Chapter 34 The hospital waiting room blurs at the edges as exhaustion hits. It's been two weeks of vigil, of watching Marco breathe through tubes, of praying the bullets didn't do permanent damage. The bandaged cut on my temple from flying marble in the Council chamber has healed, but the deeper wounds-the fear of losing my brother-are still raw. "Miss Renaldi?" A nurse touches my arm. "The doctor would like to see you." My heart stops. "Marco⁠-" "Is stable," she assures quickly. "This is about your blood work from the admission screening." Dante squeezes my hand before I follow her. We've barely left each other's side since everything happened, taking turns watching over Marco. The bruises on Dante's ribs from the Council chamber fight are fading, but like me he refuses to leave until we know Marco's truly okay. The doctor's expression is kind as she closes her office door. "How have you been feeling, Sofia?" "Tired. Nauseous sometimes, but with everything we've been through..." I touch the bandaged cut on my temple. "I assumed it was stress from the fight, from watching my brother...I've been super sick, but I thought it was just everything catching up to me." "Nausea and sickness?" She raises an eyebrow. "How long has that been going on?" I pause, thinking back. "Maybe...three weeks? It started right after the warehouse incident. I've been so focused on Marco that I didn't really think about..." My brain short circuits. "Oh god." "When was your last period, Sofia?" The question stops me cold. I count back weeks, my mind racing through everything that's happened. The warehouse. The Council chamber. The auction. Before that, the estate attack. Before that... "Eight weeks," I whisper, the timeline crystallizing. "Maybe nine. I thought the stress was throwing off my cycle, but..." She smiles warmly. "Congratulations. Based on your symptoms and timeline, I'd estimate you're about six to seven weeks along." The world tilts sideways. Six weeks. That first night in the penthouse when everything changed between Dante and me. When we stopped fighting what we felt and gave in to something bigger than both of us. "I can't believe this," I breathe, hands instinctively moving to my stomach. "With everything that's happened-the fighting, the stress, getting thrown from that car..." "Let's take a look," she says gently. "I'd like to do an ultrasound to make sure everything's developing normally after the recent...excitement." My heart pounds as she prepares the machine. What if the violence of the past few weeks hurt the baby? What if all that stress and trauma caused damage I can't fix? The gel is cold on my stomach as she sets up the ultrasound wand. For a terrifying moment, the screen shows nothing but static. Then she adjusts the angle, and suddenly there it is-a tiny, bean-shaped shadow in the grainy black and white image. "There," she says softly, pointing to the screen. "And there's the heartbeat." A rapid, fluttering rhythm fills the room. Strong and steady and absolutely perfect. "Oh my god," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. "That's...that's really..." "Your baby," she confirms with a smile. "Measuring right on track for about six and a half weeks. Heartbeat is excellent-about 140 beats per minute, which is exactly what we want to see." I stare at the screen in wonder, unable to process that this tiny miracle exists inside me. That despite everything we've been through-bullets and explosions and car crashes-this little life has been growing, thriving, completely protected. "The baby wasn't affected by...by everything?" I ask, voice shaking. "Not at all," the doctor assures me. "The uterus provides excellent protection in early pregnancy, and your hormone levels indicate a very healthy pregnancy. This little one is a fighter-just like mom and dad, I'd guess." She prints several copies of the ultrasound images, handing them to me with gentle care. "I want you to make an appointment with an OB, and I'm prescribing prenatal vitamins. But Sofia? Everything looks perfect. You're going to have a beautiful, healthy baby." The tears come harder now-relief and joy and overwhelming love for this tiny person I've only just learned exists. "Can I...can I tell him now?" I ask, clutching the ultrasound pictures like precious treasures. She laughs. "Of course. And Sofia? Congratulations. After everything you've been through, you deserve this happiness." When I return to Marco's room, Dante looks up immediately from where he's been reading security reports-even here, we can't completely let our guard down. "Everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." "More than okay." I take his hand, my own still trembling slightly from the emotional weight of what I've just learned. "I need to show you something. Privately." Concern flickers across his features as I lead him to a quiet corner near the window overlooking the city. My hands shake as I locate the ultrasound pictures in my bag, suddenly nervous about his reaction. We never talked about children. Never planned for this. What if he's not ready? What if this changes everything between us? "Sofia?" His voice is rough with worry. "You're scaring me. What did the doctor say?" I bite my lip, gathering courage. "Remember that night in the penthouse? Our first night together? When we decided some things were worth the risk?" He nods slowly, eyes searching my face. "Well," I say, holding out the ultrasound image with a trembling hand, "apparently this was one of those things." Understanding dawns in his eyes as he stares at the grainy black and white image. His