Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
I watched it hit them, one by one. The twins forgot to breathe for a moment, their usual sync broken as they stumbled closer. Vincenzo—who I'd never seen lose composure—pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. Luca didn't even try to hide the tears spilling down his cheeks.
"Come see," Nico said softly, and they crowded closer, careful of the tubes and wires.
"That's really..." Rocco's voice cracked. He tried again. "That's our baby?"
The doctor nodded. "Everything looks perfect."
"So small," Angelo whispered, leaning in closer. "But you can really see the heart beating."
Vincenzo squeezed my hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired." I managed a small smile. "But better now."
"You had us terrified," Luca admitted. "When you collapsed..."
"I've never seen Giuliano move so fast," Angelo added softly, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
"None of us knew what was wrong," Vincenzo said quietly. "The doctor wouldn't let us all in at first."
"We've been taking turns," Rocco murmured. "Couldn't leave you alone."
"Nico wouldn't leave at all," Luca added, touching my shoulder gently.
I felt tears well up again at the worry in their voices, the care in their touches. These men who'd burned through Providence to protect me, now undone by something so small.
"Well," Enzo said thoughtfully from the back of the group, "looks like the kid is going to learn seven different ways to make pasta."
A soft laugh rippled through the room, breaking the heavy moment. Even the doctor smiled.
They gathered closer, each finding some way to connect—a hand on my arm, fingers in my hair, palms resting carefully over our miracle. The fear that had lived in me since that moment in Vittorio's study finally began to fade.
"Rest now," Giuliano murmured as my eyes grew heavy. His lips brushed my temple. "We've got you."
Morning light painted the room in gold as I drifted off, the quiet murmurs of seven changed men washing over me like a lullaby. My last thought wasn't about safety or protection—it was about love, and how it could turn even the deadliest of hearts gentle.
34
GIULIANO
The numbers on my phone blurred together.
Three territory disputes. Five of Vittorio's old captains making moves. And one meeting I couldn't push back any longer.
Rain turned Providence's streets into mirrors, each droplet carrying memories of lessons learned under my father's unwavering stare. Fifteen minutes from the hospital to Il Tramonto. Fifteen minutes to shift from the man I was becoming back to the son who'd spent decades trying to earn the Barbieri name.
My mind kept drifting to that hospital room, to Pearl's steady breathing, to Nico's watchful presence, and the others taking their silent shifts. That tiny flutter on the screen had changed everything, and I still hadn't found the words for it.
The restaurant looked exactly as it had when I was sixteen. Old brick and faded awnings, tucked between newer buildings like a stubborn memory. Rain made the neon sign blur, "Il Tramonto" bleeding red across wet pavement. My driver knew to pull up at the side entrance, where the security cameras had the best coverage. Where I'd watched countless men enter proud and leave broken.
I caught myself squaring my shoulders before walking in, an old habit from trying to meet his standards. Inside, nothing had changed: the same corner booth where my father held court, two espressos waiting with that precise spacing I'd learned to mimic. Back to the wall, eyes on the exits. His rules, drilled into me until they became instinct.
He sat there, a touch of gray at his temples now, but his eyes still cut like razors when they found mine. That look still made something in my chest tighten even after all these years of proving myself. Building my own empire. Making my own rules.
But here, in this booth where I'd watched him break men and build kingdoms over bitter coffee, I was still that kid trying to keep his hands steady on the cup, desperate to be worthy of the Barbieri name.
"Sit."
The espresso's bitter scent filled the air between us. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, the rain painting shadows across his face.
"Vittorio's captains," he said finally, breaking the silence. "You offered them legitimate businesses instead of bullets."
"Dead men can't earn." I met his gaze steadily. "And fear only works until someone offers a better way."
"A better way." He studied me over his cup, something shifting in his expression. "You dismantled his entire operation without a single war. No headlines. No bodies." His fingers traced the cup's rim, a gesture that usually preceded bloodshed. "Clean. Almost elegant."
"People saw profit in peace," I replied simply. "When you stop ruling through fear, they start seeing opportunities instead of threats."
The rain drummed against the windows. He took another sip of his espresso, his silence carrying more weight than words.
"These men of yours." He gestured slightly with his cup. "I've seen how they operate. How they move together." A slight nod, almost to himself. "That kind of trust... you can't buy that. Can't force it either."