Chapter 8 - 2 POUNDS, 14 OUNCES
Emilia Ruth Duca entered the world weighing two pounds, fourteen ounces.
She did not cry immediately.
Those three seconds nearly destroyed Vincenzo.
Then a tiny sound filled the operating room.
Celeste sobbed.
Vincenzo did too.
Nobody mentioned it.
The doctors moved quickly.
Emilia was premature but breathing.
She was transferred to the NICU.
Celeste remained hospitalized.
For the first night, Vincenzo sat between two rooms containing the only people in the world who mattered to him.
He had never felt so powerless.
At 3:17 a.m., a nurse found him beside Emilia’s incubator.
“You can touch her.”
Vincenzo stared.
“She’s fragile.”
“She is.”
His hand trembled.
The nurse opened the access port.
Vincenzo placed one finger beside Emilia’s tiny hand.
Her fingers closed around it.
The former boss of one of Chicago’s most feared criminal organizations bent his head and cried silently.
Celeste saw him from the doorway.
A nurse had wheeled her down.
Vincenzo noticed.
He stood immediately.
“You should be resting.”
“So should you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes.
He almost smiled.
She rolled beside the incubator.
They sat together.
Emilia slept between them.
“I was afraid,” Celeste whispered.
“So was I.”
“I thought I was going to lose her.”
Vincenzo looked at their daughter.
“I kept thinking this was punishment.”
Celeste turned sharply.
“No.”
“For everything I—”
“No.”
She reached for his hand.
“This isn’t punishment. She isn’t a lesson. She’s our daughter.”
Vincenzo nodded.
“You’re right.”
Weeks passed.
Emilia grew.
Three pounds.
Then four.
Vincenzo learned feeding schedules.
Temperature readings.
How to change a diaper through incubator openings.
Celeste watched him become a father before either of them knew whether he would become her husband again.
One afternoon, Daniel arrived carrying coffee.
“I hate to interrupt the domestic miracle.”
Celeste frowned.
“What happened?”
“Rinaldi accepted a plea.”
Vincenzo looked up.
“Sentence?”
“Life.”
“And Valentina?”
“Full cooperation. Reduced sentence.”
Celeste absorbed that.
The war was truly over.
Daniel handed Vincenzo another document.
“What’s this?”
“Final confirmation. Every remaining Duca-controlled illegal entity has been dissolved or seized.”
Vincenzo read it.
Twenty years.
An empire built by his father.
Gone.
“How does that feel?” Daniel asked.
Vincenzo looked through the NICU glass.
“Like I should have done it sooner.”
Daniel nodded once.
For the first time, perhaps, he respected him.
Emilia came home forty-six days after her birth.
Celeste expected Vincenzo to suggest his house.
He did not.
He helped install the crib in hers.
He assembled it incorrectly twice.
Celeste sat on the bed laughing while he glared at the instructions.
“These diagrams are criminal.”
“You used to run Chicago.”
“Chicago was easier.”
At midnight, Emilia finally slept.
Vincenzo stood by the door.
“I’ll go.”
Celeste looked at him.
“You don’t have to.”
He froze.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He slept on the couch.
At 2:00 a.m., Celeste found him holding Emilia near the window.
“She was crying.”
“I heard.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
Celeste watched him gently rock their daughter.
There was no expensive suit.
No guards.
No weapon.
Just a tired father in a white T-shirt holding a premature baby against his chest.
Something inside Celeste finally loosened.
“Vincenzo.”
He looked up.
“I forgive you.”
He stopped rocking.
Celeste continued before he misunderstood.
“That doesn’t mean what happened disappears.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I owe you our marriage.”
“I know.”
“But I forgive you because I don’t want to carry what you did anymore.”
His eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
Celeste walked closer.
Emilia slept between them.
“And I want to try.”
Vincenzo barely breathed.
“Try what?”
“Us.”
He stared at her.
“Slowly.”
“However slowly you want.”
“No affairs.”
“Never.”
“No secrets.”
“Never.”
“No deciding what’s best for me without me.”
“I promise.”
“And if you break those promises—”
“You leave.”
Celeste raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“You take Emilia, the house, the cars, my money, and possibly Enzo.”
From the hallway, Enzo’s voice appeared unexpectedly.
“I object to being marital property.”
Celeste burst out laughing.
Vincenzo closed his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dropping off the baby monitor you left in my car.”
Enzo looked between them.
Then smiled.
“I’m going to pretend I heard nothing.”
He disappeared.
Celeste shook her head.
Vincenzo looked down at Emilia.
Then back at Celeste.
“Slowly?”
She took his hand.
“Slowly.”
And this time, neither of them mistook hope for a guarantee.
They understood something better.
May you like
Hope was work.
And both were finally willing to do it.
