Page 32 of Valentine's with the Cartel

"You're not weak," I conceded, my voice softening even as I lifted my chin. "But you're not invincible either. No one is. And I'm not going to sit back and watch you put yourself in unnecessary danger just because you have some misguided sense of machismo to prove."

There, I said it. I didn't know how he was going to take it, but whatever happened, he now knew what I thought.

Rafael's eyes narrowed at that, a muscle jumping in his jaw as if he were grinding his teeth together in frustration. It was clear that my words had struck a nerve with him even as I could see the wheels turning behind his gaze as he sought a way to counter my argument.

"You're not just my husband now," he said slowly after a long moment, his tone mild even as a dangerous glint entered his eyes. "You are also the father of my unborn children. And as such, it is your duty to respect and support the decisions I make in order to keep our family safe and secure."

I recoiled slightly at the harshness in his voice, a chill running down my spine at the reminder that even in the throes of passion, Rafael could still wield his authority over me like a weapon when he chose. But I refused to back down, not when so much was at stake.

"I respect you as my alpha and my husband," I shot back, my own temper flaring in response to his high-handed tactics even as I struggled to keep my voice steady and level. "But I do not respect the choice you're making here. And I will not sit by idly while you court danger for the sake of some misguided sense of loyalty to a corrupt institution."

Rafael's expression darkened at that, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as he leaned in closer, caging me against the headboard with his body even as he gripped my jaw in one large hand. "Careful, little omega," he purred. "You're skating very close to the line of insubordination here."

???

I stood at the kitchen counter, stirring a pot of my famous macaroni and cheese while humming an old lullaby. The rich aroma of butter, cream, and aged cheeses mingled with the savory notes of the slow-cooked tomato sauce bubbling on the stove beside me.

It was a recipe I had perfected over the years, one that never failed to soothe my nerves and fill my stomach with comfort when life felt overwhelming. And right now, as my heavily pregnant belly strained against the apron tied around my waist, I needed all the comfort I could get.

The twins were due any day now, their energetic kicking and punching growing more insistent with each passing week.

Rafael had been out of town for the past few days, dealing with yet another missing shipment of fentanyl that threatened to destabilize the cartel's grip on the city.

I tried not to worry too much about his safety, knowing that he was more than capable of handling whatever challenges arose. But the constant stress of his line of work had taken its toll on both of us over the past few months, and I longed for the day when we could put it all behind us and focus solely on our growing family.

I couldn't help but wonder when that would finally happen. I needed it so much.

As I poured the creamy sauce over the tender pasta noodles, folding them together until they were coated in a velvety sheen, my mind drifted back to the heated argument we had shared about Rafael's involvement in the cartel.

I still stood by my conviction that he needed to find a way out of the dangerous business before it consumed us both.

But I also knew that change wouldn't happen overnight, and that I would have to be patient and persistent in my efforts to guide him towards a better path.

For now, all I could do was love and support him. I just hoped it was enough.

Just as I was about to turn off the stove and dish up our meal, a sharp cramp seized my abdomen, doubling me over with a startled cry.

The pot clattered to the floor as I gripped the edge of the counter for support, my breath coming in short gasps as another wave of pain crashed through me.

This was it—the moment we had been anticipating and dreading in equal measure for the past several weeks. I was going into labor, and Rafael wasn't here.

With shaking hands, I fumbled for my phone on the kitchen counter, dialing his number even as I struggled to remain upright. It rang once, twice, three times before he finally picked up.

"Anan? What's wrong?" he barked into the line, his voice tight with concern, even as I could hear the roar of traffic in the background. I wondered where exactly he was. Was he far away? "Are you okay?"

"I'm in labor," I gasped out, fighting to keep my voice steady even as another contraction ripped through me, making my vision go white at the edges. That was the best I could have said, too. "You need to come home now. The babies are coming."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a flurry of activity and muffled voices that I could barely make out over the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

"I'm on my way," Rafael growled, his tone brooking no argument even as I heard him barking orders to his men. "I'll be there in ten minutes. You stay put and don't try to move too much until I get there."

The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me clutching the phone to my chest as I fought to catch my breath through the lingering pain. He was coming—I just had to hold on long enough for him to arrive.

But could I? I didn't know. I was going to try to do my best.

Even as I tried to focus on my breathing and not giving in to the urge to panic, another contraction seized me with ruthless intensity, stealing the air from my lungs as my body began to bear down with a force that defied description.

This was no ordinary labor—something was wrong, and I knew it deep in my bones. The twins were coming too fast, too soon for me to handle on my own.

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