Page 22 of Stained Honor

I look toward the floor-to-ceiling windows again and suddenly I can almost see my twenty-year-old self sitting there beside it, praying through the entire night for Carlo to come home to me.

And he did.

He always comes back to me.

My eyes sting unexpectedly, and I lift Carlo’s hand to my lips, kissing his knuckles softly.

I worship this man.

The man who turned me into someone stronger than I ever thought I could be.

More than once, I’ve thought about what would’ve happened if I’d never met Carlo. If I’d run into that rapist somewhere out in the world years later, I probably would’ve fallen apart from panic before I ever found the courage to hit him.

Living beside Carlo made me into this woman.

A woman strong enough to survive.

When my kisses linger too long against his hand, Carlo’s eyes narrow slightly.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“How much I love you.”

The hardness in his expression melts instantly. He gives me one of those rare soft smiles before squeezing my hand tighter.

My gaze drifts back toward Giorgio, who’s completely absorbed in his game, and I say quietly,

“What do you think about choosing a godfather for Luca?”

“Brando?”

I hesitate for a second before finally admitting what I really want.

“Giorgio.”

Carlo’s expression stays neutral as he asks, “That’s what you want?”

I nod slowly. “If you trust him enough to protect our son.”

Carlo catches a strand of my hair between his fingers and strokes it absently before murmuring,

“I trust Giorgio with you, and I love you more than both my sons combined.” His eyes settle on mine again. “So yeah, baby. I don’t have a problem with it.”

His open affection makes my heart melt, and emotion tightens my throat. I lift his hand to my lips and kiss his palm softly while whispering a quiet thank you against his skin.

Almost an hour passes like that. Even though the last thing I want is to leave Carlo’s arms, the ache spreading through my lower back finally forces me to move. Carlo immediately takes my hand and helps me stand, but the second my feet hit the floor, I feel warmth running down my legs.

My eyes instantly drop downward.

Carlo follows my gaze, and the moment he spots the water spreading across the hardwood floor, his grip tightens around my hand. Then he snaps his fingers sharply toward his men and starts barking orders in that cold commanding voice of his that makes entire rooms move without question.

“Giorgio, go stay with Gabriel. Maxim, get the car ready. Lorenzo, grab the hospital bag from our room. Brando, get the wheelchair.”

Then he turns back to me and adds firmly, “Stay calm, baby. We’re going to the hospital right now.”

As the apartment erupts into complete chaos with all four men scrambling to obey him, I nearly start laughing at the way Carlo handles a crisis like he’s launching a military operation. But I bite the inside of my cheek instead of pointing out that the one who actually needs to calm down is him, not me. I won’t bruise his pride.

The contractions start the second we get into the car, and I squeeze the poor man’s hand hard enough to probably break bones all the way to the hospital.