face goes through a series of emotions-shock, wonder, fear, and finally pure joy. "You're..." He can't seem to finish the sentence, just stares at the picture like it holds the secrets of the universe. "Pregnant," I whisper. "About six and a half weeks. The doctor says everything looks perfect, despite...well, despite everything we've been through." His gray eyes snap to mine, wide with amazement. "The baby's okay? After the car crash, the fighting..." "More than okay. Strong heartbeat, measuring exactly right. She said this little one's a fighter." My voice wobbles with emotion. "Just like their parents." For a moment, he just stares at me, then at the picture, then back at me again. I can practically see his mind processing this news, and my heart pounds waiting for his reaction. "Dante?" I whisper. "Say something. Please." He answers by pulling me into a desperate kiss, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other moves protectively to my still-flat stomach. When we break apart, his eyes shine with unshed tears. "Sofia," he breathes, voice strangled. "You're carrying my baby." "Our baby," I correct, tears spilling over. "Is that...are you okay with this? I know we never planned⁠-" "Okay?" He laughs shakily, cupping my face in his hands. "Sofia, this is the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me. You're the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me." He kisses me again, softer this time, reverent. "I love you. And I already love this baby more than I thought possible." "Even though it's completely unplanned and our lives are insane?" "Especially because of that." His thumb traces my cheek, wiping away tears. "This baby was created from love, Sofia. Pure love. In the middle of all that chaos and darkness, we made something beautiful." "We're going to be parents," I say, the reality finally sinking in. "We're going to be parents," he repeats, wonder in his voice. "Expanding the family business?" I tease. He kisses me again, softer this time. "I love you. Both of you. So much." "Well, that's good to hear." We spin to find Marco awake, watching us with a tired but genuinely happy smile. "Marco!" I rush to his side, careful of his tubes and monitors. "How long have you been..." "Long enough to hear I'm going to be an uncle." His grip is weak but real as he squeezes my hand. "Congratulations, little sister. Both of you." Dante moves to Marco's other side, clasping his shoulder carefully. "Thank you. For everything. For raising her, protecting her, making her into the incredible woman she is." "Don't get sentimental on me, Moretti," Marco says, but his eyes are bright with emotion. "Save that for the proposal." "The what?" I turn to stare at him. "Marco..." "About time you made an honest woman of her," Marco continues with a knowing grin. "Especially now." Dante clears his throat, color rising in his cheeks. "Actually... Marco, I need to ask you something. Officially." A strangled noise rises in my throat. "I know traditionally I should ask your father," Dante continues, his voice steady despite the emotion underlying it, "but Marco, you're the one who raised Sofia. You're the one who protected her, who made her strong, who became both brother and father to her when she needed it most." Marco's expression grows serious, understanding the weight of this moment. "I love your sister more than my own life," Dante says quietly. "She's my partner, my equal, my everything. I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy, protecting her, building a family with her. So I'm asking-do I have your blessing to marry Sofia?" Marco says nothing. The room is heavy with emotion and years of brotherhood between these two men who both love me. "Dante," Marco says finally, his voice rough, "you've already proven yourself a hundred times over. You've protected her, fought beside her, treated her as the warrior she is instead of trying to cage her like everyone else wanted to." He pauses, looking between us. "You have my blessing. My complete, enthusiastic blessing." Dante's relief is visible. "Thank you." "But," Marco adds with a hint of his old authority, "if you ever hurt her⁠-" "You'll kill me," Dante finishes with a small smile. "I know. I'd deserve it." "Good." Marco settles back against his pillows. "Now quit stalling and ask her properly." My heart pounds as Dante moves to my side, reaching into his pocket. When he pulls out a small, elegant box, I can barely breathe. "Sofia." He sinks to one knee beside Marco's hospital bed. "I had Mario pick this up for me yesterday while we were here with Marco. I've been planning this since that night in the penthouse when I realized I couldn't imagine any future that didn't include you." He opens the box to reveal the most beautiful ring I've ever seen-a stunning emerald surrounded by diamonds, the green stone catching the hospital's fluorescent lights and throwing them back like fire. "The emerald reminded me of your eyes when you're angry," he says with a soft smile. "Which is when you're most beautiful. Most dangerous. Most yourself." Tears blur my vision as he continues. "Marry me, Sofia. Be my wife, my partner in everything. Let me spend the rest of my life showing you exactly how much I love you, how proud I am of your strength, how grateful I am that you chose me." His voice grows husky with emotion. "Let me be the father to our children that they deserve. Let me build the family with you that we both dreamed of." "And let me spoil my nieces and nephews rotten," Marco adds softly, making me laugh through my tears. I look between my brother and