Chapter 15

Lucas

I watched Marco pace the nursery at three in the morning, holding Alessandro while trying to get him back to sleep. Matteo, thankfully, remained peaceful in his crib. It was rare for only one of them to be awake, but tonight we got lucky.

"Shh, piccolo," Marco whispered, his usually commanding voice soft and uncertain. It was strange seeing him like this—the feared cartel boss reduced to a sleep-deprived father in sweatpants, dealing with a fussy baby. I never thought I would see the day.

His phone buzzed on the dresser for the fifth time in the last hour. I knew he was itching to check it, but his hands were full with our son. The constant notifications had become our new normal. Ever since the twins were born, it seemed like every rival organization thought it was the perfect time to test Marco's resolve. Still, he remained strong every time.

"Just check it," I said softly, sitting up in the rocking chair. "I can take him."

Marco shook his head, stubborn as always. He never changed, no matter what. "No, I need to learn this. I can't always..." He trailed off as Alessandro started fussing louder. The phone buzzed again, and I saw Marco's jaw clench in frustration.

"Come here," I stood up, holding out my arms. "You need to handle whatever that is before it gets worse, and you know I'm right."

He hesitated, and I saw the conflict in his eyes—the same one I'd been watching for weeks now. Marco wanted to be present, to be the father he never had, but his other responsibilities weren't going away. If anything, they were increasing, and I hated that. I couldn't do anything about it, though.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, carefully transferring Alessandro to my arms. "I just need to check-"

"I know," I assured him, settling back into the rocking chair. "Do what you need to do. I won't hold it against you."

Marco grabbed his phone, his face immediately hardening as he read the messages. I watched the transformation – from uncertain father to ruthless cartel boss in mere seconds. His shoulders straightened, jaw set in a firm line. It scared me a little, even though I knew that he would never hurt me.

"The Colombians are pushing again," he growled under his breath. "They think because I'm home more now, I'm getting soft."

Alessandro whimpered, and Marco immediately lowered his voice, though I could still see the tension radiating from him. He looked torn between the door and us, stuck between two worlds that seemed increasingly difficult to balance.

"They hit one of our shipments," he continued, typing rapidly on his phone. "Third time this month. I need to-"

He was cut off by Matteo suddenly waking up with a piercing cry, startling his brother into crying as well. The cacophony of wailing babies filled the room, and I saw Marco flinch, his hand tightening around his phone.

Someday, things would be different. Someday, he wouldn't have to choose between the cartel and his family.

"Fuck," he hissed, running his free hand through his hair. "I can't... I need to handle this, but I should help you first, I should-"

"Marco," I interrupted, already standing to reach Matteo. "Go. Handle what you need to handle."

"I'm their father," he argued, even as his phone buzzed again. "I should be able to..."

"I know you are their father," I assured him, somehow managing to balance both crying infants. "But you're also the head of the Nightshade Wolves. Nobody expects you to be perfect at both immediately. I know I don't."

He stood there, looking more lost than I'd ever seen him. Marco Rossi, the man who could order hits without blinking, who controlled half the city's criminal enterprises, completely undone by two tiny babies and their needs. I never thought I would see the day.

"I don't want them to think I'm choosing the business over them," he admitted quietly, watching as I settled back into the chair with both boys. "I don't want them to grow up like I did, with a father who was never there. I want things to be different and better."

"They won't," I promised. "Because you're here now, trying. That already makes you different."

His phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. Marco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, I saw the resolve there.

"I need to make some calls," he said, already moving toward the door. "But I'll be in my office. If you need anything-"

"I know where to find you," I finished for him. "Go show the Colombians why they shouldn't mistake your dedication to family for weakness."

A dangerous smile crossed his face—the one that reminded me exactly who I'd mated with. "Oh, they'll learn. I'll make sure of it."

He paused at the door, looking back at us one last time. The twins had started to quiet down, their cries softening to whimpers. Thank goodness, I thought. I loved them, but there was no denying that they were complicated to deal with.

"I love you," he said softly. "All of you. Everything I do, every person I threaten, every move I make—it's all to keep you safe."

"We know," I replied, meeting his eyes. "Now go be the boss so you can come back to being Papa."

He nodded once and disappeared into the hallway. Moments later, I heard his voice from his office, sharp and commanding, speaking rapid Italian into his phone. There was no uncertainty there, no hesitation. That was Marco in his element, doing what he did best. It was one of the reasons I felt safe. He was capable of keeping our safety no matter who threatened us.

Meanwhile, I looked down at our sons, finally drifting back to sleep. They wouldn't understand for many years the complexity of their father's life, the constant balance he had to maintain. But I knew that every decision he made, every life he took, every territory he defended—it was all for them. For us.

A few days later, the sound of Marco cursing in Italian echoed through our bedroom as he tried to change Matteo's diaper. I watched from the bed, nursing Alessandro, as my mate—the feared cartel boss—struggled with something as simple as baby wipes and powder. Who would've thought?

"Cazzo!" He swore as Matteo peed mid-change, soaking the fresh diaper and Marco's expensive shirt. "Why do they always do this to me?"

I tried not to laugh, but couldn't help it. It was one of the few times it was okay to laugh at him. "They do it to everyone, love. You're not special."

