𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓽𝔂 - 𝓕𝓸𝓾𝓻

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⭒°ˑ˚。﹒∙♡☼⭒°ˑ˚。﹒∙

9 Months Later

The day had finally arrived. A sharp, piercing pain woke me from my restless sleep, and I gasped, clutching my stomach. At first, I thought it was another bout of discomfort that came with being nine months pregnant, but this felt different—more intense, more urgent. I winced, trying to breathe through it, and when the second wave hit, I knew. This was it.

I turned to Luciano, who lay peacefully beside me, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. I hated to wake him, but I couldn't do this alone. "Luciano," I whispered shakily, nudging him. He didn't stir, so I tried again, this time louder. "Luciano, wake up!"

His eyes shot open, instantly alert. He sat up, his face etched with concern. "What is it? Are you okay?" His voice was thick with sleep but laced with panic as his gaze darted to my belly.

"I think..." I paused, wincing through another contraction. "I think it's time."

His expression froze for a split second before he launched into action, throwing off the covers and grabbing the hospital bag we'd packed weeks ago. "Stay there—don't move. Just breathe. I'll handle everything."

I couldn't help but smile at how frantic he was, barking orders into his phone as he pulled on a shirt and shoes. "Matteo, get the car ready. Now." He hung up, then turned back to me, his features softening as he knelt beside the bed. "How bad is the pain? Can you walk, mia cara?"

I nodded, clutching his hand as he helped me up. "It's bad," I admitted through gritted teeth, trying to keep the panic at bay.

"We've got this," he assured me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I'm right here. Always."

The drive to the hospital felt endless, though the city lights of Naples rushed by in streaks. Luciano held my hand tightly, his other hand gripping the steering wheel. Every bump in the road made me wince, and he glanced at me with pure worry etched across his face. "Rosaline, breathe. We're almost there," he murmured, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.

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