Chapter 16

Lucas

I woke up to an empty bed and muffled singing coming from the nursery. What was happening? I asked myself. Curious, I followed the sound, only to stop in the doorway, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight before me. I never thought I would see something like that.

There was Marco, the most feared man in the city, dancing around the nursery with both twins against his chest, singing what sounded like a very off-key version of "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" in a mix of English and Italian. His accent made the song even funnier.

"E-I-E-I-O," he sang softly, swaying with the babies. "E sulla fattoria aveva un... what's the word for pig? Maiale? Yes, maiale... E-I-E-I-O."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. The mighty Marco Rossi, wearing designer sweatpants and a spit-up-stained t-shirt, teaching our sons about farm animals in two languages. Who would have thought? He could be so sweet sometimes. It made me wonder the kind of person he would be if and when he was out of the cartel.

"Con un oink-oink qui," he continued, completely oblivious to my presence, "e un oink-oink là..."

"Your pronunciation needs work," I finally said, unable to hold back anymore. I tried, but I couldn't.

Marco spun around, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. The movement made Alessandro giggle, while Matteo just drooled contentedly on his father's shoulder. They were both so happy with him. It really showed that he was their father.

"How long have you been standing there?" He demanded, though his usual commanding tone was somewhat undermined by the baby burp cloth draped over his shoulder and the fact that he was still swaying gently.

"Long enough to know that your Italian farm animals need serious help," I teased, walking into the room. "What happened to the scary cartel boss who makes grown men tremble? And shouldn't your Italian be better than that?"

"He's taking a break to teach his sons about agriculture," Marco replied with complete seriousness, making me snort. "It's never too early for education, amore."

"And you decided 4 AM was the perfect time for this lesson?"

"They were awake," he shrugged, careful not to disturb the babies. "And Antonio called earlier about some trouble with the Russians, so I was up anyway. Might as well make it educational."

I raised an eyebrow. "And the dancing?"

"Movement helps," he said defensively. "I read it in one of those books you bought. Besides," he added with a smirk, "no one outside this room will ever know about it, right?"

"Oh really?" I pulled out my phone, waving it teasingly. "What if I already recorded it?"

The look of horror on his face was priceless. "You didn't. You would never."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. It would make great blackmail material, to be honest."

"Lucas," he growled, though it lacked his usual menace given that he was still swaying with two babies. "Delete it."

"Make me," I challenged, backing away toward the door.

"I would," he gestured to the twins, "but I'm a bit occupied at the moment. However, remember that I know where you sleep."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, amore."

Just then, Matteo let out a loud burp, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a warning sign of an imminent diaper situation. The look of panic that crossed Marco's face was hilarious. I also felt that way sometimes, especially when it happened in unexpected moments.

"Oh no," he muttered, sniffing. "No, no, piccolo, not now..."

"What's wrong, tough guy?" I teased. "Can't handle a little diaper action?"

"Lucas," he said with complete seriousness, "if you help me with this, I'll let you keep the hypothetical video."

I pretended to consider it. "I don't know... that video could be worth a lot to the right people. I don't usually delete evidence."

"I'll make pancakes for breakfast."

"You always make pancakes for breakfast."

"I'll... I'll let you pick the movie tonight."

"Already my turn anyway."

"I'll..." he was cut off by a definite smell starting to fill the room. "I'll do anything, just please help me."

I laughed, finally taking pity on him. He was helpless without me when it came to the babies. "Here, give me Alessandro. You can handle the bomb that Matteo just dropped."

"How do you always know which one it is?" He asked, carefully transferring Alessandro to me.

"Mother's intuition," I replied sagely.

"You're not their mother."

"No, but I'm definitely the more maternal one between us."

He shot me a look as he laid Matteo on the changing table. "I sang them farm animals."

"In two languages, very impressive. Still doesn't make you maternal. There are some things about you that you have to accept."

Marco opened the diaper and immediately recoiled. "Dio mio! What have we been feeding him?"

"The same thing as always," I chuckled, settling into the rocking chair with Alessandro. "You're just being dramatic."

"I've seen crime scenes less horrifying than this," he muttered, but proceeded with the change anyway. "The things I do for love..."

"Are you talking to me or the baby?"

"At this point, I'm not sure anymore." He finished the change with practiced efficiency—a far cry from his fumbling attempts of a few weeks ago. "There, all clean. Was that worth keeping the video?"

"What video?" I asked innocently.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You didn't really record anything, did you?"

"Nope," I grinned. "But watching you panic about it was worth pretending I did. I just had to do it."

"You..." He started, but was interrupted by Alessandro yawning widely. "We'll discuss your cruel deception later. Right now, I think it's finally bedtime."

We settled the twins back in their cribs, Marco humming something that sounded suspiciously like "The Wheels on the Bus" under his breath. I decided not to comment on it. He'd suffered enough teasing for one night.

"You're getting better at this, you know," I said softly as we watched our sons drift off to sleep.

"The singing or the parenting?"

"Both. Though maybe stick to Italian lullabies instead of English farm songs."

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Next time I'll try 'The Godfather' theme. More on-brand."

I elbowed him gently. "Don't you dare."

"No? What about some traditional mob songs?"

"Marco..."

"I'm just saying, they should learn about the family business early..."

I turned in his arms to face him. "If you sing one word of 'That's Amore' to our children, you're sleeping on the couch."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As you wish, amore mio. As you wish."

◆◆◆

I never thought I'd be standing in Marco's office, twins safely tucked away in their carriers behind his massive desk, while negotiating with one of his lieutenants about a shipment gone wrong. Yet here I was, doing exactly that because Marco was across town dealing with another crisis.

