Chapter 23 Chapter 23
Lola
The parking garage was cool and dim, the kind of concrete cavern that swallowed sound and softened movement, and when the SUV rolled to a stop Enzo was already out of the vehicle before the engine had fully settled, already at her side, one hand firm at the small of her back and the other settling instinctively over her stomach as if it had always belonged there.
He hadn’t truly let go of her since the tarmac. Not once. Not really.
Gino cut the engine and stepped out last, keys spinning loosely around his finger as his gaze swept the shadows out of habit. He appeared relaxed, casual even, but Lola knew the difference between ease and vigilance, and Gino had never once in his life been unaware of his surroundings.
She caught his arm before they reached the elevators.
“Take the next one,” she said quietly.
There was nothing uncertain in her tone.
Gino studied her properly then, his gaze shifting briefly to Enzo and taking in the way he hovered without realizing he was hovering, the way his hand never strayed far from her abdomen, the tension coiled beneath the surface of his stillness.
Understanding settled immediately.
“Yeah,” Gino said with an easy nod, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Don’t take too long.”
Then he turned back toward the SUV with exaggerated purpose. “Forgot my phone charger,” he added over his shoulder. “Or my soul. One of the two.”
The elevator doors slid open with a low mechanical sigh.
She stepped inside with Enzo.
The doors closed.
The quiet inside the elevator wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t strained; it was dense, thick with everything neither of them had said yet, the ascent marked only by the steady hum of the motor and the red numbers ticking upward in even succession.
Enzo exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible, as though he had been holding it since the jet door first opened.
Lola turned into him fully, pressing close enough to feel the rapid cadence of his heartbeat beneath his shirt, the subtle flex of his hand against her stomach like he needed the confirmation of contact to believe she was real and here and breathing.
She brushed her mouth softly against the side of his neck, not a distraction, not a seduction—just an anchor.
“Hey,” she murmured.
He closed his eyes briefly.
She rested her forehead against his chest and let herself soften in a way she almost never allowed.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
His body stilled—not in resistance, not in anger. In attention.
“I’m not sorry for what I did,” she continued quietly. “I still believe it needed to be done. But I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I decided for both of us, and that wasn’t fair.”
His hand tightened slightly before loosening again.
“I should have trusted you with it. Especially when I thought this might be happening.”
She guided his hand deliberately, pressing his palm flat where her body was already shifting in ways that felt both fragile and monumental.
“I didn’t want to drag you into the uncertainty,” she admitted. “But shutting you out wasn’t the answer. I won’t do that again.”
He looked down at her, all of the sharpness from earlier stripped away into something deeper and far more vulnerable.
“You don’t ever have to protect me from you,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she replied. “I’m learning how to protect with you.”
She lifted his hand, linking her pinky with his in a gesture so small and so absurdly tender it would have been laughable anywhere else.
“Promise?” she asked, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “A real one.”
A mob boss in a custom suit, sealing an oath with his pinky.
He huffed softly, something almost like a laugh escaping him.
“Promise.”
The elevator slowed, chimed, and opened onto noise.
Voices layered over one another. Footsteps crossing marble. Equipment cases being moved with quiet urgency. The penthouse had shifted into controlled motion the moment they were en route, and as they stepped out together the last private pocket of quiet dissolved behind them.
The space was organized chaos—efficient, deliberate. Alvarez stood near the center of the living room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, two assistants setting down medical cases that looked far too clinical for a place that usually hosted champagne and skyline views.
Enzo’s hand did not leave hers as they entered.
Not when she was guided toward the couch, not when Alvarez began pulling on gloves with a precise snap.
“Let’s start with timing,” Alvarez said calmly. “When do you believe conception occurred?”
The word hung differently than everything else had.
Conception.
Lola glanced back at Enzo. He stood just behind her shoulder, one hand resting low at her waist, the other never far from her abdomen as though bracing for something unseen.
