Chapter 30 Jul 10, 2025

Serafina

Giving birth while your dying mob boss father waits in the next room to meet his grandson, and your husband holds your hand, is definitely not what they cover in those cutesy pregnancy books. But here we are.

“I’m never having sex again,” I announce to the assembled medical team that’s turned our master bedroom into something that looks like a very expensive emergency room.

“You said that three hours ago,” Adrian points out, squeezing my hand through another contraction that feels like someone’s using my uterus as a stress ball.

“Three hours ago I was optimistic about the human race. Now I want to burn down the entire concept of reproduction.”

Dr. Castello checks whatever medical professionals check down there and nods like she’s conducting a very intimate orchestra.

“Almost there. One more big push.”

“I’ve been giving you ‘one more big push’ for the last hour. Are you sure there’s actually a baby in there and not just my will to live trying to escape?”

“Very sure.”

“Could be wrong. Could be gas.”

“It’s not gas.”

“How can you tell? Have you met my digestive system lately? It’s been staging its own revolution.”

Adrian’s trying not to laugh, which would be sweet if I wasn’t currently attempting to squeeze a human being out of my body like the world’s most painful magic trick.

“You’re doing amazing,” he says, brushing hair out of my face.

“I’m doing the biological equivalent of trying to fit a watermelon through a keyhole. Amazing is not the word I’d use.”

“What word would you use?”

“Astronomical stupidity. Criminal negligence of my own body. A conspiracy by the universe to prove that women are significantly tougher than men, because if men had to do this, the human race would’ve died out after the first guy looked at a baby and said ‘fuck that, I’ll just adopt.’”

Another contraction hits, and I’m pretty sure I just invented seventeen new curse words in three different languages.

“Breathe,” Dr. Castello instructs.

“I am breathing. Very dramatically. With extensive commentary.”

“Different breathing.”

“Oh, you want the special breathing. The breathing that magically makes this not feel like my pelvis is being redesigned by someone with no engineering degree.”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

From the hallway, I can hear Father coughing. He’s been holding on for this—to meet his grandson, to make sure the Dorian name continues, to witness the next chapter of whatever criminal dynasty we’re building. He’s also been taking bets with the security team about whether I’ll curse more in English or Italian during labor. Current count: English is winning by a landslide, mostly because I know more creative English profanity.

“One more push, I mean it this time,” Dr. Castello says.

“You better mean it, because I’m running out of energy and patience, and when I run out of patience, people start getting stabbed.”

“With what? You’re giving birth.”

“I’ll improvise. I’m very resourceful.”

Adrian’s laughing now, full-on belly laughs that shake the bed. “I love you.”

“You love me now. Ask me again when I’m not attempting to violate the laws of physics with my reproductive system.”

“I’ll still love you.”

“Even if I never want to have sex again?”

“Even then.”

“Good, because—OH FUCK.”

And then suddenly there’s a baby. An actual, screaming, perfect little human who apparently decided to make his grand entrance during my philosophical discussion about the absurdity of childbirth.

“It’s a boy,” Dr. Castello announces, like we haven’t known this for months.

“It’s a person,” I correct, staring at this tiny creature who just completed the most dramatic exit in family history. “Holy shit, it’s actually a person.”

He’s perfect. Red and wrinkled and absolutely furious about being evicted from his warm, rent-free apartment, but perfect.

Adrian’s crying. Actually crying, staring at our son like he just witnessed a miracle, which I guess he did.

“Can we—” Father’s voice from the doorway, weak but hopeful.

“Come meet your grandson,” I say.

Father shuffles in, looking frailer than I’ve ever seen him but with eyes that are absolutely blazing with joy, when Dr. Castello places the baby in his arms.

“Leonel,” I say. “Leonel Dorian Vasquez.”

Father’s smile could power a small city. “Strong name. Good name.”

“He’s going to rule the world,” Adrian says, still staring at our son like he can’t quite believe he’s real.

“Or at least the East Coast,” I add.

“What’s his first lesson going to be?” Father asks.

I look at this perfect little human who’s going to inherit criminal empires, family vendettas, and enough psychological baggage to keep therapists employed for generations.

“That family isn’t always blood,” I say finally. “Sometimes it’s the people who choose to love you despite the fact that your life reads like a mafia novel.”