the man I love-my family, complete and safe and together. In this sterile hospital room, with machines beeping and the smell of antiseptic in the air, I've never felt more surrounded by love. "Yes," I whisper, then louder, my voice strong and certain, "Yes, Dante. Yes to everything." The ring slides onto my finger like it was made for me, a perfect fit. When Dante stands to kiss me, it's gentle and reverent and full of promises for our future. "If you're done making out in front of the invalid," Marco says dryly, though his eyes are suspiciously bright, "I'd like to hear about my future niece or nephew." We settle into the hospital chairs, hands linked, and tell him everything. About the baby's due date-late spring, based on me being six and a half weeks pregnant. About how shocked and happy and terrified we both are. "I keep thinking about what kind of life we want to give this baby," I say, looking down at the ultrasound photos. "How we want to raise them differently than we were raised. With love instead of duty, choice instead of obligation." "We'll figure it out," Dante says, squeezing my hand. "Maybe find somewhere with more space than a penthouse. Somewhere safer." "As normal as possible when your parents are in organized crime," I add with a nervous laugh. "Speaking of which," Marco says, his voice getting stronger as he fully wakes up, "what's been happening? With the Council, with Viktor's network? Please tell me we actually won this damn thing." "We did," Dante assures him. "Your father and Mario have been handling the Council aftermath. Viktor's entire network is dismantled, Lorenzo's assets are frozen, and the families have voted to restructure the security protocols. We're finally safe, Marco. Really safe." Marco's relief is visible. "Thank god. And Dad? How's he handling everything?" "Mom and Dad have been worried sick about you," I say, squeezing his hand. "But he's also been talking about stepping back eventually. Letting the younger generation take over. He's getting tired of all the politics and violence." Marco raises an eyebrow. "I have a feeling the news about becoming a grandfather is going to give him a whole new perspective on what's important." Dante and I exchange glances. We haven't had time to talk about what our future in the family business would look like, especially now with a baby coming. "We'll need to figure out what kind of life we want," I say slowly. "What kind of world we want to bring this baby into." "Different from how we grew up," Dante adds quietly. "Safer. More choices." Marco studies us both for a moment. "You're thinking about stepping back too, aren't you?" "Maybe," I admit. "I don't want our children growing up the way we did. Always looking over their shoulders, always wondering who to trust." "The world's changing," Dante agrees. "Maybe it's time for us to change with it. Use our skills for something more...legitimate." Marco nods slowly. "You know, that might not be as crazy as it sounds. A lot of families are moving toward more legitimate businesses. Security consulting, maybe? Using your combined expertise to help people stay safe without all the...traditional violence." "It's just a thought," I say quickly. "Something we could build together." "I like it," Marco says. "And I think Dad will too. Especially once he finds out about his grandchild. Though knowing the Council families, once word gets out about the baby, you're going to have more offers of protection than you know what to do with." We continue talking. Marco asks more questions about what he missed, and we fill him in on the details of Viktor's downfall and Lorenzo's capture. Eventually, the conversation turns to lighter things. "So," Marco says with a grin, "have you thought about names yet? Because I have some suggestions." "We literally found out an hour ago," I laugh. "I haven't even thought about it." I look at Dante. "What about you?" "Antonio for a boy," he says quietly. "After my father." Marco's expression softens. "Your dad would have loved that, Dante." "I'm not even sure I want to find out the gender," I admit. "Part of me likes the surprise." "The baby's going to have more protection than the president," Marco observes. "Once word gets out to the other families..." "About that," I say carefully. "We'd like to keep this quiet for a while. At least until I'm further along. After everything that's happened..." "Of course," Marco agrees immediately. "Your secret's safe with me. Though Mom and Dad are going to figure it out eventually. They notice everything." "We'll tell them soon," Dante promises. "Once we've had time to process it ourselves." A comfortable silence falls over us as the reality of everything starts to sink in. The war is over. We're safe. We're engaged. We're having a baby. After months of chaos and violence, it almost feels too good to be true. Later that night, after Marco's fallen into peaceful sleep and we've retreated to Dante's apartment-now equipped with the enhanced security system Mario insisted on-the reality of everything finally hits me. We're engaged. We're having a baby. We're building a life together. "Are you sure about this?" I ask as Dante carefully helps me out of my clothes, his hands gentle on my still-flat stomach. "About all of it? The marriage, the baby, changing everything we've worked for?" "Sofia," he says, turning me to face him, his hands framing my face. "Three months ago, I thought I knew what I wanted from life. I thought I was content being an enforcer, protecting you from a distance, keeping my feelings locked away." He kisses me softly, then