Page 156 of Mafia King of Lies

Istep through the door, the familiar scent of tomato, garlic, and rosemary filling the air as I take in the sight of Maria—barefoot and glowing—standing in front of the stove. She’s humming softly to herself, clearly lost in the rhythm of preparing dinner.

I’ve loved watching her body shift and change to grow our son over the past few months. Pregnancy looks stunning on her. She rubs her belly affectionately as she stirs whatever’s on the stove, a smile on her face.

Her head lifts and she shoots me a wide smile that’s almost blinding. “You’re home.”

My heart skips a beat seeing her like this—pregnant and radiant, a beautiful contrast to the chaos of the world outside. Coming home to this—to the estate—is always something I look forward to.

“Hey,” I greet her softly, my voice full of warmth, as I walk over and wrap my arms around her waist. She leans back into me, the curve of her belly pressing against my chest.

“Hey,” she replies, turning her head to look up at me. “How was your day?”

I chuckle, brushing my lips across her forehead. “Busy, but nothing I can’t handle. And you? How was your day?”

She gives a little shrug, her fingers dancing on the spoon as she stirs the pot. “Just the usual. A lot of quiet time, but I’ve been trying to get things ready for our little guy.” She lets out a soft, contented sigh.

There’s something sacred about this moment—just the two of us, suspended in quiet before the storm. In a world built on blood and strategy, this kitchen, this woman, this child—they are the only things that feel real.

“Crazy to think eight months has flown by like… nothing.”

I can feel her energy, the excitement in her words, and it lifts my own spirits. The anticipation of meeting our son, of finally holding him in my arms, is enough to make me feel like I’m walking on air. But I can’t escape the slight tinge of sadness I always feel when I realize that Daniele won’t be here to see his little brother.

I walk over to the stove to look at the pot she’s preparing. Never in a million years did I think I’d move back to the Davacalli estate—or be so… domesticated. She’s really slowed my life down in the best way possible.

“Do you need any help, amore?” I taste the sauce she has in the pot with a spoon, but when she doesn’t respond, I look up at her—and I pause. “Maria?”

Her body tenses, and her hand grips the edge of the counter. Her breath catches, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.

“Maria?” I ask, stepping closer, my voice full of concern. “What’s happening?”

Before I can even process it, she doubles over in pain, a scream tearing from her throat. Her eyes widen, and she looks up at me, panic flickering in her gaze.

“My water just broke,” she says, breathless.

It’s like the world shifts beneath my feet. I don’t move for a second—I just stand there, trying to process her words.

Water breaking. Baby coming. She’s in labor.

“You’re in labor,” I say, almost too casually. But then it all clicks, and I’m panicking. “Oh—fuck. Okay. You’re in labor. Right. We’ve trained for this,” I mutter, half to myself. “Where’s the damn hospital bag…?”

“Matteo,” she breathes, her eyes shining with a mix of fear and excitement. “I need you to be calm. Because if you freak out, I’ll freak out—and I need to be zen when I push a human out of my vagina.”

“Okay, okay,” I stammer, my mind rushing as I scramble to grab her hospital bag from the corner by the door—thank the heavens my wife is a micromanager and prepares for things in advance.

Maria stands by the counter, breathing in and out through her mouth as she sways from side to side like her doula showed her. All those birthing classes, and I’m blanking on every single lesson.

I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, my thoughts tumbling over each other as I try to stay calm. “We need to go. We need to get to the hospital. Now.”

Maria winces again, her hand gripping the counter, but she nods. “I know. Let’s go. He’s coming—I can feel him.”

I’m frantic as we rush to the car, my heart hammering in my chest. The roads blur as we speed toward the hospital, the sound of her labored breathing beside me grounding me. Her hand grips mine, squeezing with every contraction, and I squeeze back—my nerves tangled with pure, raw excitement.

When we pull up to the hospital, I don’t wait for the valet—I just rush inside, Maria at my side, the weight of her pregnancy anchoring me to the present.

We’re here. It’s happening.

Our son is coming.

OUR SON IS COMING.

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