Chapter 3. Oops!

Antonio Costello had never been so frightened in his life.

Here he was, apparently helping a woman give birth to her child, and he wasn’t even the real father!

All he wanted to do this morning was to meet Julian’s woman, get her to give him the codes Julian stole from him, and send her on her way. But instead, he was doing…this.

Madness.

Absolute madness.

Antonio burst through the sterile doors, his breath catching in his throat. He was in the delivery room, and in front of him was Julian’s little redheaded girlfriend, screaming her head off.

Valerie Foster was a thing of beauty with her fiery red hair and large green eyes. Her skin was pale, right now, paler than usual had sprinkles of freckles all over. Antonio didn’t particularly have a type when it came to women, but looking at Valerie, he suddenly realized he was a sucker for redheads.

“Cara mia,” Antonio started, his voice stuttering, “I’m here.”

“Here? Here!” She spat the word like venom, her emerald eyes blazing with a fury that singed his very soul. “Antonio, you bumbling fool! What are you even doing in this room? Why…are you here?”

The medical staff circled around her like a well-oiled machine, their movements precise, their focus unwavering. They must have seen this play out a thousand times, indifferent to the personal drama unfolding before them.

“Helping” was all Antonio could muster, but it was lost, a mere whisper against the storm of her anger. Why was she so angry? Was it because she was scared of him?

“Helping?” Valerie’s laugh was sharp. “What the fuck for? Get out!”

God, she was beautiful when she cursed!

I should get out, Antonio thought to himself. What the hell was he doing anyway? He wasn’t the father of the baby. It was Julian, who was now dead. Antonio had no right to witness the birth of Julian’s child. This whole situation was absolutely absurd.

“Stand next to her, Sir. I will tell you what to do next,” the doctor said, and all thoughts of leaving fled Antonio’s mind. He wanted to stay and see this through, for whatever reason.

Valerie’s curses didn’t wane, but he tuned them out, focusing on the rhythm of her breaths and the clenching of her fists.

Should he hold her hand? He remembered seeing in a movie once that was what you were supposed to do when helping someone give birth.

“Deep breaths, Valerie,” one of the nurses said, though Valerie likely heard none of it.

“Shut up, just shut up!” Valerie’s voice broke, raw and ragged.

Antonio leaned in closer, his hand hovering above her arm, unsure if his touch would be a comfort or a spark to more fury. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, dodging another volley of verbal daggers.

“Great? You think this is great?” The sneer in her voice could slice through steel.

He smiled at her. Mamma Mia, he had never seen a woman get so angry!

“Focus, Valerie. Almost there,” he said.

“Focus?” She spat the word like venom. “When I am done with this, I will kill you.”

Oh, she is feisty! Antonio thought.

“We can revisit that after you are done, mio amore,” he said gently.

“Look!” A nurse pointed, and Antonio shifted his gaze. Time stopped.

There it was—the baby’s head, crowning, a sliver of new life fighting its way into the world.

“Keep pushing!” The command came from the doctor.

“Pushing! That’s all I’ve been doing!” Valerie retorted angrily.

Antonio watched, every muscle tensed, as the top of the baby’s head emerged further with each of Valerie’s Herculean efforts.

“Push, mi amore, you can do it!” he encouraged, suddenly feeling joy erupting from within him. He had taken many lives before but never helped bring one into the world. The feeling of this was… exhilarating.

“Shut up, Antonio! Just… shut up!” Valerie’s fingers gripped the front of his gown, knuckles white, her body convulsing with the effort of each push.

Antonio took her hand in his and squeezed it. He wanted to hold her and maybe kiss her a little, but he knew kissing her now would be a bad idea. She might bite his tongue off.

“Almost there,” a nurse said, her eyes fixed on Valerie’s progress.

“Can’t… can’t do this…” Valerie’s voice wavered.

“You are doing it, cara mia. You’re incredible.” The words fell from Antonio’s lips with sincerity that surprised even him.

“Feels like… punishment…for letting that asshole Julian fuck me,” she managed between gritted teeth.

Finally, something they could both agree with. He couldn’t imagine what a magnificent woman like Valerie was doing with a man like Julian.

“Ah, si, I agree,” Antonio said and nodded, earning a death glare from his little redheaded firecracker.

“Here comes another one, deep breaths,” coaxed the doctor, his hands poised and ready.

“Deep breaths,” Antonio echoed, feeling useless next to the professionals yet compelled to stay by Valerie’s side. His heart hammered against his chest.

He was Antonio Costello, and he never got nervous, but this… this was the most nerve-wracking moment of his entire life.

Valerie gave out a final outcry, and soon, he heard the sound of a baby crying.

“Congratulations,” the doctor announced, his voice a beacon of triumph amidst the chaos. “It’s a beautiful baby boy.”

Valerie’s head lolled to one side, her face ghostly pale against the stark white of the hospital pillow. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she slipped into unconsciousness, a silent surrender to the exhaustion that claimed her.

Antonio watched as the nurse cleaned the baby and bundled her in a blanket. Then, she walked toward him.

“Here you go,” she said, her words clipped as she thrust the bundle into his arms.

His hands, which had thrown punches and shot bullets, now cradled something far more delicate—a tiny, fragile baby. His skin was red and wrinkled, his head full of black hair.

“Careful,” the nurse instructed, her gaze scrutinizing his awkward hold. “Support her head.”

He adjusted his arms. She was light, nearly weightless.

“Err… ciao,” he murmured to the baby, his voice unsteady. Her tiny fingers, impossibly small, grasped at the air.

“Keep him warm,” another voice commanded. Someone was moving in his peripheral vision, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was the infant in his arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with his own.

“Is the boy… is she okay?” he stuttered.

“Perfectly healthy,” the doctor replied, a smile in her voice as she turned her attention to Valerie.

Antonio looked down at the baby, her eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings, innocence personified. In that instant, he understood the depth of Valerie’s pain and how strong she was.

“Sign here, please,” the doctor said, sliding a clipboard with a birth certificate toward him. Her hand hovered over a line marked ‘Father’s Signature’.

He blinked, the sharp scent of antiseptic stinging his nostrils. His gaze flickered from the document to Valerie’s unconscious form, then down to the baby cradled in his arms.

“Uh,” was all he managed, his brain scrambling. The pen was put into his hand, a gentle nudge against his palm. Without a thought, his name flowed across the paper—Antonio Costello—in ink as black as the uncertainty that filled him.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said, but her voice seemed distant, like an echo in a vast, empty hall.

He stared at the signature, his signature, on the line meant for someone else. It was done. A simple act of confusion, and suddenly he was… what?

A father?

Questo è folle!

“Ha!” The sound burst from him, a mix of disbelief and irony. He looked at the baby—his baby? No, not his. But he signed the damn birth certificate like he belonged to him.

Oops!