Chapter 6 - The Night Our Son Was Born
The baby arrived earlier than expected.
I woke at 2:43 a.m. with a sharp pain.
Dante was asleep beside me.
I touched his shoulder.
“Dante.”
He opened his eyes instantly.
“What?”
“I think it’s time.”
He sat upright.
For a man who had faced armed enemies without blinking, he looked terrified.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean our son is coming.”
He jumped up.
“We need the doctor.”
“I know.”
“Bag.”
“Already packed.”
“Car.”
“Dante.”
“What?”
“Breathe.”
He stared at me.
“I am breathing.”
“No. You are panicking.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You just tried to put your shoes on the wrong feet.”
He looked down.
Silence.
Then I laughed.
The drive to the hospital felt endless.
Security surrounded us.
Dante stayed beside me the entire time.
At the hospital entrance, reporters had gathered.
News of my pregnancy had become public months earlier.
Now everyone wanted the first photograph.
Dante blocked them.
“No cameras.”
One reporter shouted,
“Mr. Moretti, is it true Adrian Vale is connected to your family?”
Dante ignored him.
Another yelled,
“Is your wife divorcing you?”
He looked at me.
Then back at the reporters.
“No.”
The answer was simple.
Final.
No explanation.
No performance.
Just no.
Inside the hospital, labor intensified.
Hours passed.
Dante refused to leave.
He held my hand.
I crushed it.
He didn’t complain.
“You can hurt me,” he whispered.
“I might break your fingers.”
“Do it.”
I laughed through tears.
“You really love me.”
“I really do.”
At 8:14 a.m., our son was born.
A tiny cry filled the room.
I started sobbing.
Dante froze.
The nurse placed the baby against my chest.
His eyes were closed.
His tiny fingers curled around mine.
Dante stood beside us.
I looked at him.
“You want to hold him?”
He nodded.
But he was afraid.
“What if I drop him?”
“You won’t.”
“What if I’m not a good father?”
I looked at him.
“You’ll learn.”
That was enough.
He held our son.
The baby opened his eyes.
Dante’s face collapsed emotionally.
He cried.
Not quietly.
Not discreetly.
The feared mafia boss cried like the world had handed him something he never believed he deserved.
“What are we naming him?” he whispered.
I smiled.
“Eli.”
He nodded.
“Eli Moretti.”
We both looked down at him.
Our son.
Our future.
Everything worth protecting.
Three days later, we went home.
The mansion had changed.
Dante had removed the security cameras from the nursery.
Not all of them.
Just the ones he could.
“You still have two.”
“For emergencies.”
“Of course.”
He smiled.
Then Vivian came to visit.
She had entered a protection program.
Her daughter was safe.
She brought a tiny stuffed rabbit for Eli.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“You do.”
She smiled sadly.
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
I looked at her.
“I don’t forget what happened.”
“I understand.”
“But I believe you were afraid.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Thank you.”
She left.
Miriam entered next.
“You have visitors.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
She handed me an envelope.
Inside was a letter from Dante’s mother.
She was alive too.
She had been living abroad under protection.
The letter read:
“Dear Emma,
You saved my son without ever intending to.
When I heard about your marriage, I was terrified.
Then I learned you walked away.
I knew immediately you were stronger than I had been.
Please teach my grandson that strength is not cruelty.
And teach my son that love is not ownership.
He will need both lessons.
With love,
Isabella Moretti.”
I cried.
Dante read the letter.
Then he quietly folded it.
“She would like to meet you.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
He smiled.
“For the first time, I think my family might actually be a family.”
May you like
I touched his cheek.
“Then let’s build one.”
