Page 93 of Last Hand

Luca Anthony Pressutti.

Mine.

I pull him higher up my chest, breath catching as the nurses clean around us, stitching me up while I stare down at the wrinkled, wailing miracle I somehow made. His little fingers curl against my collarbone. His mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to speak already. Of course he is. He’s ours.

“Hi,” I whisper, voice cracking. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Sometime later,once the nurses clear out, the overhead lights dim, and I finally notice how quiet the room’s become. I’m half-drunk on exhaustion and adrenaline, but I don’t want to close my eyes.

Leone sits at the edge of the bed, cradling Luca like he’s holding the entire world in his arms and needs to protect it.

He glances down at him, then at me. “Thank you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for giving him to me.”

I nod, but I can’t find the words. I don’t need to. He knows.

Milo’s by the door, still caught between hovering and hiding. He’s always afraid of getting too close to something he doesn’t believe he deserves.

Leone looks over at him. “Come here.”

Milo hesitates, then walks forward slowly. He stares down at Luca, eyes wide. “He’s… perfect.”

“He is,” Leone agrees. “They both are.”

I reach for Milo, pat the space beside me. He sinks down next to me, one arm around my shoulders as we both stare at Leone cooing at our son like he hasn’t killed men with those same hands.

Then Leone glances at him. “You want to hold him?”

Milo freezes. That question always gets him.

He still hasn’t quite accepted that he’s part of this, even now.

But after a second, he holds out his arms. Leone carefully passes Luca into them like he’s handing over fire. Milo goes stiff at first, then melts as Luca’s little face turns toward his chest.

He doesn’t look away.

“He’s warm,” Milo says, stunned.

Leone leans over, kisses my forehead, then presses his lips to mine, soft and certain.

And Milo… Milo looks up, hesitant.

“You’re not worried?” he asks. “What people will think?”

I know that fear. It’s his quiet ache, that this family, this love, this moment might evaporate because of what’s expected.

Leone just shrugs, brushing his thumb along Luca’s cheek. “Who the hell cares what people think? Let someone try to say something.”

Milo laughs softly. “He’ll probably wonder, you know? Two dads. Two different names.”

“Then change your name to Pressutti,” Leone says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Simple.”

“That easy, huh?” Milo smirks. “You realize people will think we’re together.”

Leone groans. “My own father is too scared to even make eye contact with me right now. You’re worried aboutpeople?”

“Change it. Don’t. I don’t care. It’s up to you,” Leone mutters.

Milo gazes down at Luca again. His jaw twitches like he might say something else, but instead, he nods. “We’ll change it, but…”

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