Page 99 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
Earlier today, I was on the road back from LA, thinking about surprising her. Thinking about the ring in my suitcase.
I bought it yesterday in a little jewelry shop—white gold with an oval diamond that lit up like fire.
I was going to propose before the babies came. One more promise between us.
Too late for that now.
Since coming home, I’ve tracked down my missing girlfriend, killed her father, and now I’m carrying her into the hospital where she’s about to give birth to our kids.
It’s been one hell of a day.
And it’s not over yet.
I parked at the labor and delivery entrance, so we’re led quickly to a birthing suite. Paige is shaky as I set her on her feet right as another contraction ends. I keep one arm around her, holding her steady while I help her undress and slip into the blue gown the nurse left folded on a chair. It’s awkward, but we manage. Once she’s dressed, I ease her back onto the bed.
And then I’m fucking useless.
I stand there, watching her face twist with pain, my hands hanging at my sides like dead weight.
I almost bolt from the room to find a doctor, to demand something for the pain—anything—but Paige reaches for me. Her fingers curl around mine, her hazel eyes locking on my face.
I cup her cheek. Her skin is damp with sweat, flushed from the effort of labor.
“You got this,” I tell her. “You’re strong as hell. You’re gonna knock this out of the park, baby.”
“But they’re so early, Dario.” Her voice catches on my name, fear threading through it.
That fear in her voice carves straight through me. Deeper than any blade. Maybe this is what it means to love someone—feeling their pain like it’s your own. Not because you want to, but because there’s no other option. She’s mine, and whatever happens to her happens to me, too.
And the truth is, I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything.
It’s hard not to think about what could’ve happened if I hadn’t tracked her down all those months ago. Would I even know about the twins? Would she have gone through this alone?
No. I won’t let my mind go there.
She’s not alone. Not ever again.
“Our boys are troublemakers,” I say, managing a smile. “Just like their old man. They’re not waiting for anything, not even their due date.”
I don’t tell her how scared I am. That won’t help either of us.
There’s a knock, and then her OB, Dr. Warren, enters the room. Behind her is a wave of people in scrubs—six or seven, maybe more. They move like a unit; efficient, calm, coordinated.
It’s somehow both reassuring and terrifying.
“How are you, Paige?” Dr. Warren asks.
I want to snap—how the fuck do you think she is?—but Paige beats me to it, explaining that her water broke and the contractions haven’t let up.
Dr. Warren nods, pulls on gloves, and positions herself at the foot of the bed. Paige’s feet go into the stirrups, and the blanket is lifted for a quick check.
“Yep, you’re well on your way. The babies are coming today,” she says, and her small smile eases some of my fear. She wouldn’t be smiling if the twins were too early, right?
“I’m scared,” Paige admits with a sniffle that punches me in the gut.
“I know,” the doctor says gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I would’ve liked to get you to at least thirty-four weeks, but thirty-two isn’t unheard of. That’s why we’ve got the extra team here. We’re prepared.”
Two plastic, box-like units are wheeled into the room.
