Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

EPILOGUE

Five years later, and he's still scared of flying.

I have watched this man kill countless people and put himself in situations that would have most men shitting themselves, but it's the flying that gets him.

"Nina, amorina, sit that pretty ass down for me right now."

I quickly finish pulling down the window covers, blocking the view of the sky outside our jet. Santo is white knuckling his armrests, glaring at me from his seat that he refuses to vacate. Every time I stand up, even if it's to use the restroom, he has something bossy to say.

He's still not actually admitted to being scared of flying, but it's okay. I'll let him have this one thing.

He grunts softly as I plop myself hard into his lap, a look of dissatisfaction written all over his face. I wrap my arms loosely around his neck, doing my best to situate myself in the small space.

"Aw, you still have your seat belt on. That's so cute." A soft click punctuates my words as I unbuckle him. His eyes narrow in warning, but they're glued to my lips as I bring them close but not quite close enough.

"Tesoro, get in your own seat immediately."

"Make me," I smirk, knowing he won't.

Predictably, he gets that dark, blazing look in his eyes. But only for a second before they go soft, flitting down to my stomach. A strained fist unclenches as he spreads his hand delicately over my shirt. I practically melt, watching the tension slowly leave the rigid lines of his body as he cups the small bump of my belly.

Ever since we found out I was pregnant, my life has become something I never could've imagined. I find myself thinking about my mother more, about what kind of mother I'll be, and the ways I'll protect my child from having the kind of childhood Santo or I had.

The prospect of motherhood is a terrifying and exhilarating whirlwind. The weight of this responsibility would've crushed us both had it been thrust upon us any earlier. It took us a while before we were even ready to think about children. To feel settled enough in the life we'd created for ourselves and to realize that we could be good parents even if we hadn't had one.

Turns out that it takes a long time for healing to sink in. For Santo to be able to view parenthood as a joy and not a burden, after having to raise his brothers and enduring the loss of the one he felt most responsible for. For me to feel like I had a stable enough life to add another one to the equation. Five years of choosing to look at the sun while it's shining instead of just noticing its absence. Five years and we're still learning, but this easy joy and warm contentment feels like our reality now.

Especially since we're having a little girl.

The knowledge that he's going to have a daughter has flipped a switch in Santo, to say the least. Our little one has made him overly careful, slightly insane, and a whole lot frustrating. The joy of motherhood aside, I can't wait to give birth purely so he'll start being rough with me again.

Unfortunately, the only thing he'll "make me" do nowadays is recline on the couch while he rubs my feet, or soak in the tub as he massages my shoulders. It's still relatively early, and I'm hopeful that after a few more weeks pass he'll realize that nothing will happen to the baby if he does something so basic as restrict my airflow a little when we have sex.

The other week, he looked at me like I was insane when I asked him why he wouldn't tie me to the headboard. He'd done it countless times before, but suddenly it was all "will this be bad for the baby?" or "won't the baby feel this?"

I'm convinced his nerves have him so frazzled that he hasn't been understanding a word of all those parenting books that clutter his nightstand. He reads incessantly, yet still seeks assurance from me that he's not shaking the lights out of the baby when he fucks me on my hands and knees.