Page 98 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
37
DARIO
I was trainedto keep my head clear in high-stress situations.
Hell, I’ve stared down the barrels of guns without flinching. Ordered hits without hesitation. Navigated the bloodiest turf wars with ice in my veins.
Quick decisions. Faster action.
There’s no room for panic in this life. Not when you’re facing an enemy or handling business for the family.
But all that training? All that control? It vanishes the second I see the dark, wet spot spreading across the front of Paige’s jeans.
She’s not due for eight fucking weeks.
The babies are too early.
My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. I knew twins often came early, but this early? Will they be okay? WillPaige?
The fear is different from anything I’ve felt before. Worse than staring down a loaded weapon, worse than any threat I’ve faced in the streets.
“Dario, we need to go,” Paige says, and I can’t believe how calm she is.
I want to scream. The babies are coming. Now. Right fucking now.
I glance at the body still on the floor. Her father’s blood has pooled around him, already drying at the edges.
Is that what did this? Labor brought on by shock? By watching me kill her father?
Fuck, I hope she can forgive me.
I shake the thought away and scoop her into my arms, earning a startled gasp.
“I can walk,” she protests, even as she loops her arms around my neck. Her body, pressed against mine, anchors me. I didn’t realize how close I was to floating away on a tide of panic until her warmth brought me back.
Halfway to the car, a contraction hits.
She groans, her body bowing with the pain. I’m glad she’s in my arms—there’s no way she could walk through that.
Seeing her in pain guts me, but it also helps me focus. I need to think clearly.
I have one job right now; take care of my woman.
When I step outside, Dad sees us, concern darkening his gaze as he takes in the sight of Paige writhing in pain. I know I need totell him what happened in there. He’ll be just as shocked as I was to learn the depths of Keith’s deception, but it’ll have to wait.
He knows that too. Without a word, he points to his own vehicle, so I don’t have to take her down the road where I’m parked. I don’t argue.
During the drive, her contractions get worse. Closer together. Louder. Each moan slices through me like a blade.
I want to floor it. But every bump, every turn, could hurt her—or the babies. So I drive carefully, even as my hands clench the wheel hard enough to make the leather creak.
By the time we pull into the hospital’s circular drive, I’m drenched in sweat and wired so tight I might snap in half.
Thirty minutes. That’s all it took for everything to change.
The contractions are close now—too close. I’ve read enough to know what that means.
This is happening. Fast. Too fucking fast.