continues. "But you changed everything. You made me want more-want a partnership, want a family, want a future I'd never let myself dream of." His hands trail down to rest on my stomach, and something shifts in his expression-wonder, possessiveness, infinite tenderness. "This baby," he says quietly, "our baby-it's not an accident or a complication. It's proof that something good can come from all the darkness we've been through. That love wins." When he kisses me this time, it's different from all the desperate, frantic passion we've shared before. This is slow, reverent, full of promises and new beginnings. His mouth trails down my neck, across my collarbone, worshipping every inch of skin like it's precious. "I want to touch you," he whispers against my breast. "All of you. But I don't want to hurt⁠-" "You won't," I assure him, my hands tangling in his hair. "The doctor said everything's fine. We're fine." He lifts me carefully, laying me down on the bed like I'm made of spun glass. Every touch is a question, every kiss an answer. "I love you," he says as he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it to the floor. My pants and underwear soon follow along with his. "I love both of you." Dante dips his fingers between us and hisses when he feels how wet I am. I squirm under his hand, biting my lip while riding his hand. Wrapping my hand around his cock, I stroke him as I lift my hips for him. My pleasure is a mess, defined by the moans I make and the whimpers of his name. I'll never be able to have enough of him. Dante moves between my thighs, ignoring the soft whine I give him when I can no longer touch him, and he kneels before me. I'm a second from saying something when his tongue slides through my folds, and my head drops back down to the bed. "Oh, god." He wraps his arms around my legs, spreading me open for him as he licks me with short, slow strokes of his tongue that causes my breathing to grow shallower. Rushed strokes of his tongue have me lifting my hips and pressing my pussy to his mouth while I cry out for him. The gentle graze of his teeth on my clit makes me scream for him, throwing my arms out and gripping the sheets until I'm swearing that I'm going to come. But it's not until he pumps two fingers inside of me, curling with each stroke, that I break apart. I cry out, digging my fingers into his hair until my nails scratch his scalp as I lift my hips to follow his tongue. Even as I come down, I can see him watch me take the slow licks he's giving me until I'm shuddering around him. "Dante," I whisper, body still shaking. "Come here. I need you." When he moves over me, it's with infinite care, as if I might break beneath him. I whimper when I feel the head of his cock rub against my slick pussy. "Please. No teasing." "Not even a little?" Dante murmurs, moving his hips until his cock is brushing my clit. "No," I nearly snarl and press the back of my heels into his ass and shove him forward. He's clearly not expecting it-though he should have-and slides into me with one thrust. "Oh, fuck." My eyes close, my mouth parting at the feel of him. "You feel so good," I moan and lift my hips again, moving against him. I'm desperate for any friction. Dante lifts my legs over his shoulders and pulls nearly out of me before taking me again with a hard thrust that causes me to drag my nails down his chest. "Please. Just like that." He doesn't need to be told twice. When he manages to speak, it's nearly always my name. A repeated prayer as he slides into me until there's sweat forming on his brow, and there are scratches on his chest from my nails while he fucks me. I reach between my thighs between us and flick my eyes up at him. "Should I...?" "Fuck me, please." It's clear he can barely get those three words out, and I grin smugly until he slams into me again as he tilts my hips. "That's it, baby. Play with your pussy for me. God. I want to see you just like this when I'm not inside you." The noises I'm making are inhuman. Desperate, if I'm being honest. "Will you give me that? Will you spread your pretty thighs for me and show me how you get yourself off, baby? I'll make you feel so good after." "Yes," I gasp. "As long as you don't stop, yes." "Come on my cock," Dante snarls, his hips rolling and smacking into mine. "That's it. Good girl. Show me how well you can touch yourself when I'm fucking you." It's all too much. I scream his name as I come. And when my hand falls away, Dante rubs his thumb against my clit until I'm trying to reach for the headboard. He follows me soon after, grunting and chanting my name before he collapses on top of me. Carefully, he rolls over and pulls me against his chest, one hand spread protectively over my stomach where our child grows. "What are you thinking?" he asks, voice rough with satisfaction and love. I look at my ring, catching emerald fire in the moonlight filtering through our windows, and think about the tiny life we created. The family we're building. The peace we've finally earned after so much violence and chaos. "That some cages set us free," I say softly. "That sometimes the darkest paths lead us exactly where we're meant to be." His kiss is sweet, perfect, full of promises for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that. "I love you," he whispers against my lips. "Both of you. Always." I smile, feeling our baby safe between us, our family whole, our future bright and full of infinite possibility. "Always," I whisper back, the word that's become our promise, our certainty, our forever. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...