Chapter 6 - The Night Our Daughter Came Early
Sixteen weeks later, at 2:13 in the morning, I woke Victor with one sentence.
“My water broke.”
He sat upright.
“What?”
“My water broke.”
Victor jumped from bed.
Then walked directly into the dresser.
“Damn it.”
Despite the contraction ripping through me, I laughed.
“You okay, mafia boss?”
“I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“I don't care.”
“I do.”
Another contraction hit.
I grabbed the bedpost.
Victor's panic vanished.
He was beside me instantly.
“Breathe.”
“Don't tell me to breathe.”
“Right.”
He grabbed his phone.
“Carlo.”
I pointed at him.
“No convoy.”
He stopped.
“One car?”
“One car.”
“No police escort?”
“Victor.”
“Fine.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we entered Mount Sinai again.
This time I wasn't alone.
Victor held my bag.
Marisol carried snacks.
Evan arrived ten minutes later.
Carlo brought coffee for everyone.
I looked around.
“What is this, a convention?”
Victor squeezed my hand.
“A family.”
The word silenced me.
Hours passed.
Labor wasn't dramatic in the glamorous way movies lied about.
It was exhausting.
Messy.
Painful.
At one point I grabbed Victor's shirt.
“You did this to me.”
“I've been informed.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
“Bad timing.”
“Understood.”
Dr. Patel entered.
“Lena, baby's heart rate is dipping during contractions.”
My fear returned instantly.
“What does that mean?”
“We're watching carefully.”
Victor became pale.
I grabbed his hand.
“Don't.”
He looked at me.
“Don't what?”
“Fall apart before I do.”
He nodded.
“I won't.”
Two hours later, everything accelerated.
Doctors moved.
Nurses adjusted monitors.
The room filled with controlled urgency.
Dr. Patel looked at me.
“We need to deliver now.”
“C-section?”
“We believe that's safest.”
I looked at Victor.
He looked terrified.
But he didn't make the decision.
He waited.
I turned back.
“Do it.”
Victor leaned toward me.
“I'm here.”
“You better be.”
“I promised.”
The operating room lights were bright.
Victor sat beside my head wearing scrubs.
His hand never left mine.
Then—
a cry.
Small.
Furious.
Perfect.
I stopped breathing.
Victor did too.
“Is she okay?”
The doctor smiled.
“She's beautiful.”
Our daughter cried again.
Victor's face collapsed.
I'd never seen him cry.
Not once.
Until that moment.
A nurse brought her closer.
Tiny pink face.
Dark hair.
Angry little fists.
“Would Dad like to meet her?”
Victor looked at me first.
I smiled.
“Go.”
He stood.
His hands shook.
The nurse placed our daughter into his arms.
Victor Moretti had faced armed men without blinking.
But holding a seven-pound baby nearly destroyed him.
“Hi.”
His voice cracked.
Our daughter stopped crying.
Victor stared at her.
“I'm your dad.”
I whispered, “Unfortunately.”
He laughed through tears.
The nurse brought her to me.
I kissed her forehead.
“Welcome, Sofia.”
Victor looked at me.
“Sofia?”
“If you still like it.”
Years earlier, before everything became complicated, we'd talked about names.
Sofia had been his mother's name.
Victor bent down and kissed my forehead.
“I love it.”
Later, in recovery, Sofia slept against my chest.
Victor sat beside us.
“You scared me again,” he whispered to her.
I smiled.
“She seems to enjoy that.”
He looked at me.
“Lena.”
“What?”
“I bought something.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Victor.”
“Small.”
“How small?”
He reached into his pocket.
I saw the box.
“No.”
“It's not what you think.”
“You brought a ring to the delivery room?”
“Yes, but listen.”
“Victor Moretti—”
He opened it.
A simple gold band.
No giant diamond.
No ridiculous display.
He placed it on the table.
Then he sat back.
No kneeling.
No speech.
No pressure.
“When you're ready,” he said.
I stared at him.
“And if I'm never ready?”
“Then it stays in the box.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
I looked down at Sofia.
Then at him.
“Ask me someday.”
His eyes softened.
“Someday?”
“Not today.”
A smile slowly appeared.
“I can work with someday.”
I pointed at him.
“Don't turn someday into a deadline.”
He laughed.
May you like
“Yes, ma'am.”
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