Salvatore looks around at us. “Of course you are. All of you, come on.”
Guilia’s eyes open in surprise. “But—”
I shoot her an apologetic look as we walk past her in a pack. There won’t be much space with the five of us crowded into the room, but Ginevra has enough backbone to tell us all to get lost if we’re too many.
Salvatore opens the door to Ginevra’s hospital room as Vinicius says, “The three of us will wait here. You and Chiara go in.”
Inside, Ginevra is sitting up against the pillows, her face flushed and tired but with a smile on her lips. Her arms are cradled around a tiny, sleeping baby. She glances between me and Salvatore, and past us to the other three men. I wonder how much she knows about the five of us. We haven’t had the chance to talk lately, but Salvatore must have said something to her about our relationship.
She gives us an exhausted smile. “All of you, come in and meet him.”
I hurry forward, reaching the bed before Salvatore does. The baby is tiny, pink-faced and perfect, his eyes closed as he sleeps. Ginevra is cupping his head and gazing at him in wonder. On the other side of the bed, Antonio stands with his back against the wall, looking bewildered, but proud.
Salvatore puts his hands on my shoulders, gazing at the baby with a lopsided smile on his face. “Well done, Ginny. He’s perfect.”
“He is, isn’t he? Would you like to hold him?”
He laughs. “I think Chiara’s dying for a cuddle. She can go first.”
I accept the warm little bundle from Ginevra and he stirs in my arms. “Hi, baby,” I whisper, a huge smile on my face. “We’re so happy you’re here.”
I look around for Salvatore and notice that he’s moved back to stand by the window. I take his nephew over to him and we stand close, our heads bent over the sleeping child.
“Isn’t he perfect?”
“He’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” Salvatore murmurs, brushing the baby’s cheek with his forefinger. How wonderful it would be if it were our baby in my arms. I shouldn’t want this, not when our lives are in so much turmoil, but I do. I want this so badly.
I look up at Salvatore, my heart so full that it’s hard to breathe. “I want to tell you something but we have to be really quiet. This is just for you and me.”
“What is it, baby?”
I go up on tiptoe and kiss Salvatore’s cheek, and he holds me and the baby steady in his arms. “I love you, Salvatore.”
A smile breaks over his face and he closes his eyes. My beautiful, strong, clever man. He presses his forehead against mine and whispers, “You do?”
I nod.
“I love you, too.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Ginevra calls from the bed.
Salvatore kisses me, and then says, “Chiara says I’m not allowed to order you to call him Francesco.”
“Good, because we’re not calling him Francesco. Dad’s name was lovely but it’s horribly dated. We’re calling him Camillo.”
Salvatore laughs and we walk back over to the bed. “But that’s Grandpa’s name. Even more dated.”
“Camillo has come back into fashion, and Antonio has a favorite uncle called Camillo, so it’s perfect.”
“Hello, Camillo,” I whisper, kissing the baby’s head. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Vinicius, Cassius, and Lorenzo were all out in the hall, but when I look up, all four of my men are clustered around and staring at me. Salvatore with pride and love. Vinicius with affection. Cassius like he’s imagining me pregnant, and Lorenzo with complete blankness, which I know by now means he’s feeling too much, not nothing. I haven’t thought about children since I was engaged to Salvatore, but suddenly my heart aches with the need to hold one of my own babies like this.
“Come on, Uncle Sal. Your turn,” I say, depositing the baby carefully into Salvatore’s arms. The I love yous we just spoke to each other are hidden in our smiles.
“You just couldn’t wait to get here, could you? So impatient,” Salvatore murmurs, rocking the baby back and forth. “Just like your Uncle Salvatore.”
There’s something that makes me feel warm and fuzzy at the sight of a man gently holding a baby. The sight of Salvatore and Camillo gets me right in the heart.
Vinicius comes forward with a smile. “I love babies. May I?” He takes Camillo from Salvatore and promises him that when he’s old enough, he’ll teach him everything that a boy should know.
“How to fly a kite and change a tire?” I ask with an amused smile. More like picking locks and cheating at cards.
Vinicius gives me a sly smile. “What else, kitten?”
He passes Camillo over to Cassius, who gives the baby a stern look. “Bambino, you be good and respectful to your mother and grow up big and strong like your Uncle Cassius.” Then he smiles and kisses the baby’s head. “Bravo ragazzo.” Good boy.
Lorenzo has come up beside him and reaches for the baby. From the bed, Ginevra makes a strangled noise.
A wall slams down behind Lorenzo’s eyes and he drops his arms and steps back.
I glance between the two of them. “Ginevra? Can Lorenzo hold the baby?”
“Don’t worry about it, princess,” Lorenzo mutters.
An awkward silence stretches while everyone exchanges glances and doesn’t know what to say. Ginevra is looking between Lorenzo and me, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
“You call her princess?” she asks.
“Yeah. What about it?”
She plays with the blanket covering her legs. “It just doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”
“Ginevra, you don’t know me.”
I wish Ginevra could see the Lorenzo I see. He’s not a dangerous tattooed gangster who enjoys hurting people. The tattoos covering his body are a tribute to his sister, and he saves just as many lives as he takes.
“I guess, but we’re not strangers, either,” Ginevra points out. “Do you remember the last time we were in the same room?”
Lorenzo glances at Salvatore and back at his sister, his jaw tight. “Yeah. You just got back from Naples. You were twelve or something.”
“Thirteen. You came to our house smelling of blood and wearing ripped jeans. You looked…crazy. I think you were drunk.”
That must have been when Ginevra returned to Coldlake just after the Black Orchid Murders.
“Sounds about right. I was drunk for months on end back then.”
“You and Salvatore were talking business and I was hanging around him because I was lonely and scared. You roared at me to get the eff out of your sight. I was just a child. I don’t think you like children very much.”
Lorenzo shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, his eyes turning cold and avoiding her gaze. He’s a fraction of a second from storming out.
I go over and put a hand on his arm. “I know that’s not true. Were you upset about something that day?”
“She reminded me of someone I didn’t want to remember.”
Salvatore gazes at his sister, and says softly, “She does look a lot like Ophelia.”
“You were wearing yellow that day, just like she was. In the video,” he finishes.