Page 38 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

Then, a knock at the door cuts through my silent tirade.

"Come in," the doctor says, not looking up from her preparations. She's in her mid-forties, with kind eyes magnified behind glasses that keep slipping down her nose. Her hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, a few strands rebelling against the restraint.

The door swings open, and in walks Luca. Of course, Luca.

The doctor pauses, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. "And you are?"

Luca doesn't miss a beat. "I'm the father of the baby. Sorry, I'm late."

At that, despite myself, a smile finds its way onto my face. Sassy retorts and hormonal irritations aside, Luca has this knack for disarming me.

The doctor, satisfied with the introduction or perhaps choosing to not question it further, turns her attention back to the task at hand. She starts moving the scanner across my belly, the image of our baby flickering to life on the screen beside us.

Luca makes his way over, his presence a sudden source of calm in the sterile room. He takes my hand in his, a gesture so full of hope and fear it almost undoes me. His touch is warm, grounding.

As the doctor works, narrating the landmarks of our baby's tiny form on the monitor, the reality of it all sinks in. There's a baby. Our baby. Growing inside me, oblivious to the chaos of the world it's about to inherit.

Luca's thumb rubs small circles on the back of my hand. I'm suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for his presence.

The doctor's voice cuts through the silence, clinical yet edged with a hint of skepticism. "So, you've slipped and fell while showering, is that right?"

I clear my throat, nodding. "Yes, that's right," I manage, the lie sitting uncomfortably on my tongue. I add quickly, "I just want to make sure my baby is okay."

The doctor's gaze lingers on mine for a moment longer than comfortable, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she returns her attention to the ultrasound screen, her movements deliberate as she continues the examination.

The room falls silent again.

I hold my breath, watching the doctor's face for any sign, any hint of how the baby is doing. The seconds stretch into eternity, each one heavier than the last.

Then, breaking the silence, comes the rapid, rhythmic sound we've been waiting for—the baby's heartbeat. Strong and clear, it fills the room.

Relief washes over me, so intense it's almost physical. I exhale, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. "That's our baby," I say, turning to Luca, my eyes shining with tears I refuse to let fall.

Luca's smile mirrors my own, a mixture of relief and awe. "Our baby," he echoes.

The doctor finally looks up from the screen, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Everything looks fine. The baby seems to be doing well, despite the scare."

"Thank you," I breathe out.

As the doctor hands me a wipe and excuses herself, leaving us a semblance of privacy in the sterile room, Luca takes over with a tenderness that surprises me every time. He cleans the cold gel off my belly gently.

I watch him, this complex man who's stood by me through the storms and the calm, and find my heart swelling with an emotion too big to name. It's in these quiet moments that I see him clearly—not just the tough exterior, but the man beneath who cares, truly cares.

"Thanks for showing up," I say, our eyes locking.

Luca looks up, his eyes meeting mine, and in them, I see a reflection of my own tumultuous feelings—fear, hope, determination. "I wouldn't be anywhere else," he replies.

In that moment, with his hand still on my skin and the world outside waiting to crash down on us again, I allow myself a moment of vulnerability. "I know," I admit, letting the walls I've built around my heart crack just a bit. "And I'm glad you're here."

Just as I’m about to swing my legs off the bed, ready to face the world outside with its endless complications, a sudden flutter against my belly makes me pause. It's like a secret handshake, a tiny rebellion from the life we’ve created, making its presence known. "Did you feel that?" I gasp, my annoyance at the cold gel, the hospital, and the whole damn situation dissolving into wonder.

Luca’s hand freezes on my skin, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Feel what?" His voice is a mix of excitement and a dash of confusion, the kind you see in kids when you tell them there’s no school on a snow day.

"Wait for it," I whisper, a grin spreading across my face. The seconds tick by, heavy with expectation, and then—there it is again. A kick, unmistakable this time, a little hi-five from our baby saying, "Hey, I’m here too, you know."

Luca’s laugh, a sound that's become my favorite melody, fills the room. "I felt that! He just kicked!"

"He?" I raise an eyebrow, my sassy side surfacing with a smirk. "Don’t be so sure. Could be a little kickboxing championette in there."

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