Page 32 of Hot for Her Italian Mafia

Nine Months Later

Gone are the days I once held dear. The exhilaration of fighting for land and conquering a world that wants nothing to do with me, a distant echo in my mind. Bettering Stillwater turned out to be a phenomenal success. Bringing in high-rise buildings and turning the once backwater town into modern society saw it soaring high.

But it happened long after I released the mantle of leader to the stuffy coats in the war room. No, I traded fighting for my life and the fear of a bullet to the brain to one far more intense. A fear, that only eighteen months ago, felt impossible for a man like me. A fear that, for all intents and purposes, is a daydream.

“Mr. Palermo, they’re ready for you.” A nurse in all-white scrubs greets me in the waiting area. She flicks through notes on a clipboard while she speaks. Behind her white face mask, tired eyes twinkle with delight.

And why wouldn’t she be excited? Moments ago, she stood in the theater with my goddess, doctors at her side working tirelessly to deliver an angel into this world.

“Thank you,” I say. “Did it all go well?”

She nods.

“The stubborn little fella put up a heck of a fight to get out, but the operation was a tremendous success and there were no complications,” she says.

Trust me, little man, I’ve been inside her too. And if it were up to me, I’d never leave either.

Better not say that out loud. Blurring the lines between humor and truth might not go over well with the nurse.

I get out of my chair and head through the clinical white halls.

I’ve always hated hospitals. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my fair share of time in them, maybe it’s because of the back-alley clinics I had to go to instead with rippers and vets acting as licensed members of a practice.

But it’s all worth it today. The sting of antiseptics in my nose, the blinding white light, they can’t hold me back.

“Mr. Palermo,” the doctor greets with an extended hand. Unlike the nurse, he’s already stripped from his scrubs and mask. I take his hairy hand and give it a firm squeeze.

“Doctor.” Out of my way. These pleasantries are a nuisance. Let me get in there and see him. See her.

Sensing the agitation and excitement washing over me, the doctor smiles. He takes a step back, pressing a soft palm into the door to open it. That’s when I see her. As radiant as the first day we met. My fiancé. Cradled in her arms is the future of my line, my baby boy resting gently against her breast.

“Here he is,” Josie whispers to the boy. “Your papa.”

“Beautiful.” The word escapes me before I can think.

“He is,” Josie responds. Her tired eyes drift from me down to the child. He’s still, unstirring, but the light blanket covering him shifts with his gentle breaths.

I shake my head. “I meant you, my love.”

She giggles at the compliment, and warm tears flood her eyes.

Still holding our son firmly in her grasp, Josie extends a hand to me. I rush to her side, nearly tripping over my own feet. I’ve conquered towns, brought armies crumbling to their knees, ruled this whole damned world, but none of it has ever come close to the feeling swelling inside me.

Pride. Nervousness. Fear. Happiness. A cosmic cocktail of emotion coursing through every fiber of my being.

Standing here, with my woman, with my newborn son wriggling in her arms.

I take her hand and collapse at the side of the bed. My lips find my boy's head, pressing gently against his soft skin. So small, so innocent. A bright beacon of purity in a world that was once so dark.

“Hey, little man.” I lower a finger to his hand. His tiny palm barely takes the tip, but the feeling of his soft skin nearly makes me collapse to the floor in a ball of tears.

A man can fight his entire life, but without this sense of urgency, what is it worth?

“Little Lucas,” Josie chimes in. We’ve spoken about names at great length but never settled on one. The long debates always boiled down to the same conclusion for me.

A mother carries her child for nine months in gestation. She feels its first movement. Shares her meals with it. And for a brief moment in time, no doubt shares a heartbeat with the little critter growing inside of her. It’s a bond no man could ever understand, no matter how proactive they are in the process.

Josie is the only one who can name our son true and fair. In this fragile state, they are one and the same. I have no place to take her name day away. And out of nowhere, she chose a name I’d never heard in our discussions.

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