Page 73 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
There’s fear there, raw and unmistakable. I tighten my hold on her. “What are you asking?”
“Are we safe?”
Her voice is small, but the question feels massive.
“I’ve been afraid of the mafia for most of my life,” she says quietly. “Even when I left this city behind, that fear never really left me.”
She won’t look at me now. Her voice is steady, but I can hear the cracks underneath.
“And I didn’t even know you were looking for me. I thought I was out. That I got away clean.”
Her breath catches. I see it more than I hear it.
“But now...now I know I didn’t even understand what fear was.”
She finally meets my eyes. There’s no fire in them this time. Just raw, honest terror.
“I’m scared for me. For you. For our babies.”
Her words slice through me like a blade between the ribs. It stings my pride. It’s my job to take care of her, to protect her. I respond without thinking.
“We’re safe,” I say, the lie burning my tongue like acid. Danger lurks around every corner in my world. It’s the price of the lifeI’ve chosen. But I can’t bear the thought of her living in constant fear. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you or our children.”
I feel Paige relax against me, letting out a long breath and quickly succumbing to sleep. She trusts me so easily, and I’m not sure I’ve earned it, but I’m determined to be worthy.
I might have just lied to Paige, but if I manage to keep danger at bay, she’ll never have to know. And if anyone tries to hurt her or our children, I’ll make them wish they’d never been born.
That’s a fucking promise.
29
PAIGE
I’m backin the ultrasound room with Dario at my side, his presence solid and warm like a wall between me and the rest of the world. He hasn’t missed a single appointment in the past couple of months—not one. Today, we’re hoping this will be the magical moment when we find out if the tiny acrobats inside me are boys or girls.
We had the anatomy ultrasound two weeks ago, but the babies played coy, refusing to flash their goods for the camera. The ultrasound tech tried for half an hour to get an angle that would reveal their secret, but eventually had to surrender to her schedule. Dario—ever the negotiator—tried to bribe her to keep looking. I shut that down immediately. I wasn’t about to let some expectant mother miss her chance to see her baby because I was impatient to know what kind of onesies to buy.
I already know they’re identical twins since the anatomy scan showed they share a placenta. According to my doctor, that means they aren’t fraternal. My babies will share DNA and look exactly alike, a matched pair of tiny humans with their father’s genes.
“This might be cold,” the ultrasound tech warns, breaking my reverie as she squirts the frigid gel onto my bump. My hand reflexively tightens around Dario’s fingers, squeezing hard enough to make a normal man wince. He doesn’t even flinch.
I glance over at him and feel my heart stutter at the eager anticipation etched across his face. I’d be perfectly content waiting until the babies are born to solve the mystery, but Dario is the one pushing to find out. He talked me into this non-essential ultrasound with the kind of persuasive enthusiasm I’ve never been able to resist, not from him. I couldn’t bring myself to deny him when I saw how badly he wanted this.
“Alright, let’s see if these little ones are in a cooperative mood today,” the tech says, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her.
The transducer moves across my swollen belly, and I can feel the babies responding to the pressure—tiny limbs shifting and rolling, protesting the intrusion like they already have opinions about being watched.
“They’re active today,” the tech notes, stating the painfully obvious.
“Does that mean we won’t be able to tell the sex again?” Dario asks, not bothering to disguise his disappointment.
The tech smiles, the kind of smile that says she’s seen every variety of nervous, excited, demanding parent-to-be. “I didn’t say that.”
She pushes a button on the machine, and the image freezes. I can clearly make out the form of one of the babies, little legs curled and head tucked beneath one arm like a tiny boxer resting between rounds. The other baby is little more than a ghostly blur, but it doesn’t matter. We only need one to spill the beans.
The tech points to the screen, her fingernail tapping a specific spot. “That is a penis.”
The way she phrases it—so clinical and matter-of-fact—makes me giggle like a twelve-year-old hearing a dirty joke in class. But Dario doesn’t laugh. He sucks in a sharp breath, and when I look at him, there’s an expression of awe on his face that I’ve never seen before. It softens his rough edges, smooths out the perpetual furrow between his brows. In this moment, he looks even more handsome than usual, less like a dangerous predator and more like a man seeing a miracle unfold.
