Silent Vows (Bonds of Betrayal): Chapter 27

I can’t stop touching my wife. Even now, hours after her revelation, my hand keeps finding its way to her still-flat stomach as we lie in our bed. Bella’s curled against my chest, her breathing even but not quite asleep—I can tell by the way her fingers trace absent patterns on my skin, the slight tension in her shoulders that says her mind is still racing.

A baby. The thought hits me again like a physical blow, equal parts terror and joy. My hand spreads wider across her abdomen, as if I could already feel the tiny life we created. Six weeks. Since our wedding night. Since everything changed.

Memories of another pregnancy surface—Sophia, barely seventeen and terrified when she came to me. The circumstances of Bianca’s conception remain a dark shadow in my mind, but from the moment I agreed to marry Sophia, to claim the child as mine, nothing else mattered. Blood, biology, the whispers of others—none of it compared to the fierce love that seized my heart the moment I first held my daughter.

I remember every detail of that day—the weight of her tiny body in my arms, how her fingers wrapped around mine with surprising strength, the way she stopped crying the moment I held her. Sophia had been too drugged to hold her, but I stood guard over that hospital bassinet for three days straight, daring anyone to question my claim on this perfect creature who somehow became my whole world.

Now, seventeen years later, I’ll get to experience it all again. But this time with a woman I truly love, with a marriage built on choice rather than obligation. This time everything is different.

Unless …

The darker thoughts creep in, unbidden. Giuseppe’s voice echoes in my head: “Children are weakness, boy. Something for enemies to use against you.” I remember watching him pace the hospital corridor when Bianca was born, his cold calculation as he studied her features, searching for something I refused to see.

My arm tightens around Bella instinctively. No. This child will never know that kind of fear, that kind of manipulation. This baby will be born into love, into protection, into a family that chooses each other every day.

But still … the image of Bella pregnant and vulnerable makes something cold settle in my gut. A pregnant donna is a prime target—something to be used against a don, a way to bring the mighty to their knees. I’ll need to increase security, maybe move up the timeline on the Tuscany villa. Somewhere safe, somewhere far from New York’s politics and vendettas.

“She’ll be happy,” I murmur against Bella’s temple, breathing in her familiar scent. “Once the shock wears off.”

“Will she?” Bella shifts to look at me, and even in the dim light she takes my breath away. Her dark hair spills across my chest like ink, and those artist’s eyes search my face with their usual perception. “Everything’s changed so fast. Her whole world’s been turned upside down in seven weeks. And now this …”

“Now this is something good.” My hand splays possessively over her stomach again, hoping somehow our child can feel how much I already love them. The emotion catches me off guard—this fierce protectiveness, this overwhelming need to keep them both safe. “Something that’s just ours.”

She covers my hand with hers, our wedding rings catching the moonlight. The simple gesture makes my chest tight. “I’m scared,” she admits quietly. “Not of the baby, but of bringing a child into this world. Our world.”

I understand her fear because I share it. Our world is built on violence and vendettas, where a pregnant donna becomes a prime target. The thought of anyone using my child—either of my children—as leverage makes something dark and deadly rise in my chest. I’ll need to be careful though, to find the balance between protection and suffocation. Bella’s too strong, too independent to be locked away in a gilded cage.

I’ve also seen what this life can do to children, how it can twist them into something hard and cold. But Bianca somehow escaped that fate—her heart remained open, loving, despite everything. Maybe because she had what I never did: a father who chose her, who loved her without conditions or expectations.

But fear plagues me. Not about biology or bloodlines—those concerns died the day I chose Bianca as mine—but about the kind of father I can be. The weight of legacy sits heavy on my chest.

Every choice I’ve made since taking control of the DeLuca empire has been calculated, measured against potential consequences. But this? This tiny life Bella and I created? There’s nothing calculated about the way my heart races every time I think about it. About tiny fingers and first steps and the chance to do everything differently this time.

With Bianca, I was barely more than a boy myself, thrust into fatherhood by circumstances I couldn’t control. I made mistakes—too protective sometimes, too distant others, always terrified of becoming the monster who raised me. But Bianca’s love, her unwavering trust even when I didn’t deserve it, somehow made me better. Made me want to be better.

