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“No one’s going anywhere,” Salvatore whispers, dropping a kiss onto my lips.
“You hear that, princess?” Lorenzo says, packing away his equipment. “Now take a deep breath and relax because your blood pressure is through the fucking roof. I’ll take it again tomorrow and I want to see that you’ve calmed down.”
I smile at him. “Yes, doctor.”
Cassius and Vinicius are on either side of me, and I put my arms around their waists and pull them close. They hug me together, with fierce embraces and many kisses.
“I’m going to order Chinese food for delivery,” Salvatore says, heading for the door.
“You can’t order food to this house,” Lorenzo calls after him.
Nothing and no one comes in or out of Lorenzo’s compound without his permission, and he has a blanket rule about deliveries. Not even noodles and dumplings are allowed past his security team.
“Fuck! I’m going out for Chinese food. Back soon.”
Forty minutes later we’re sitting on the sofas unpacking boxes of Chinese food and passing out chopsticks.
“Obviously, the baby is all of ours,” Vinicius says, eyes glinting with mischief as he scoops stir fry onto his plate. “But whose do we think it is? Any bets?”
“Vinicius, you are not going to lay bets on who the father is,” I tell him.
“Dammit. I never get to have any fun.”
“It’s going to be obvious if Cassius is the father,” Salvatore points out.
Cassius sits up straighter and pushes his fingers through his hair, dark eyes glinting. “The Ferragamo genes are good, strong genes.”
“But if the baby has blue eyes, it could be either mine or Lorenzo’s,” Salvatore adds.
“Or mine,” Vinicius says. “My mother has blue eyes. Light brown or hazel means it’s definitely mine, though.”
Lorenzo is eating Singapore noodles directly from the box, a smug smile on his face. “I counted the days. I took Chiara’s temperature. I was there for her most fertile days. I don’t know why this is even a discussion. It’s my baby.”
Cassius scowls at him. “You arranged things in your favor, you cheatingbastardo, but that doesn’t rule the rest of us out.”
“Chiara, whose baby do you think it is?” Lorenzo asks, picking through his Singapore noodles with his chopsticks, but his hawklike gaze is on me.
“Yes, mother’s instinct,” Cassius says. “My grandmother knew right away she was pregnant without taking any tests. All nine times.”
“Nine?” I say, horrified. “Ninebabies? Just so you know, I’m drawing the line at four.”
“One for each of us,” Salvatore says.
“Let’s make it five,” Lorenzo says. “One for Chiara, too. And one more go at knocking her up.”
“Four,” I insist. “And as for who the father is…” All four men sit up with interest. “I have no idea. I’m not an Italian grandmother.”
“Will we take a paternity test?” Salvatore asks.
The four of them exchange glances, but none of them have an answer.
Vinicius chews a dumpling thoughtfully. “If you want to have four, kitten, then do we try for one from each of us or just let nature take its course?”
Lorenzo reaches for the stir-fried greens. “Let’s just mess with her birth control until we have ten kids, and then at least two of them should belong to each of us.”
I nearly drop my plate. “Lorenzo!”
Salvatore points his chopsticks at Lorenzo. “No way, Doctor Evil. We agree to that, then the next thing we know, there are ten baby Lorenzos running around. Can you imagine? What a nightmare.”
