?”

I shake my head, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. “No, he’s at work. I haven’t told him yet.”

The doctor’s eyes soften slightly. “I see. It’s important that he’s involved, Mrs. Lucchese. This won’t be easy, and you’ll need his support. Don’t be afraid to lean on him.”

I nod again, biting my lip as my mind races. I know he’s right. Rafaele will be an amazing father—I don’t doubt that for a second. But I’m still terrified of the risks, of the way this will change things between us. The last thing I want is for him to see me as a weakness or, worse, to look at me differently because of the risks involved in carrying our child.

“In the meantime, please take these pamphlets. They give you some information on pregnancies with an autoimmune disease. There are a lot of links as well for you to look at, but once again, I would strongly advise you to involve your husband in this process.”

“Thank you,” I say, standing up to leave. “I’ll let him know.”

The doctor stands up as well. “Perfect, let's go book some future appointments.”

We walk to the front desk, where the receptionist helps me book the upcoming appointments. As I step out of the clinic, the cool air hits my face, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. My thoughts are scattered, bouncing between excitement and fear. I glance down at my stomach, imagining the tiny life growing inside me, and then my chest tightens as I remember all the warnings.

I love this baby already. I know I do. And I can’t let anything happen to them.

By the time I get home, I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I head to the library, my safe space, and start pouring over the links the doctor gave. Hours pass, and I’ve barely made a dent in the mountain of information. I’m trying to make sense of it all, trying to reassure myself before I need to reassure Rafaele that his heir will be okay no matter the shortcomings of my body.

I keep the pretense for the rest of the evening, but I know I’m not fooling Rafaele. After dinner, when we retreat into the library, he doesn’t immediately sit with me like he usually does. Instead, he pours himself a glass of scotch, standing by the fireplace, his gaze heavy on me.

“You look… distracted,” he says, his voice low and searching. “Is everything alright?”

I try to summon a convincing smile, shaking my head just slightly. “Yes, just a lot on my mind.”

His frown deepens, and I can tell he’s not buying it. “Is this about tomorrow? The dinner at my father’s place?”

Relief washes over me that he’s given me an easy excuse. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s never exactly a relaxing evening, is it?”

His eyes soften, and he takes a slow sip of his drink. “We don’t have to go, amore. You know that. We can skip it.”

“No, we should go. It’s important, and I’ll be fine.” I extend my hand toward him, hoping he’ll let it go for now.

He hesitates, his eyes searching mine for a beat longer, but then he sighs, the tension in his shoulders releasing as he crosses the room to join me on the sofa. His arm wraps around me, pulling me close, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

For a moment, I close my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his body, letting myself enjoy this closeness while I can. The guilt tugs at me, but I push it aside, not ready to let this bubble we’ve created burst just yet.

"Alright," he murmurs. "But promise me, if something’s bothering you, you’ll tell me. You don’t have to carry everything on your own."

I nod against his chest, not trusting myself to speak, and he tightens his hold around me. His heartbeat, steady and reassuring, echoes in my ear, but the secret I’m holding makes my own feel just a little more fragile.

For now, I cling to this moment, knowing it won’t last forever.

The next day, as Rafaele and I prepare to leave for his father’s house, the atmosphere feels heavier than usual. He’s quiet, focused, but I can see the tension in his jaw as he adjusts his cufflinks. He doesn’t like these dinners any more than I do, but we both know they’re necessary.

Before we leave the bedroom, I reach up and adjust his tie, straightening it just a bit, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric. He watches me, his dark eyes softening as I fuss over him.

"You look dashing," I murmur, giving him a small smile. "Absolutely devastating in that suit, Mr. Lucchese."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm as he leans down to kiss the top of my head. "And you, Mrs. Lucchese, are breathtaking. Always."

I blush, rolling my eyes playfully as I smooth my hands down the front of his jacket. “Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can come back—and you can ravish me.”

He grins, his eyes gleaming. “You really know how to speak to me, amore.”