Now I have a second chance. A child created in love rather than obligation. But the old fears whisper in Giuseppe’s voice: Can a man like me, with blood on his hands and darkness in his soul, really be the father this baby deserves?

Can I protect them from the violence of our world without becoming the very thing I fear?

I press my hand more firmly against Bella’s stomach, trying to convey through touch alone how much I already love this child. How I’ll die before I let anyone hurt them. How I’ll spend every day making sure they know they’re loved, wanted, chosen—everything I never had growing up.

My own childhood rises like a specter—Giuseppe’s “lessons” about power and control, the weight of expectations crushing any hint of weakness. I was never a son to him, only an heir to be molded. But Bianca changed everything. Holding her that first time, I finally understood what a father should be. What love without conditions felt like.

This baby will never know that kind of fear. Will never question their worth or their place in our family. I’ll make sure they grow up surrounded by art and love and possibility—just like their mother. They’ll inherit my name, my protection, but not my sins. Not my father’s legacy of pain.

“What are you thinking?” she asks softly, her fingers tracing the scar on my chest. “You’ve gone somewhere dark.”

“Just thinking about protection.” I press a kiss to her hair. “And how much has changed since Bianca was born.”

“Tell me?” Her request is gentle, understanding. “What was it like, becoming a father then?”

The memories flood back—not all of them dark. “I was terrified,” I admit. “Not because she wasn’t mine by blood, but because suddenly this tiny perfect being depended on me completely. Me, who’d only ever known how to destroy things.”

“But you learned to protect instead.”

“She taught me.” My voice roughens with emotion. “That first night in the hospital, when she wrapped her whole hand around my finger … I knew I’d burn the world down to keep her safe.”

Bella’s quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “Do you want this one to be a boy?” The question holds a note of insecurity that makes my heart ache. “To carry on the DeLuca name?”

“No.” The firmness of my response surprises us both. The truth is, the thought of a son terrifies me in ways I can’t fully express. Would I see Giuseppe’s features in his face? Would I hear my father’s voice every time I tried to guide him? “I mean, I’ll love this baby regardless, but …” I cup her face, needing her to understand. “I’d love another daughter. One with your eyes and fierce heart.”

Her laugh is watery. “The great Matteo DeLuca, brought to his knees by his daughters?”

“Gladly.” I kiss her softly, tasting salt from tears she’s trying to hide. Having two daughters to love, to protect, to watch grow into strong women who know their worth—it would be everything I never knew I needed. Everything Giuseppe was wrong about. “Though if it is a boy …” I hesitate, suddenly nervous. “I’d like to name him Giovanni.”

“Your father was the best man I knew.” My voice catches as memories of my best friend surface. All the times he showed me what a real father should be, how he loved his daughter unconditionally, supported her dreams, chose art supplies over weapons. Everything Giuseppe wasn’t. “He’d have loved being a grandfather.”

“He’d have spoiled them rotten,” she whispers, and I feel her tears against my chest. “Taking them to art museums, teaching them to shoot …”

“Just like he did with you.” I hold her closer as she cries, understanding this mixture of joy and grief. My mind drifts to Giovanni, to how he would have handled today’s news. He’d have been overjoyed, probably already planning how to turn my security room into an art studio for his grandchild.

“He knew, you know.” I find myself saying, lost in memories of my best friend. “That this baby would be a possibility.”

She stills in my arms. “What do you mean?”

“That last night we shared cigars, before everything went wrong … he talked about grandchildren.” The memory is still fresh, still painful. “Said he hoped that when the time came, our families would be joined by love rather than arrangement. That any child of yours would be …” My voice catches. “Would be something good in this dark world.”

“You never told me that,” she whispers, clutching onto me.

“There’s still so much I haven’t told you. So much I want to share …”

A knock interrupts whatever else I might have confessed. “Dad?” Bianca’s voice carries through the door, tension evident even muffled. “Antonio needs you. Both of you.”

We dress quickly, years of midnight emergencies making the process efficient. My eyes follow Bella as she pulls one of my sweaters over her silk nightgown. The sight of her drowning in my clothes, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, makes my chest ache. Even like this—or maybe especially like this—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

We find Bianca and Antonio in the security room, the space lit only by the blue glow of multiple monitors. The technological heart of our protection system hums with quiet efficiency—dozens of screens showing every angle of our territory. Elena’s apartment building features prominently on the main display.

