Chapter 55 Chapter 54

Chapter 55 Chapter 54
I stepped out of the bathroom, adjusting my sleeve, and found Chloe leaning against the wall. Her smile widened the moment she saw me.
"Finally," she said, straightening her posture. "I was starting to think you’d ask to live here."
I gave a half-smile, adjusting my tie.
"I couldn’t stand being locked up in this place any longer."
"Maybe now you’ll learn not to drink poison," she said, arching an eyebrow, her tone teasing.
I rolled my eyes, stifling a laugh. "Tsk… quiet," I muttered, but the corner of my mouth insisted on curving.
Chloe brushed her hair over her shoulder, the sunlight pouring through the window and illuminating her face. She grabbed her purse and walked toward me.
"Let’s go, stubborn Don," she said, with that look — a mix of irony and affection.

We walked out of the room side by side. The hallway seemed endless, the distant sounds of footsteps and stretchers blending with the sharp scent of alcohol and disinfectant. I slipped my arm around her waist, guiding her gently as we walked.
When we stepped through the main doors, the hot wind from the street hit me head-on. The sun struck my face, and for a moment I closed my eyes, feeling the light burn my skin after days trapped in that cold place.
I inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling my lungs. Chloe watched me in silence, a faint smile on her lips, before intertwining her fingers with mine.
As the days went by, the pregnancy carried on between nausea, laughter, and involuntary tears — a true hormonal chaos. And of course, Dominic seemed to enjoy it. I swear he did it on purpose just to provoke me.
Even so, the days beside him — irritating and sweet in equal measure — were good.
We spent entire afternoons choosing things for the baby. We painted the nursery three times because Mr. Perfectionist had something to complain about every detail. According to him, "our child deserves the best, Chloe."
All the furniture was top quality. I saw the proud sparkle in his eyes when the delivery men assembled the crib. And the most fun part was choosing the clothes — tiny, delicate, impossible to resist. I decided not to find out the baby’s gender; I wanted to keep the surprise for the right moment. We bought everything in neutral tones, and he approved each piece with the same seriousness he used in a business meeting.

Each day, my belly grew more, and Dominic made a point of being involved in everything. At night, he would read stories to the baby — some sweet, others filled with the same blood and violence of his old deeds, which infuriated me. Even so, there was something endearing in his effort to try to be a good father.
He prepared baths with essential oils, massaged my belly and my feet with a gentleness I never thought possible coming from him. Sometimes, when I complained that a piece of clothing no longer fit, he’d look at me seriously and say:
"The fabric is low quality."
"Or maybe I’m just fat," I’d retort, crossing my arms.
He’d only smile faintly and run his hand over my belly.
"You’re perfect, amore mio."
And for a moment, I’d forget who he was — the cold man, the feared Don — and only see Dominic, my Dominic. The same man who once stormed into my life… and now filled it with love, chaos, and small doses of patience.

I was already in my last month of pregnancy — any sudden movement and the baby could decide to come. Dominic was on constant alert. All it took was a simple "ouch" from me, and he’d drop everything and come running like a madman.
That morning, I was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him try — with almost comical concentration — to bake a cake. He had forbidden me from cooking, saying I needed to "rest." I rolled my eyes about ten times while he mixed the batter with all the delicacy of a bull.

Then I felt something warm and wet run down my legs. I looked down and saw a puddle forming on the floor. My heart started racing.
"Dominic… the baby."
He froze mid-motion, the wooden spoon still raised.
"God… don’t panic, don’t panic, you rehearsed this…" he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth, eyes wide.
"I’m not panicking," I said, trying to stay calm even as my breathing quickened.
"I wasn’t talking to you, Chloe! I was talking to myself!" he snapped, running his hands through his hair, clearly panicking.
"My God…" I whispered, judging him, feeling another contraction begin.
He jumped.
"No judgments, Chloe. We’re going to the hospital. Now."
"But what about my cake?" I complained, holding my belly and taking a deep breath.