“It would’ve been after Nico died,” she said carefully. “Before I started training with Rafael.”
“Training?” Alvarez repeated, pen hovering above his tablet. “What kind of training?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened, subtle but unmistakable.
“Mixed martial arts,” Lola answered smoothly before he could speak. “Five days a week. Two to three hours a day. Striking, grappling, strength work. Conditioning circuits and heavy lifts.”
One of the assistants glanced up. “That’s extensive.”
“It was necessary,” she said evenly.
Alvarez nodded. “High-intensity physical training can absolutely mask early pregnancy symptoms, particularly if caloric intake fluctuated. Hormonal shifts are often misattributed to stress or recovery.”
Stress. Recovery.
The words skimmed the surface of something far more complex.
“I assumed irregularities were from that,” Lola added. “My body’s been through a lot.”
“That’s plausible.”
The checklist followed—nausea, dizziness, bleeding, appetite, sleep. Clinical and thorough. Lola answered calmly. Enzo said nothing, but she could feel his vigilance building, every question assessed like a potential threat.
“And you confirmed the pregnancy when?” Alvarez asked.
“On the flight back.”
Enzo’s gaze flicked to her.
“I suspected before,” she admitted softly. “But I didn’t take the test until I was headed home.”
“That’s understandable. Let’s confirm everything properly.”
The blood draw was efficient, the needle sliding in with quiet precision. Lola watched without flinching.
Enzo did not look at the needle.
“You’re okay?” he asked under his breath.
“I’ve had worse.”
Alvarez’s expression remained neutral. “Any abdominal trauma in the last eight weeks?”
“No.”
Not technically a lie.
The chair had targeted nerves and muscle, electrical pathways—not her abdomen.
“We’ll check hormone levels, iron, cortisol. I’d like to monitor cardiac rhythm given recent stress exposure.”
Recent stress exposure.
A sterile phrase for something brutal.
“She hasn’t had a full evaluation since—” Enzo stopped himself.
“Since before the training,” Lola interjected smoothly.
Alvarez studied her for a moment before nodding. “We’ll run a full panel.”
Monitors were secured. A cuff tightened around her arm. Machines hummed softly. Enzo lowered himself in front of her without thinking, hands resting on her knees, his expression controlled even if his eyes betrayed the storm beneath.
“You’re steady,” he murmured.
“I told you.”
“So far everything appears stable,” Alvarez said after reviewing vitals. “We’ll proceed with imaging.”
Imaging.
The guest suite had been transformed within minutes, lamps dimmed, equipment positioned with quiet precision. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a perimeter. Lola climbed onto the bed while Enzo took a seat close enough that his knee pressed to the mattress. The gel was colder than she expected and she flinched slightly. His fingers tightened around hers.
The wand moved slowly across her abdomen, the grayscale flicker of the screen coming into focus. “Uterine wall looks good. No visible trauma. Placental development appears appropriate.”
She glanced at Enzo; he had not blinked once.
“There was so much going on before,” she said softly. “That’s probably why I didn’t notice.”
“High physical output can mask early symptoms,” Alvarez replied without looking away.
The probe shifted, then sound filled the room; a rapid, rhythmic thrum.
Fast.
Strong.
Alive.
Lola’s breath caught sharply as her grip crushed his.
Enzo froze.
“There's one,” Alvarez said.
Before the word fully settled, another rhythm layered in—distinct, separate, equally relentless.
Enzo leaned forward slowly. “Did you say one?”
“I did. And here’s the second.”
The screen sharpened. Two small shapes. Two flickers.
“You’re measuring approximately sixteen to seventeen weeks,” Alvarez continued evenly. “And you appear to be carrying twins.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly off axis.
Twins.
Enzo didn’t move at first. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
“Two?” Lola whispered.
“Two,” Alvarez confirmed calmly.
The sound of both heartbeats still filled the room, rapid and relentless.
