Page 93 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

Epilogue: Fantasia

I stand in the middle of the nursery, hands on my heavily swollen belly, surveying the transformation. The walls are freshly painted in a soft, warm cream, the scent of drying paint still lingering in the air.

“Are we sure about the giraffes?” Piers asks, holding up a tiny, hand-painted wooden cutout of the long-necked creature.

“They’re adorable,” I say, shifting my weight as a dull pressure tugs at my lower back. “Besides, it’s too late to change the theme now.” I reach for the cutout, but my belly makes the simple motion feel like a workout, and Piers smirks as he hands it to me instead.

Around us, a whirlwind of movement fills the room- our extended family, the bright orphaned kids. They’re like little sparks of energy, each one with their own personality. Piers really did take on a lot when he brought them here, but they’ve become our heart and soul. And right now, they’re all buzzing around the nursery, eager to help.

“Fantasia! I finished the mobile!” Avery, barely ten and as quick as a fox, holds up the wooden mobile he’s been working on. Giraffes, elephants, and lions dangle from delicate strings, the paint slightly smudged but all the more endearing for it.

“It’s perfect, Ave,” I say warmly, ruffling his hair. “Can you hang it over the crib?”

“On it!” He scrambles onto a chair, his tongue poking out in concentration as he hooks it onto the fixture Piers installed earlier.

Near the changing table, Nadia, who refuses to let anyone call her anything but 'Nad,' organizes tiny folded clothes into drawers. “Babies have too many outfits,” she grumbles, but I catch the way she smooths each one before placing it inside.

“They go through them fast,” I say, easing myself into the rocking chair with a sigh. Valeria toddles over to me, her little hand reaching up toward mine, and I take it, helping her climb onto my lap. She snuggles close, her head resting against my chest as I adjust her in my arms.”Trust me, you’ll be glad we have extras.”

From the doorway, Callum and Theo lug in a bookshelf they insisted on building themselves. “You better love this, kid,” Theo mutters, carefully setting it against the wall. “We nearly murdered each other over the instructions.”

Callum scoffs. “You’re the one who tried to hammer in a screw.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “It looks amazing. Thank you.”

Piers steps beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “Not bad for a bunch of street rats, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Nadia puts her hands on her hips, faux outrage on her face. “We’re refined, respectable citizens now.”

“Exactly,” I say, grinning. “And you’re making this place a home.”

As I rock Valeria gently, Theo comes over and offers her a small toy, patting her softly on the back like an older sibling would.

A warm silence settles between us all. This is more than just decorating a nursery- it’s proof that a house isn’t made of stone and wood, but of the people who fill it.

“Alright, team,” Piers claps his hands. “Mission accomplished for the day! Time to wrap it up- Fantasia and I need to put Valeria to bed.”

A chorus of voices erupts as the kids groan in unison, clearly reluctant to stop, but I smile at them, watching as they share looks of mild protest. I sit back, holding Valeria and resting a hand over my belly, feeling the reassuring kick of the life inside me, grateful that my children will grow up surrounded by love, by chaos, by the kind of family that chooses each other.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You can finish up tomorrow,” I say, softly. “Time to get some rest, you guys.”

After a few more grumbles, the kids scatter to their rooms, bidding us goodnight in their usual loud, rambunctious way. Piers gives me a small smile as he lifts Valeria from my arms, and we walk toward the nursery door and head to Valeria’s room, which is right next door.

As soon as we step inside, Valeria nestles against Piers’ shoulder, her tiny arms clinging to him sleepily. “No bed, Daddy,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

Piers chuckles, brushing a kiss against the top of her head. “Oh, really? Then what’s our plan, little troublemaker?”

She lifts her head, blinking up at him. “More play?” she asks hopefully.

I laugh, smoothing a hand over her curls. “Not tonight, sweet girl. You’re sleepy.”

“Not sleepy,” she insists, though her voice is already growing drowsy.

We settle her into her new bed, and I tuck her blanket around her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. She yawns, her tiny fingers curling around my hand. “Mummy, song?”

“Of course, love,” I murmur. Piers and I exchange a glance before we both begin singing softly, our voices blending in the quiet hush of the room.

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