He shot me a glare that would have made his enemies tremble, but I just smiled. The twins had a way of humbling him that nothing else could. Just then, his phone rang—that specific ringtone that meant business. His jaw clenched as he finished securing the diaper, probably crooked again.

Despite my hopes, rival cartels only grew bolder in their attacks against him.

"Answer it," I said softly. "I'll fix his diaper."

Marco's hands were shaking slightly as he reached for his phone, and I knew it wasn't from anger – it was frustration. He'd been trying so hard to be present, to handle the babies himself, but between the constant cartel demands and his own inexperience, he was wearing thin. I had to support him as much as possible.

"What?" He barked into the phone, stepping away from the changing table. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What do you mean they're refusing to pay? No, I don't care what their excuse is. They agreed to our terms."

I carefully laid Alessandro in his bassinet and moved to fix Matteo's diaper. Marco continued pacing, his voice getting progressively more heated. I was grateful not to be on the other end of that phone call.

"Listen to me very carefully," he growled and his words made me shiver. "Either they pay by midnight, or-"

Matteo chose that moment to start wailing, his cry piercing through the room. Alessandro, startled by his brother's distress, joined in. Oh God, I thought. I didn't need this. Marco's face contorted in frustration as he tried to continue his conversation over the noise. I could tell he wished he was helping me.

"I said midnight!" He shouted into the phone before hanging up. He turned to us, running his hands through his hair. "Why are they always crying? What am I doing wrong?"

"You're not doing anything wrong," I assured him, picking up Matteo while trying to soothe Alessandro with my other hand. It wasn't really working, though. "They're babies. This is what they do."

I thought I would never get acclimated to being a father, but here I was and I was doing better at that than I thought I would.

"I can't think!" He exploded, making both babies cry harder. "I can't focus! How am I supposed to run my organization when I can't even get through one fucking phone call?"

"Marco," I warned, nodding at the babies. His outburst wasn't helping. It was only making things worse. I understood why he was angry, but he had to control himself.

He started pacing again, his phone buzzing with messages. "The Colombians are pushing into our territory again. The Russians are late with their payments. Two of our warehouses were hit last week. And I can't handle any of it because I can't even figure out how to change a fucking diaper!"

"You're being too hard on yourself," I said, managing to get both babies against my chest. Their cries were starting to soften. "Nobody expects you to be perfect at everything immediately. I know I don't."

"They do expect it!" He snapped, then immediately looked guilty when Matteo hiccupped in distress. "Everyone is watching, waiting for me to show weakness. And right now? I'm fucking weak. I'm ashamed of myself."

His phone rang again. Another business ringtone. Marco stared at it like it was a snake about to bite him.

"I need to take this," he said, already moving toward his office.

"Marco-"

"I know!" he cut me off, voice sharp with frustration. "I know I should stay and help. I know I should be able to handle my own children. But right now, I can't. I just... I can't."

The defeat in his voice broke my heart. This was Marco Rossi, the man who'd built an empire from nothing, who commanded respect with a single look, who could make hardened criminals tremble with fear. And here he was, undone by two tiny babies and a wet shirt. Again, who would have thought this was going to happen to him?

His phone kept ringing as he stood in the doorway, torn between two things he wanted to do at the same time, but couldn't because he was just one man.

"Go," I said softly. "Handle what you need to handle. We'll be here when you're done, and we'll be happy when you're back."

The look he gave me was full of gratitude and guilt. "I'm sorry," he muttered, already bringing the phone to his ear as he walked away. He realized that his outburst was unnecessary and wished he hadn't done it.

I heard him in his office, voice carrying through the walls as he switched between Italian and English, dealing with whatever crisis had erupted now. I wished that the walls were thicker or that his voice wasn't as loud as it was.

The babies had finally settled, their tiny bodies warm against my chest. Finally, some peace, but I knew it wasn't going to last long.

A few minutes later, I heard something crash in his office, followed by more Italian cursing. The babies stirred but didn't wake, thankfully. I knew what was happening – Marco was losing his temper again, and I had to step in and do something about it. It wasn't going to be the first time.

When he appeared in the doorway again thirty minutes later, his knuckles were bloody—probably from punching a wall—and his eyes were dark with barely contained rage.

"They think I'm weak," he said, voice like gravel over steel. "They think because I'm changing diapers now, I've gone soft. There are so many assumptions about me they've been making."

"Then show them they're wrong," I replied, carefully laying the sleeping twins in their bassinets. "But not by abandoning your children to prove a point. You know doing that would be wrong."

He crossed the room in three strides, pulling me against his chest. "How do you do this?" He whispered into my hair. "How do you make it look so easy?"

"It's not easy," I admitted. "I'm just better at hiding my frustration than you are. I don't yell as much."

He chuckled darkly. "That's not hard. I've never been good at hiding my anger, and yelling is in my nature."

"No," I agreed, reaching up to touch his bloody knuckles. "You haven't and I know that you can't control your yelling."

His phone buzzed again, but this time he ignored it, instead pressing his forehead against mine. "I'll figure this out," he promised. "I'll find a way to be both—the father they deserve and the boss I need to be. I'm sure I can find a way."

"I know you will," I said, believing it. Because if anyone could find a way to balance these two worlds, it was Marco. He just needed time to figure it out.

A baby's cry split the air again, and Marco tensed against me. But this time, instead of fleeing to his office, he took a deep breath and turned toward the sound. He was already making some progress.

"Okay," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Let me try again."