He told me he was going to try to keep the cartel stuff away from me, but there was only so much a single man could do. I didn't blame him, of course, but still wished that things were different.

"With all due respect," Antonio shifted uncomfortably, "maybe we should wait for the boss to return. It would be the wiser choice."

"The Russians won't wait," I replied, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. "You said so yourself. They want an answer now." I'd learned enough from watching Marco to know that hesitation showed weakness. I couldn't afford to be weak, not with my babies sleeping peacefully just feet away. For them, I had to be strong.

Antonio glanced at the twins, then back at me. "This isn't exactly... traditional, though, and you know that."

"Neither is Marco having an omega mate and children, but here we are." I leaned forward, channeling every bit of authority I'd absorbed from Marco. He taught me a lot of things too. We learned a lot from each other. "Now, tell me again about the shipment."

He sighed, relenting. "The Russians are claiming we shorted them. They're threatening to break our agreement if we don't make it right by midnight. I don't know what they are thinking. We haven't done anything outside of our agreement."

I checked my phone—no messages from Marco. He was probably still handling the situation with the Colombians. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence, and that made me nervous. Very nervous. If he were here, I would be feeling so much better.

"Show me the manifests," I demanded, trying to sound confident. One of the babies—Matteo, I was sure, even though I didn't look in his direction—stirred slightly. I resisted the urge to check on him, knowing I needed to maintain my composure. That was the single most important thing right now.

Antonio spread the papers across the desk. Numbers, dates, locations—all the details of a world I'd never wanted to be part of, but now had to understand for my family's sake. I studied them carefully, remembering all those late nights watching Marco work, listening to him explain his business. Back then, I hadn't thought that I would, one day, employ his teachings.

"Here," I pointed to a discrepancy. "The numbers don't match. Not because we shorted them, but because they're lying." My finger traced the line items. Criminals lying? What a surprise. "They received exactly what they paid for. They're trying to get extra product for free."

Antonio's eyebrows shot up. "How did you-"

"Marco taught me how to read these," I interrupted, heart pounding harder as Alessandro made a small noise. Please stay asleep, I silently begged. I was also nervous because I kept thinking that I was fucking something up and thus would look like a fool. "The Russians are testing us, aren't they? Maybe even testing me too?"

"Yes," Antonio admitted. "Word got out that the boss has been... preoccupied with family matters."

I felt cold anger settle in my stomach. They still thought Marco was weak because of us. Because of me and our children. They were wrong, and I would prove it.

They didn't have families at all?

"Call them," I ordered, proud that my voice didn't shake. "Put them on speaker."

Antonio hesitated only briefly before dialing. The phone rang three times before a heavily accented voice answered.

"We are waiting for the answer."

I took a deep breath. "This is Lucas. I'm handling this matter for my mate."

There was a pause, then a laugh. "We do not deal with omegas."

"Then you don't deal with the Rossi family at all," I replied coldly, my protective instincts flaring. "The manifests don't lie. You received exactly what you paid for. If you want to break our agreement because you lied, that's your choice. But remember—other buyers would be happy to take your place. You're not really necessary."

Another pause, longer this time. I could hear murmured Russian in the background. I couldn't understand anything, but could still hear it.

"You threaten us?"

"No," I said, thinking of Marco, of our sons, of everything we had to protect. I would never be so reckless. "I'm stating facts. You have one hour to confirm you received the correct shipment, or we'll consider our agreement void. And believe me, you don't want that. Don't make me do something I don't want to do."

The line went dead. I let out a shaky breath, finally allowing myself to check on the twins. They were still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the dangerous world they'd been born into.

They had to stay nearby. I was far too paranoid to leave them alone in their room.

"Lucas," Antonio said quietly, "that was... impressive."

"Was it the right call?" I asked, suddenly uncertain. "Marco-"

"Would be proud," he assured me. "You protected our interests without escalating the situation. That's exactly what was needed."

His reassurance helped me. I was always constantly doubting myself.

My phone buzzed—a message from Marco: Everything okay?

Handling it, I replied, then added, The twins are fine. Be safe.

Forty-five minutes later, my phone rang. Antonio answered, listened briefly, then smiled.

"The Russians apologize for the misunderstanding," he reported. "They've confirmed the shipment was correct and want to ensure our continued partnership. You really did well."

Relief flooded through me, making my knees weak. I'd done it. I'd protected our interests, protected our family. I never thought I could pull something like that off.

Matteo chose that moment to wake up, his cry quickly rousing his brother. The spell was broken—I was no longer the tough negotiator, just a father who needed to tend to his children, and that was all I wanted to be.

"I'll handle the paperwork," Antonio said, already gathering the documents. "You take care of them."

I smiled gratefully, moving to lift Matteo from his carrier. "Thank you, Antonio. And... this stays between us, yes? Let Marco hear it from me."

He nodded, understanding. "Of course. But Lucas?" He paused at the door. "You did well today. Very well. Anyone would be impressed."

As I settled into Marco's chair with both babies, I realized something: because Marco was in the cartel, my life would always be complicated and dangerous. But for my family, I would learn to 'navigate' it. I had to. Otherwise, I would never forgive myself.

"Your papa is going to be so mad he missed this," I whispered to the twins. "But don't worry—I'll tell him I learned from the best."

Alessandro grabbed my finger, squeezing tight, while Matteo nuzzled against my chest. In that moment, I knew I'd do anything to protect them—even if it meant becoming someone I never expected to be.

The office door opened, and Marco strode in, his expression softening at the sight of us. "Everything okay here?"

I smiled, thinking of the Russians, the negotiation, the strength I'd found within myself. "Everything's perfect, amore. Just perfect."