He blinks once, then lifts the ring toward me like an offering or a threat.
Hard to say.
Teresa glances down at him and smiles before she can stop herself. It changes her whole face.
That is still new to me.
Not Teresa smiling. I’ve seen that. But this version of it. Softer and less guarded, pulled out of her on instinct. Motherhood has changed her in ways she probably does not even realize yet.
Or maybe she does. She always notices more than others.
I finish tying the boot and sit back carefully.
Cristiano gurgles.
The sound is small and meaningless and pulls my attention back to him.
This child is the heir to the Conti legacy. The oldest son of the oldest son.
And he has no idea.
That’s the part that’s so strange.
He has no idea what he was born into.
No idea what kind of empire he is set to inherit. No idea that men have killed and died for the blood that runs through him before he could hold his own head up. No idea that people were repositioning guards around him before he knew what danger was.
Right now, his world is Teresa’s hand on his back, the toy in his mouth, the soft blanket under him, and whatever sound I apparently make when I stand too quickly because his eyes snap to me the second pain catches in my side.
Teresa notices too.
“Sit back down.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“No.”
Cristiano bangs the fabric ring against the mattress, delighted by the sound.
Teresa looks at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
He does it again.
I smile. “He has your timing,” I say.
“He has Vito’s stubbornness.”
“And I suppose none of yours.”
She looks at me dryly. “You can criticize me when you are not actively competing for the ’most stubborn’ award in the house.”
“I’m winning.”
“Yes,” she says. “That’s why everyone is annoyed.”
I stand fully and wait for the pain to either subside or put me back down. It settles into a hard burn along my side and waits.
