Page 137 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

I left the one person who mattered most.

That night, after the crowds have thinned, Dad finds me sitting by the firepit with a bottle of Valentina red and two glasses.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just pours himself a drink and settles into the chair across from me.

For once, no lectures. No silent disappointment hanging between us.

Just firelight and the clink of glass.

I stare into the flames for a long time before the words scrape out of me.

“Sophie’s pregnant.”

The fire crackles between us.

Then Dad leans back in his chair, his face going distant, probably staring at a memory.

“I was terrified when I first found out about your mother. I didn’t think I was ready to be a father. Didn’t think I’d be any good at it.”

I blink, caught off guard.

Dad? The man who always seemed like he had steel running through his veins?

He chuckles without humor. “Hell, the night your mother told me, I went for a drive. Ended up halfway across Tuscany before I realized I was just running from something I already wanted more than anything.”

He takes a long sip of wine.

“And when you were born?” His voice drops. “I looked at you, all red-faced and screaming, and it hit me like a goddamn freight train. I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

He leans forward again, eyes hard and clear.

“You think being scared makes you weak, Alessio? It doesn’t. It makes you human. But running from it?” He shakes his head. “That’s what makes you lose everything worth having. I should know. Look what almost happened with Quinn.”

The fire snaps louder between us, sending a flare of sparks into the dark.

“And whether you know it or not, I know that you didn’t just leave because you were scared for her. You left because you didn’t think you deserved her.”

He holds my gaze steady.

“But maybe it’s time you stop punishing yourself for who you used to be. And start fighting for the life you want.”

He leans forward. “You’re my son. But you’re not that kid anymore, Alessio. You’ve changed. I see it. Everyone sees it. Except maybe you. So, maybe it’s time you stop hiding behind the vineyard... and go get your girl.”

The words land heavy.

He doesn’t dress it up. Doesn’t give me permission or absolution.

Just a choice.

And for the first time in a long time, I realize no one’s coming to fix this but me.

The next afternoon, I'm behind the tasting bar, walking a group of tourists through the reds, when my phone buzzes.

A text from Valentino.

Valentino:Check the news. Now.

Frowning, I swipe open the link he sent.

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