We step out into the crisp evening, and the ride to his father’s estate is spent mostly in silence, with Rafaele’s hand resting protectively on my thigh. I don’t press him to talk; I know he’s already steeling himself for whatever subtle or not-so-subtle attacks his father has planned.

When we arrive, the mansion looms large, a symbol of the family’s wealth and power. I take a deep breath as Rafaele opens my door and helps me out of the car. We walk up the stairs together, his hand at the small of my back, a gesture both protective and possessive.

We’re greeted at the door by the housekeeper, and as we step inside, I’m surprised to see Leo standing near the entryway, leaning against the wall with a glass of whiskey in his hand. I wasn’t expecting him to be here, and from the look on his face, he’s not exactly thrilled either. I glance at Rafaele, but he gives no indication that this is out of the ordinary. Maybe he expected Leo, but maybe he didn’t.

Leo grins at me and extends his glass toward me. I nod politely, knowing I will never like the man—not after all the drama he tried to pull between me and his brother.

We’re ushered into the dining room, where his father, Capo Lucchese, is already seated at the head of the long, imposing table. He looks up as we enter, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they land on us, but his expression remains unreadable.

“Rafaele, Nora,” he says in greeting, his tone clipped but formal. “Good on you to finally join us. I started to think you were avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you, Father? Why would we do that?” Rafaele says coolly before pulling out a chair for me, then taking his seat beside mine.

Leo saunters over and takes a seat across from us, looking more than a little disinterested.

The tension in the room is palpable as the first course is served. Small talk is made, but it’s stilted and awkward and the capo’s eyes keep darting to Rafaele, waiting for his moment to strike.

It doesn’t take long.

“So, Rafaele,” his father says casually, picking up his wine glass. “How is the business these days? That is, if you know! As it seems you're not often there.”

Rafaele’s shoulders tense beside me, but he’s too experienced in these games to let his father’s words provoke him.

“The business is thriving,” Rafaele responds, unaffected, lifting his wine glass with practiced ease. “I’ve ensured everything is running smoothly.”

His father’s lips curl into a thin, condescending smirk. “Thriving, you say? Interesting. One might think you’re neglecting it, given how much time you seem to spend elsewhere.”

There it is—the subtle jab. The implication that Rafaele’s attention on me is somehow a detriment to the family business. Rafaele remains composed beside me, his expression unreadable. “I’m handling it,” he says evenly. He takes a deliberate sip of his wine, his tone as calm as ever, though I can sense the tension beneath. “How is the Fredo situation?”

I glance down, hiding my smile. That’s my Rafaele—unshaken, unbothered by the intimidation tactics. His father’s face reddens with frustration, and I feel the shift in the room as he leans back, clearly displeased.

“Are you sure? Seems like there’s been a lot of messes lately,” his father says sharply. “Maybe if you were more focused?—”

“Rafaele has it under control,” I cut in, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My voice is steady and firm. I refuse to let his father belittle him. “He’s been managing everything. And none of the cleaning he has to do has anything to do with him.”

A thick silence follows. All eyes shift to me, and I feel the weight of their gazes. Rafaele’s father raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and I brace myself for the blow.

“Oh?” His voice is cold. “And since when do the wives get involved in matters of business?”

I meet his gaze evenly, refusing to flinch. “Since they know their husband’s capabilities. Rafaele doesn’t need to be micromanaged. It’s obvious to everyone that he’s done more for this family than you’re willing to give him credit for.”

The room freezes. Rafaele’s grip on my hand tightens, his thumb brushing over my knuckles—a silent thank you. His father’s face hardens, his lips thinning into a displeased line. He isn’t used to being spoken to this way, especially not by a woman.

“Control your wife, Rafaele,” his father snaps, his gaze cutting to Rafaele like I’m not even in the room.

Rafaele’s grip on my hand doesn’t loosen, and when he responds, his voice is calm but firm. “Nora doesn’t need controlling. She’s my wife, and she speaks her mind. You’d do well to listen.”

I glance at Leo, whose eyes widen in surprise as if he’s seeing his brother in a new light. He looks back and forth between us, admiration mingled with shock.

