Chapter 127 127

Chapter 127 127
Mia
The Mediterranean sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the terrace of the Vercelli estate. The light is thick and syrupy, clinging to the ancient stone and the manicured olive groves that stretch down toward the sea. It’s been exactly one month since the night our world shifted on its axis. One month since the test turned positive, since the fear in Alessandro’s eyes melted into something terrifyingly fierce and protective. I rest a hand instinctively over the small, protective curve of my stomach. Ten weeks. The nausea has faded, replaced by a strange, humming energy that vibrates beneath my skin, but my body feels different it’s heavier, softer, and it has undeniably changed. My breasts are tender, aching slightly against the lace of my bra, and my hips feel somehow wider, more grounded.
Today is not just an ordinary day. It is my birthday, and I am turning twenty three. I am also ten weeks pregnant, and to pamper me, my husband has filled our home with designer dresses until our bedroom looks like a lavish boutique. Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Zara, Guess. I chose a golden Versace dress with white Dolce and Gabbana heels. I feel luxurious. No, I feel like a queen.
Alessandro spoils me endlessly. A stylist is doing my hair, and I chose soft loose curls. My makeup is flawless with a perfect nude lipstick. I look stunning.
Yet my biggest pregnancy craving is not food. It is my husband. I just need him here beside me. The hormones are overwhelming, restless and intense, leaving me longing for him in a way I cannot ignore.
Alessandro finds me in the living room, the air thick with the scent of his expensive perfume and the lingering sweetness of the pastries the staff prepared earlier. He is a vision of dark, controlled power in a black Armani suit that fits his broad shoulders like a weapon, the fabric stretching slightly over his chest where the lion tattoo roars beneath the cloth. His hair is slicked back, exposing the harsh, beautiful planes of his face, and the dark beard frames his mouth, making me think of how it feels scraping against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His eyes, that stormy, unreadable gray, sweep over me, lingering on my midsection before locking onto my face.
"Happy birthday, Mia," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the floorboards and settles deep in my core. He doesn’t offer a kiss or a touch yet. Instead, he holds out a thick, cream-colored file folder. “You look so beautiful.”
I blink, surprised. I expected jewelry, perhaps a dress, something tangible and glittering. "What is that?" I ask, reaching out to take it. The folder is heavy in my hands, the texture of the paper cool and smooth.
"Look yourself," he commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, watching me with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. The muscles in his arms bulge against the fabric of his suit, the tattoos on his knuckles, letters and numbers that tell the history of his violence fading into his skin.
I flip the cover open. The scent of high-quality parchment wafts up. The first page is a legal deed, written in dense, formal Italian. I scan the document, my eyes catching the bold, capitalized words at the top: Vercelli Vineyards and Estates. Then I see my name. Mia Vercelli. Not just as a spouse or a beneficiary, but as the sole owner.
My fingers tremble slightly as I turn the page. More documents. Stock transfers, property deeds for the vast rolling hills of vineyards in Tuscany, the production facilities, the exclusive distribution rights. It’s everything. The entirety of his wine empire, the legitimate face of his fortune, signed away entirely to me.
I look up, my mouth slightly open, searching his face for a joke, a catch, a trap. But his expression is solemn, his jaw set with that familiar stubbornness. The gray eyes are soft, unguarded.
"You can look after the wine business now, mommy," he says, the word mommy rolling off his tongue with a mix of possessiveness and reverence that sends a flush of heat through my veins. "It’s all yours."
The reality of it crashes over me. This isn't just a gift; it’s leverage. It’s power. In his world, information and assets are the only true shields. By giving me the winery, he’s handing me a kingdom, a fortress of my own that no one, not his enemies, not even him—can easily touch. It’s a declaration that I am not just a possession in his golden cage, but a queen in her own right.
A laugh bubbles up in my chest, unexpected and joyous. I drop the file onto the velvet chaise lounge beside me and launch myself at him. I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, smelling the musk and sandalwood that is uniquely him. He catches me effortlessly, his large hands spanning my waist, holding me flush against the hard wall of his chest.
"This is the best birthday gift!" I exclaim, my voice muffled against his suit jacket. I feel the vibration of his chuckle before I hear it, a deep, resonant sound that I rarely get to draw out of him.
“You always complained of being bored.” He says flickering to me. 
“Yeah, thanks a lot Sandro.”
“I thought a lot about what would be best for you—clubs, casinos… then I thought about the winery. I want to keep you away from any kind of violence, and since you love wine, it will be the best choice.” He explains calmly.
“Okay thanks for thinking about the best for me.” I grin then lean closer and kiss him.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup my face in his rough, calloused palms. His thumbs stroke my cheekbones, his gaze burning into mine. "You deserve everything, Mia. Everything I have is yours. The wine, the ships, the city. It’s all just a reflection of you."