Alvarez adjusted the probe slightly, studying the screen a moment longer before glancing between them.
“Would you like to know the sex of the babies?”
Silence settled across the room.
Enzo looked at Lola.
Not the screen.
Not the doctor.
Her.
Her thumb brushed slowly over his knuckles.
“…Oh,” she breathed.
Alvarez waited.
“I can tell you,” he said gently. “If you want to know.”
For a second Lola couldn’t decide. Everything already felt rearranged beyond recognition. The future had cracked open and she was still trying to understand the sound of it.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Tell us.”
Enzo’s fingers tightened once around hers — not a grip, just agreement.
Alvarez nodded and turned his attention fully back to the monitor.
“Baby A is…a boy.”
Dottie gasped, a sound that broke into laughter halfway through.
A boy.
Enzo’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly — something settling, something expanding. A son.
Alvarez continued, adjusting the angle once more.
“And Baby B is…a girl.”
The air broke.
Dottie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God. Oh,my God. A boy and a girl.”
Gino blinked hard, processing.
“Hold on,” he said slowly. “So you’re telling me… there’s two of them.”
No one answered him.
He looked at the screen again as if it might retract one of them out of mercy.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You couldn’t just ease into this, huh?”
Lola laughed through tears she hadn’t felt form.
Enzo still hadn’t looked away from her.
Not once.
The doctor made a few final measurements, movements precise and practiced. “Both heart rates are strong,” Alvarez said. “Healthy development for this stage.”
Healthy.
The word landed deep.
Only then did Alvarez power down the machine and set the probe aside. He reached for a towel and gently wiped the cooling gel from Lola’s stomach, careful and methodical. “There are no immediate concerns,” he continued. “We’ll discuss monitoring frequency and next steps, but for tonight…”
He offered a faint smile.
“Congratulations.”
The room exhaled.
Enzo stood slowly, like sudden motion might fracture something fragile. He bent forward and pressed his mouth just above where the gel had been, his kiss quiet and reverent.
“You hear that?” he murmured, voice low against her skin. “I hear you.”
Lola’s fingers slid into his hair.
He stayed there a moment longer than necessary.
Then he straightened, and something sharpened behind his eyes — not panic, not anger.
Calculation.
“What are the risks?” he asked evenly.
Alvarez began listing them in clinical cadence — increased cardiovascular strain, higher monitoring frequency, nutritional demands.
Enzo absorbed each word. “We’ll increase security,” he said calmly. “Adjust layout. Limit travel.”
“Vincenzo.” Dottie’s voice cut through him cleanly.
He exhaled once, recalibrating.
Gino stepped fully into the room now, gaze moving between the screen and Lola.
“…Well,” he muttered, “that seems excessive.”
Dottie shot him a look.
“What?” he added defensively, but he was smiling now. “I’m happy. I’m just doing math.”
Lola’s laughter broke again, soft and overwhelmed. Enzo looked at her — truly looked at her — and whatever was in his eyes wasn’t steel or command or fury.
It was awe.
“You…” he started, then stopped.
She felt it too. The tremor under her skin. The weight of it.
“We’re really—” she began.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “We are.”
Dottie stepped closer, glowing. “A boy and a girl,” she repeated softly. “Twins.”
Gino shook his head once, something bright and stunned behind his sarcasm.
“…Well,” he said, voice rougher now, “congratulations. You two just made the whole world louder.”
Lola couldn’t stop staring at Enzo.
Boy.
Girl.
Two heartbeats.
His thumb brushed slowly across her stomach, grounding.
“Amore,” he murmured close to her, voice reverent. “What did you do.”
Her eyes stung, but she didn’t look away.
“I made a family,” she whispered. “Apparently I don’t do anything halfway.”
His forehead lowered to hers for one quiet second, and the way his hand stayed over her stomach said more than any vow he’d ever spoken.
Two heartbeats.
And the shape of their lives shifted quietly into something larger than both of them.