“Since when did you start letting anyone speak for you?” his father demands, his voice laced with contempt.

“Since I married a woman worth listening to,” Rafaele responds without missing a beat. “I trust her judgment, and I’ll stand behind her every word.”

The silence that follows is deafening. His father’s nostrils flare, his face a shade of red I’ve never seen before. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he pushes back his chair with a loud scrape, glaring at us both. “Rafaele, office. Now,” he barks before storming out of the room.

Leo lets out a low whistle, breaking the tension. “Well… that went about as well as I expected.”

Rafaele doesn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he turns to me, his expression softening instantly, concern clouding his eyes. “Are you okay?” His thumb caresses the back of my hand gently.

I nod. “Your father’s waiting.”

He shrugs, his attention still focused on me. “I don’t care about that. I’m asking if you’re okay.”

And before I know it, the words slip out of my mouth, words I hadn’t planned to say here, especially in front of Leo. “I’m pregnant.”

Rafaele freezes, his entire body going still. His grip tightens on my hand, and I can feel the pulse of his shock reverberating through him. His eyes widen, his jaw slack, and for the first time in a long while, he’s completely speechless.

"I’m pregnant," I say again, a little louder this time, my voice steady.

His eyes lock onto mine, and I see the awe, the disbelief, and—slowly—an overwhelming joy starts to settle in. Without a word, he stands, still holding my hand, and gently pulls me to my feet. He leads us out of the dining room, past Leo, who’s watching with an expression somewhere between confusion and amazement.

We step into the hallway, and Rafaele doesn’t stop until we’re alone in the library. He closes the door and turns to face me, his hands trembling slightly as he cups my face.

"Say it again," he whispers, his voice raw with emotion.

I give him a small smile, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "I’m pregnant," I say softly.

His breath catches, and before I can say anything more, he drops to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding to my waist, holding me as if he’s afraid I might disappear.

"Again," he breathes, his forehead resting against my stomach, his voice thick with emotion.

"I’m pregnant," I repeat, running my fingers through his hair, my own emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

He presses his face to my stomach, holding me tighter, and for a moment, there’s only us—the weight of the world, the family business, his father—none of it matters. It’s just Rafaele and me and the life growing inside me.

Finally, he looks up at me, his eyes wet, but the joy in them is undeniable. “Amore,” he says softly, reverently. “You’re giving me everything I didn’t even know I wanted.”

I laugh, brushing away my own tears, still running my hand in his hair.

Before I can respond, the door swings open behind us, and Leo strides in. “Father is shitting bul—” His words trail off as his shocked gaze lands on us. He takes in the scene, his eyes widening with amusement. “Well, look at that—Rafaele Lucchese on his knees for a woman.”

Rafaele doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. His attention stays locked on me, his voice steady and filled with quiet pride. “Not just any woman, Leo. My wife —the mother of my child.”

Leo’s smirk falters, his surprise turning into something more serious as the realization hits. “Holy shit,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was serious. You’re having a baby.”

Rafaele rises to his feet, his hand still holding mine, and nods. “We are.”

For a long moment, Leo just stares, clearly processing this new reality. Then, with a low whistle, he shakes his head. “Well… I guess congratulations are in order. Who would’ve thought?”

I glance up at Rafaele, and we exchange a knowing smile. He leans down to kiss my forehead, his voice a soft promise. “This is only the beginning, amore. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

He gently tugs at my hand. “Let’s go home.”

As we pass Leo, he claps a hand on Rafaele’s shoulder, and Rafaele nods. No words are needed, but the exchange feels like an unspoken truce between them. A moment of brotherly understanding.

We exit, and I decide to keep the risks to myself for now. There will be consequences for Rafaele’s rebellious stand tonight, and he’s so happy—how can I dampen his joy over having an heir? And, if I’m being selfish, I want to remain the warrior woman in his eyes—the one he looks at with awe. So I keep my secret for now, and if I’m completely truthful with myself, I may never want to tell him.