TELL EVERYONE THAT BABY HAS NO FATHER! OR I'LL HAVE YOU THROWN OUT BEFORE DESSERT!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD PREGNANT MAID IN FRONT

“Dr. Evans! Now!”

Luca’s voice echoed through the massive hallways of the mansion like thunder.

He scooped me into his arms effortlessly, ignoring my panicked protests, and carried me rapidly up the grand staircase toward the master suite.

“Breathe, Anna. Just breathe,” he said, though his own chest was heaving with poorly concealed panic.

“It’s too early,” I gasped, clutching his sweater as another contraction ripped through my abdomen. “I’m only thirty-five weeks, Luca. It’s too early!”

“The baby is strong. You are strong. We have the best medical equipment in the city right here.”

He kicked the door to the bedroom open and laid me gently on the bed.

Within ninety seconds, Dr. Evans rushed into the room, followed by two private nurses carrying sterile equipment and monitors.

“She’s in active labor, Mr. Moretti,” Dr. Evans said rapidly, checking my vitals. “Her water broke. Contractions are two minutes apart. There isn’t time to transport her to the hospital. We’re delivering here.”

Luca didn't flinch.

He stripped off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and took his place right beside my pillow.

He grabbed my hand, his grip solid and grounding.

“I’m right here, Anna. I’m not going anywhere.”

The next three hours were a blur of blinding pain, exhaustion, and terrifying uncertainty.

The storm outside raged, wind howling against the mansion’s windows, mirroring the chaos inside the room.

I squeezed Luca’s hand so hard I thought I might break his fingers, but he never let go. He wiped the sweat from my forehead, whispered words of encouragement, and anchored me to reality when the pain threatened to pull me under.

“You’re almost there, Anna!” Dr. Evans encouraged, positioning himself at the foot of the bed. “One more big push! I need everything you have left!”

“I can’t,” I sobbed, shaking violently from exhaustion. “I have nothing left.”

Luca leaned down, his forehead pressing against mine.

“Yes, you do,” he whispered fiercely. “You survived Vanessa. You survived the poison. You survived the shootout in the kitchen. You are the strongest woman I have ever met. Bring my nephew into the world, Anna. Do it for Michael.”

Michael’s name sent a surge of adrenaline through my veins.

I took a massive, shuddering breath, gripped Luca’s hand, and pushed with every ounce of strength remaining in my body.

A heavy, sudden silence fell over the room.

The pain immediately receded.

I collapsed back onto the pillows, gasping for air.

I waited.

One second. Two seconds.

Silence.

“Why isn’t he crying?” I panicked, trying to lift my head. “Luca, why isn't he crying?!”

Luca’s face was pale as he watched Dr. Evans quickly clear the baby’s airways.

“Come on, little one,” the doctor murmured.

Then, it happened.

A sharp, furious wail pierced the quiet room.

It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my entire life.

Tears streamed down my face. Luca let out a ragged breath, dropping his head against the mattress in sheer relief.

“It’s a boy,” Dr. Evans announced, smiling broadly as he quickly wrapped the tiny, squalling infant in a warm blanket. “He’s a little small, but his lungs are perfect. He’s healthy, Anna.”

The nurse handed the bundled baby to me.

I pulled him to my chest, sobbing as I looked at his perfect, tiny face. He had a shock of dark hair, exactly like his father.

He stopped crying the moment he felt my heartbeat, his tiny fists curling against the blanket.

“Hi,” I whispered, kissing his forehead. “Hi, my sweet boy.”

Luca stood beside the bed, staring down at the baby with absolute awe.

The ruthless mafia boss, the man who terrified the entire city of Chicago, was crying.

“Do you want to hold him, Uncle Luca?” I asked softly.

Luca hesitated, looking at his large, tattooed hands as if he was afraid he might break the fragile life in front of him.

“I don't know how,” he admitted quietly.

“I’ll show you.”

I gently passed the baby into Luca’s massive arms.

Luca cradled the infant against his chest. The baby was so small he fit entirely in the crook of Luca’s arm.

As Luca looked down, the baby slowly opened his eyes.

Luca’s breath caught in his throat.

“Green,” Luca whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek. “He has Michael’s green eyes.”

“His name is Michael Thomas Moretti II,” I said, smiling through my tears. “Tommy.”

Luca pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Tommy’s head.

“Hello, Tommy,” Luca murmured, making a vow in the quiet darkness of the room. “I am your Uncle Luca. And I swear on my life, no one will ever hurt you. You will have the world.”

Later that night, while Tommy slept peacefully in the bassinet beside my bed, Luca returned to the room.

He was holding the white envelope I had dropped in the hallway hours earlier.

“You found it,” I said softly.

Luca nodded, pulling up a chair next to the bed.

“I read it while you were sleeping.”

He looked at the letter, his eyes filled with a peaceful kind of sorrow.

“He knew he might not come back from the meeting with Vanessa,” Luca said. “He wrote this to tell me the truth about the shell corporations. But the last paragraph... it was about you.”

Luca handed me the letter.

I looked at Michael’s familiar handwriting.

Luca, if you are reading this, it means I failed to protect myself. But do not let my death turn your heart to ice. Find Anna. She is carrying my child. Protect her with the ferocity you have always used to protect our family. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. Love her, brother. As family.

I pressed the letter to my chest, closing my eyes.

Michael had made sure we were safe.

“He was a good man,” I whispered.

“The best of us,” Luca agreed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate gold chain. Strung on the chain was Michael’s slightly bent wedding ring.

Luca leaned over the bassinet and gently secured the chain around the wooden post near Tommy’s head.

“For when he’s older,” Luca said.