The night was calm, the moonlight spilling softly through the curtains of Lorenzo's mansion. Elena had been restless all day — her back hurt, her belly felt heavy, and she kept pacing around the room like something inside her was about to burst.
Lorenzo was in the study when he heard her scream. The sound made his heart jump. He dropped everything and ran upstairs, his blood running cold.
"Elena!" he shouted, bursting into the room.
She was standing beside the bed, her face pale, sweat running down her forehead. "Lorenzo… it's time," she whispered before another wave of pain hit her.
Lorenzo froze for a second, then snapped out of it. "Doctor! Someone call the doctor now!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the hallways.
The maids and guards rushed everywhere, some calling, some running for towels, water, and everything they could think of. Lorenzo stayed beside her, holding her trembling hand, whispering softly, "Breathe, amore… just breathe for me."
"I can't—Lorenzo, I can't!" she cried, gripping his arm tightly.
"Yes, you can," he said, his voice breaking. "You've faced worse than this. You're stronger than pain, Elena. You always have been."
Minutes passed like hours. The doctor finally arrived with two nurses. They quickly prepared everything, telling Lorenzo to wait outside, but he refused.
"I'm not leaving her," he said firmly. "She's my wife. If she fights, I fight with her."
The doctor hesitated, but one look at Lorenzo's eyes was enough to understand—he wasn't going anywhere.
Elena screamed again, her body trembling, her voice echoing through the mansion. Lorenzo held her hand, whispering her name over and over, trying not to cry.
"Just one more push, Mrs. DeLuca," the doctor said calmly.
Lorenzo kissed her forehead. "Come on, amore. One last fight."
She gathered the last bit of her strength, tears rolling down her cheeks, and screamed one final time—then the air was filled with the sound of a baby crying.
For a moment, silence covered the room. Elena's head fell back against the pillow, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to breathe. Lorenzo was frozen until the doctor smiled and said softly,
"Congratulations, Mr. DeLuca. It's a baby boy."
Lorenzo's knees almost gave out. He stared at the tiny child the nurse handed to him—so small, so fragile. His hands trembled as he held the baby close, his eyes filling with tears.
He turned to Elena, his voice barely a whisper. "Look, amore… look at our son."
Elena smiled weakly, her eyes shining. "He looks like you," she said softly.
"No," Lorenzo whispered, sitting beside her. "He looks like us."
She reached out her hand, touching the baby's tiny fingers. He wrapped his little hand around her finger, and she burst into tears. "My baby… we did it," she whispered.
Lorenzo leaned forward, kissing her forehead gently. "You did it, Elena. You're my strength. You're everything I ever needed."
Hours later, when everyone had left the room, Lorenzo sat by the window, holding his son in his arms. The baby was sleeping peacefully, and Elena was resting quietly on the bed.
Lorenzo whispered softly, "You'll never know pain, little one. Not like we did. I'll protect you and your mother with my life. No more blood, no more war—only peace."
He stood and walked to the bed, laying the baby beside Elena. She opened her eyes just a little and smiled.
"What should we name him?" Lorenzo asked quietly.
Elena thought for a moment. "Let's name him Leonardo, after your grandfather."
Lorenzo smiled, tears glistening in his eyes. "Leonardo DeLuca. The name of a survivor."
The baby stirred a little, his small hand brushing against Elena's arm. Lorenzo sat beside her and pulled her close, whispering, "Thank you for giving me a reason to live again."
Outside, the wind blew softly through the garden—the same garden where they once fought, laughed, and healed.
Inside the mansion, there was no more gunfire, no more shouting, no more fear. Only the quiet sound of a baby breathing and two hearts finally at peace.
The war was over.
Their love had won.
And this time, forever began.