Page 113 of Dark Truths

“Gabriella, they’re—”

“The blood—” She finally looks at me with tears. “Oh, my God. I told you to save them! Not me!”

Okay, that’s enough of this. I reach up and seize her face in my hands, forcing her to keep her eyes on me because I need her full attention. “The babies are safe. They’re okay.”

All the anxiety and stress vanish from her body, and she slumps into my touch. “Where are they?”

“Right behind me.” I release her face and step back, revealing the pair of bassinets each holding a little miracle. I push them to her bedside, being careful not to disturb the sleeping babies.

Gabriella leans over, mindful of her incision and puts eyes on our children for the first time. “They’re beautiful,” she admires in a soft voice. “And they’re okay?”

“They’re okay,” I repeat.

“Healthy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” A hint of uncertainty layers her tone.

“Yes.” I slip my hands under the soft body of our son and pick him up, cradling his blue hat covered head in my palm. “Would you like to hold your son?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, reaching out to accept him. He wiggles awake at the exchange, and blinks open his eyes with a small cry. It’s too early to tell what color his eyes will be, our daughter’s too, but both have dark hair. “Hi, baby boy. Everything's okay, Mommy’s here now,” she coos to him while she traces his doll face with a single finger. Maybe it’s her soothing touch or her familiar voice, or both, but he quiets down to just stare up at her, like he’s fascinated. Like father, like son. “He’s so handsome.”

“Just like his dad,” I boast, voicing my inner thoughts.

Gabriella tosses me an exasperated look, but doesn’t deny it because she knows she can’t. Her eyes slide to the other bassinet. “Is that her?”

“Yes,” I respond before I scoop up our peacefully slumbering daughter and bring her close to Gabriella. She stays asleep even as Gabriella touches her face, too. “She’s beautiful, just like her mom.”

“Of course she is,” Gabriella agrees right away. And how can I argue with that? “So what happened?”

I’ve been dreading this conversation. But she deserves to hear the truth from me first and not from her doctor.

“You had to have an emergency c-section because our son’s placenta detached. That’s why there was all that blood. The doctors called it a placenta abruption.” From the look on her face, she understands what that is. “They got both babies out in time, but they couldn’t…” I drop my eyes to look at our daughter’s perfect little face. The only daughter we might ever have.

“I had a hysterectomy,” she assumes solemnly and I nod. “They couldn’t stop the bleeding.” It’s not a question, but rather a statement, a fact. “Did they take my ovaries?”

My head snaps up to meet her sad eyes. “No. Only your uterus.” Tears return to her eyes at her loss and I reach out to cup her face. “I’m so sorry, angel. They gave me no choice. You were bleeding out. I couldn't loose you.”

“I know. I mean, I understand.” She raises her hand to cradle mine and leans into my touch before turning her face to kiss my palm. “Thank you. It just means expanding our family is going to be a little more difficult. We’ll have to use surrogacy.”

I huff out a small laugh. “Our children are not even a day old and you’re already thinking about having more?”

“You’re not?” she challenges playfully."Look at them. They're beautiful."

My hand shifts to grip her chin. I lean forward and softly brush my lips on hers as I say, “I want a dozen more with you. Whenever or however they come to us. This is just the start.”

And when she smiles against my mouth, I know we’ll be okay.

“So, what are their names?” Alice, Gabriella’s mom, asks later that day. She’s cradling our daughter, gently soothing her to sleep after a good burp and a tummy full of breast milk. Our son is still nursing, nestled against his mother’s warm chest but is on the brink of sleep himself.

Dante leans over his wife’s shoulder, gazing at his newest granddaughter with genuine awe. It’s still a surprising sight to see the powerful, usually reserved man smiling. But over the past few months, I’ve come to know a different side of Gabriella’s family—one that transcends their criminal ties. They really arejust a normal family. They have a family dinner once a month and they celebrate birthdays and holidays together. They make it a priority to be there for the important things. Like right now. Meeting the two newest members of the family.

I meet Gabriella’s eyes, and she nods with a smile. “Our daughter’s name is Angelica.”

“Aw, I love that,” Alice remarks. “That fits her so well.”

“We thought so,” Gabriella agrees before she hands our son to me, who has finally stopped nursing.

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