Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

“About damned time,” I muttered, turning and capturing my surprised wife in a deep, passionate, way-too-thorough for public consumption kiss.

“It’s done. You’re mine now.”

“Yes, Vincent, I am yours,” she said patiently. “You can put me down now.”

I glanced down, realizing that I had actually lifted her up so that her feet were dangling. I grinned at her.

“Oops.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Thank you, husband.”

“You are welcome, wife.”

We were immediately surrounded by friends and family. Even Marco congratulated us. I hadn’t wanted to invite him or any of the other five families, but I was feeling diplomatic. Hopeful. Over-fucking-joyed.

It was a little while later when I finally launched my plan to get some alone time with her. We were eating cake when I whispered to my bride, “I think we should sneak away.”

She gave me a funny look.

“Vincent! Everyone will know!”

“I don’t care,” I insisted.

“Well, I do!”

“I will make a scene if I don’t get to be alone with you.”

“Threats will not work on me, Vincent.”

“What about begging?”

She gave me a laughing nod and stood up.

“All right, but be quick. And don’t touch my hair.”

“I just want dessert,” I said as I dragged her into a downstairs bathroom a few moments later.

“We just had cake!”

“Not sweet enough,” I said, kneeling down and disappearing under her skirt.

I was quick. And I didn’t even muss up her hair. But when we got back to the celebration, I was smiling. And my bride was glowing just a little bit more than she had been before.

Seven Months Later

Vincent

“Just breathe. You have this, Francesca.”

“Shut the hell up,” my beautiful wife snapped at me. And she was beautiful. Sweaty, disheveled, aggravated, and still the most stunning woman I had ever seen.

“Goddammit, Vincent, were you a giant baby? Angelique didn’t feel like this coming out.”

I laughed. I had been a giant baby. So had my brother, from what I had been told.

“You are giving us a boy, not a tiny little girl, sweetheart,” I said, squeezing her hand. She yanked it away, and I laughed. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

We were in Italy, at the finest hospital in Rome. The building was ancient, ornate, and elegant. But their tech was state of the art. I had made sure of it well ahead of this day. Still, my wife was nervous. Her poor doctor was doing his best, but he knew he was in the room with two notorious mafiosos, even if he didn’t let on.

“It’s time to push now, Mrs. Margarelli.”

“I know that!”

“Temper, temper,” I said, laughing. But I was worried. I hated seeing her in pain during the contractions. If I could have taken the pain from her, I would have done so gladly.

The baby didn’t come easily. We were in that room for hours. But once he crowned, the rest was over so quickly, it left me almost in shock.

Nothing had prepared me for the sight of my firstborn. My son. I already had a daughter, but I hadn’t had the chance to see her come into this world. His tiny little face, his hands, his feet . . . it was overwhelming.

I hovered as they cleaned him off. The nurse handed him to me. I stared in awe at my son as I carried him swiftly over to my wife. She should be the one to hold him first, I knew. I was just delivering the package.

The most precious package in the world.

“What should we call him?” my wife asked a few minutes later, lifting her tear-filled eyes to mine. I smiled, realizing I was near tears myself. A man shouldn’t cry, my father had always said. But I wasn’t ashamed of my tears.

I was proud.

“I leave it up to you, my love.”

We had discussed many possible names over the past few months. But we had both been too superstitious to commit to any.

“I want to name him after your mother. Louis.”

Now my eyes were in real danger of spilling over. My mother’s middle name had been Louisa.

“And your mother.”

“Which one?” she asked with a sigh. “I have had two, you know.”

“I know,” I said, pressing a kiss to her damp brow. “Maria? She has done so much for us.”

“Martin then? Martin Louis Margarelli?”

“I love it,” I said with feeling. And I did. A few minutes later, our daughter came in with her uncle Tony and Maria. Auntie had stayed behind in the States to watch over Michael.

I had a feeling he would need all the help he could get.

We stayed in that room for hours, laughing and talking, taking pictures, and celebrating with champagne. Thankfully, the rules in Italy were a bit more relaxed about booze in the maternity ward.

Everything in Italy was more relaxed, especially me.