Page 84 of The Mafia King's Baby

A son. Our son. The words echo in my mind as she places him on my chest, this small miracle who’s been growing inside me for nine months and is now here, real and breathing and ours. He’s smaller than I expected but perfectly formed, with dark hair that might darken further and eyes that haven’t yet decided their final color.

Yefrem stares at our baby with an expression I’ve never seen before—wonder and terror and love all mixed together in features that have softened with amazement. When he reachesout to touch our son’s tiny hand, his fingers tremble slightly. “He’s perfect.” His voice breaks on the words. “Absolutely perfect.”

The baby settles against my chest with the kind of immediate contentment that suggests he knows he’s safe and wanted. His breathing is steady, his color healthy, and when he briefly opens his eyes, I catch a glimpse of intelligence that might be imagination but feels completely real.

“What will you call him?” asks Amina during delivery of the afterbirth while Yasmin cleans up with quiet efficiency.

Yefrem and I have discussed names for months without reaching a final decision, but looking at our son now, only one choice feels right. “Leo.” I look at Yefrem for confirmation, and he nods with a smile that transforms his entire face. “His name is Leo.”

Leo. After Leonid, the man who’s been Yefrem’s brother in everything but blood, who helped us escape the corruption that nearly destroyed our lives, who chose exile in Morocco to remain close to the family we’re building. It feels right in a way that planned names never could.

Later that morning, after I’ve rested and Leo has nursed successfully for the first time, Leonid arrives at the riad with the stunned expression of someone who’s just been told he has a namesake. Yefrem leads him to the courtyard, where I’m sitting with the baby swaddled in soft cotton, enjoying the gentle warmth of early sunlight. My mother sits beside me, dozing quietly, and I don’t wake her.

“Meet Leo.” Yefrem’s voice carries pride and exhaustion in equal measure.

Leonid stops walking completely, staring at the tiny face visible above the swaddling cloth. For a moment, he seems incapable of speech, and his usual composure dissolves into something raw and emotional.

“You named him after me.” It’s not a question, but his voice carries disbelief.

I adjust Leo’s position so Leonid can see him better. “He needed a strong name. A name that represents loyalty and courage and the kind of love that transcends blood family.”

Leonid attempts to maintain his usual stoic demeanor, but tears gather in his eyes despite his efforts at control. He wipes them away roughly, then looks between Yefrem and me with an expression that suggests he’s processing something too large for words. “I promise I’ll always be there for him the same way I’ve always been there for both of you.” His voice is steady despite the emotion underneath.

That promise settles over our small gathering like a blessing. Leo will grow up knowing blood doesn’t define family, and love and loyalty create bonds stronger than genetics.

Later, as evening approaches, and our first day as parents draws to a close, I sit in the riad’s inner courtyard with Leo nursing contentedly at my breast. Yefrem sits beside us, one hand resting gently on our son’s head while the other traces patterns on my arm. The fountains create a soft background melody, and somewhere in the distance, the call to prayer echoes across the rooftops of Essaouira.

The baby makes small satisfied sounds as he feeds, his tiny fist curled around my finger with surprising strength. He’s been in the world for less than twelve hours, but already, he seems tounderstand he’s safe and surrounded by people who will protect him and love him.

Yefrem hasn’t spoken for nearly an hour, but I can feel the contentment radiating from him like warmth. The sight of him watching our son with absolute devotion makes me understand we’ve succeeded in building something worth all the sacrifices it required.

Leo shifts against my chest with the kind of sleepy contentment that comes from being exactly where he belongs. We don’t speak because words would diminish the perfection of this moment. Our son is here, healthy and safe, and the future stretches ahead of us like an unwritten story, full of possibilities we’re only beginning to imagine.

The stars appear one by one above the courtyard as Leo falls asleep in my arms, and I think about all the evenings like this we’ll have together, all the small rituals and quiet joys that will define his childhood. He’ll grow up speaking multiple languages, comfortable with different cultures, and surrounded by adults who chose each other and chose him.

Leo stirs slightly in his sleep, and both Yefrem and I freeze, unwilling to disturb his rest. He settles again with a soft sigh, trusting in the safety we’ve created around him. I relax, knowing we made it. Against impossible odds, through corruption and violence and federal investigations, we made it to this courtyard, this child, and this life we’re building one peaceful day at a time.

It’s perfect.

EPILOGUE

Yefrem

Leo’s dark eyes study my face with the kind of intense concentration that makes me wonder what he’s thinking at three months old. I shift him to my shoulder and walk slowly around the courtyard, trying to convince him that breakfast can wait another hour while his mother sleeps off the exhaustion of a restless night with a teething baby.

“Your mama needs rest.” I keep my voice low as we move past the fountain where morning light catches the spray and throws rainbow fragments across the white walls. “She was up with you until four this morning, remember? The least we can do is let her sleep until the sun clears the mountains.”

Leo makes a small sound that might be agreement or hunger. At three months, he’s developed distinct opinions about timing, food, and who he wants holding him at any given moment. Celia remains his clear favorite, but he tolerates my attempts at entertainment with the patience of someone who understands I’m doing my best.

Three months of fatherhood have taught me that love changes shape when it has an object this small and helpless. The protective instincts I developed over years of criminal activity have transformed into something fiercer and more focused. Every sound Leo makes, and every change in his breathing or expression, registers with the same intensity I once reserved for potential threats.

“Uncle Leonid is coming today.” I settle into the cushioned seating area beside the central fountain, arranging Leo so he can see the water without getting splashed. “He’s bringing supplies from Essaouira, and probably more toys you don’t need yet.”

Leonid has embraced his role as doting uncle with enthusiasm that surprised all of us. The man who spent decades focused on survival and strategy now spends hours researching developmental milestones and age-appropriate stimulation. His latest obsession involves wooden toys crafted by local artisans, each one carefully selected for its educational value and safety.

Leo’s attention shifts to the fountain, and I watch his face as he processes the movement and sound of flowing water. At three months, everything is discovery, with every sensory experience building neural pathways that will shape how he understands the world. The responsibility of guiding that development feels both overwhelming and perfectly natural.

“Your grandmother will want to steal you away after lunch.” I adjust his position as he starts to fuss, recognizing the early signs of hunger despite my attempts at distraction. “She’s been planning a walking tour of the herb garden, though I’m not sure you’re ready for botanical education quite yet.”

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