Chapter 58 Chapter 57

Chapter 58 Chapter 57
"Thank you, Will," I heard Chloe say, smiling softly.
Will.
Ah, so it’s Will now? Since when did “William” get an intimate nickname?

He said goodbye with that stupid smile and walked out the door. I followed him with my eyes until it closed, the muscle in my jaw pulsing. Then I turned back to Chloe, who was adjusting Ayla’s blanket in her arms, completely unaware of the fire burning inside me.

"You’re awake," she said with a gentle smile. "I had trouble feeding her again."

I crossed my legs, resting my elbow on my knee, staring at her.
"I saw," I said, my voice lower than usual. "But why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped, you know?"

She looked at me, half amused.
"Oh, I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed to be sleeping deeply. Besides, Will helped me."

Will again.

I rolled my eyes, the scowl already in place, not bothering to hide it.
She, on the other hand, pretended not to notice — or chose to ignore it.

"And I have good news," she continued, her smile returning. "We can go home in a few hours."

I sighed, trying to relax my shoulders, but the jealousy still throbbed beneath my skin.
"Great..." I muttered, standing up from the armchair. I ran a hand through my hair, straightening my wrinkled suit. "Can’t wait to get out of here."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head.
"Dominic, you really need to learn how to deal with Will."

"I don’t need to deal with anyone, amore mio," I replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "I just want you and our daughter far away from this hospital."

Thank God, when the clock struck nine in the morning, Chloe was finally discharged.

I helped her get dressed — a light, comfortable outfit and a pair of white sneakers. She sat on the edge of the bed, and I knelt to tie her shoelaces. When I finished, she stood up, walked to the mirror, brushed her blonde hair, and put on a touch of lipstick.

"Ready?" I asked, adjusting my shirt collar.
"Completely ready," she replied with a tired but damn beautiful smile.

I grabbed the bags and Ayla’s blanket while Chloe carefully held our daughter in her arms. The baby slept soundly, her little face peaceful, wrapped in the blanket Chloe had chosen herself.

We left the room slowly, and as soon as we stepped into the hall, I spotted Enzo and Salvatori waiting, along with eight other men. They all stood up when they saw us. Enzo stepped forward, reaching out his hand to take the baby’s things.

"Let me carry that, sir."

I tightened my grip on the bag straps, meeting his gaze.
"No, I’ll carry it." My voice came out firm, leaving no room for argument.

Enzo blinked, a little surprised. "Are you sure, sir?"
"Of course." I looked at Chloe, who just shook her head, chuckling softly. "Now let’s go, Chloe needs to rest."

The two nodded and moved aside, clearing the way. Salvatori and Enzo walked ahead, alert, while the others followed behind us.

Chloe adjusted Ayla in her arms and leaned slightly against me — her body still fragile.

When we reached the main door, I pushed it open slowly and held it for her to pass through first. The morning sunlight flooded the corridor, illuminating her face and our daughter’s.

For a second, I just stood there, watching — her walking out of the hospital with Ayla in her arms.
It was one of the few times in my life I truly felt peace.
The days had been a real battle — diapers, bottles, and a lot of crying through the night. I could barely remember what it felt like to sleep an entire night. The baby monitor blinked and beeped at every little movement, and, almost by instinct, Chloe and I took turns without even having to agree on it.

When she got up to feed Ayla, I would watch through the camera — the room dimly lit, her silhouette rocking our daughter in her arms. Chloe was an incredible mother — patient, loving, even with the dark circles that betrayed her exhaustion. Sometimes, I’d walk into the room and find her asleep in the armchair, her hair falling over her shoulder, the baby still resting against her chest.

Carefully, I’d take Ayla from her arms, wrap the blanket around her, and lay her down in the crib. Then, I’d kneel in front of Chloe, sliding my arms under her light, tired body. She’d stir a little, mumbling something softly, and I’d whisper near her ear,
"Shh… go back to sleep, amore mio."

I carried her to our bedroom, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, the faint scent of milk and perfume mixed together. I laid her down gently on the bed, pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, and stood there for a moment, just watching.

She deserved rest.
She deserved the world, to tell the truth.
And no matter how exhausted I was, I’d do it all over again — as many times as it took — just to make sure this stage didn’t weigh on her.

During the day, my mother took turns with Isa to help, and the house — once so quiet — now felt like a different place. There was laughter echoing through the halls, voices, hurried footsteps… sometimes I’d stop halfway through the corridor just to listen to that sound.

I had to hire a few more staff; it seemed chaos came along with the scent of baby powder and bottles. My clothes, once perfectly pressed and smelling of expensive cologne, now smelled like baby — that soft scent that clung to the fabric. I was already addicted to it.

The clothesline was always full of tiny, colorful baby clothes swaying in the wind.

Whenever I had to go out to take care of some business, I’d find myself growing impatient, checking the clock every minute. The truth was, I just wanted to get back home — to see Chloe holding Ayla, to hear that sharp little cry that filled the silence in an almost comforting way.