“What happened?” Bella demands, instantly alert. Her hand finds mine in the dim light.

“Anthony Calabrese paid her a visit,” Antonio reports, his weathered face illuminated by the screens. His tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up—signs he’s been monitoring this situation for hours. “Brought flowers, apologized for his uncle’s actions. Asked her to dinner.”

“And?” I study the footage, noting how Elena’s body language shifts from defensive to interested. Years of reading people let me catalog every tell, every micro-expression.

“She said yes.” Bianca’s voice holds worry. Like this—perched on the edge of a desk, brow furrowed in concentration—she looks so much like me it hurts. “Dad, we can’t let her⁠—”

“We can’t stop her,” Bella cuts in gently. “She’s an adult, and after what Johnny did … she needs to feel in control of her own choices.”

“But we can protect her,” I add, seeing both women relax slightly. My hand finds Bella’s stomach unconsciously, needing to touch our child. Our future. “Antonio, full surveillance on Anthony Calabrese. I want to know everything—his movements, his contacts, his true position in the family.”

“Already on it, Boss.” Antonio brings up more screens showing Anthony’s recent activities. “He seems genuinely at odds with his grandfather’s old-school methods. Been pushing for legitimate business ventures, modernization.”

“People can seem like a lot of things.” I pull Bella closer, remembering how Sophia had seemed. How she’d played us all. The weight of that deception still haunts me, makes me fear history repeating.

Bianca catches the protective gesture, sharp as ever. Her eyes narrow, tracking between us before settling on where my hand rests on Bella’s stomach. In the monitor light, I see the exact moment understanding dawns in her expression—she’s always been too perceptive for her own good, my girl.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she says suddenly, straightening to her full height. In her silk pajamas and messy ponytail, she looks younger than her seventeen years, but those eyes—so like mine in their intensity—miss nothing. Her voice holds a mixture of hope and uncertainty that makes my chest ache. “What’s going on?”

I meet Bella’s gaze, seeing my own mix of joy and nervousness reflected there. This isn’t how we planned to tell our daughter, but when has anything in our lives gone according to plan? I remember holding Bianca for the first time, promising to always protect her heart. Now I pray she has room in that heart for one more.

“Bianca,” I say softly, “how do you feel about being a big sister?”

She freezes, processing the words. For a long moment, no one breathes. Even Antonio, usually unflappable, looks stunned. I watch emotions play across my daughter’s face—shock, wonder, and something else that makes my throat tight. Something that looks like pure joy.

Then Bianca launches herself at us both, wrapping us in a fierce hug that makes my heart clench. Because this—this is what I’ve always wanted. What I never thought I’d have. A family bound by choice and love, growing stronger with each challenge.

“A baby,” she breathes against my chest, and I hear tears in her voice. Joy radiates from her like light. “Really?”

“Six weeks along,” Bella confirms, her own voice thick with emotion. “I just found out this morning.”

I watch my daughter’s hand join mine over Bella’s stomach, generations of love and protection already surrounding this new life. The sight nearly undoes me. Whatever darkness lurks in my past, whatever sins stain my soul, I must have done something right to deserve this moment.

This is my redemption—not in blood or violence or power, but in love. In the way Bianca looks at Bella with pure sisterly affection, in how they both lean into my embrace like they know they’re safe there. In the tiny life growing beneath our joined hands, already so loved, so wanted, so protected.

This is my legacy. Not the DeLuca empire, not Giuseppe’s lessons in cruelty, but this. This love. This family. This choice we make every day to be better, to love harder, to protect what matters most.

“Perfect timing,” Antonio observes with a slight smile. “The villa in Tuscany is ready. A few weeks away might be good for all of you.”

I shoot my captain a look for spoiling the surprise, but the joy on both women’s faces is worth it. Still, as I hold my family close, I catch movement on the security screens—Anthony Calabrese’s car pulling away from Elena’s building. A reminder that danger never truly leaves our world.

But for now, in this moment, I let myself feel only gratitude. For my fierce daughter who loves without reservation. For my brave wife who carries our future beneath her heart. For this new life we’ve created together.

Whatever comes next, we’ll face it as one.

As a family.