My Childhood Bully is a Mafia Boss-Chapter 84

Giovanni

I burst through the sterile doors, my breath catching in my throat. I was in the delivery room, and in front of me was the fiery redhead, Slava’s little girlfriend, screaming her head off.

"Cara," I started, my voice stuttering, "I’m here."

"Here? Here!" She spat the word like venom, her eyes blazing with a fury that singed my very soul. "Giovanni, you bumbling fool! What are you even doing here? Why...are you here?"

The medical staff circled around her like a well-oiled machine, their movements precise, their focus unwavering. They must have seen this play out a thousand times, indifferent to the personal drama unfolding before them.

"Helping" was all I could muster, but it was lost, a mere whisper against the storm of her anger.

"Helping?" Ellie’s laugh was sharp. "What the fuck for? Get out!"

I should get out. What the hell was I doing anyway? I brought her to my house to get the damn codes out of her, and now, I was over here doing...what exactly?

"Stand next to her, Sir. I will tell you what to do next," the doctor said and all thoughts of leaving fled my mind. I wanted to stay and see through this. For whatever reason.

Her curses didn’t wane, but I tuned them out, focusing on the rhythm of her breaths and the clenching of her fists.

Should I hold her hand? I saw in a movie once that’s what you were supposed to do when you help people give birth.

"Deep breaths, Ellie," one of the nurses said, though she likely heard none of it.

"Shut up, just shut up!" Her voice broke, raw and ragged.

I leaned in closer, a hand hovering above her arm, unsure if my touch would be a comfort or a spark to more fury. "You’re doing great," I murmured, dodging another volley of verbal daggers.

"Great? You think this is great?" The sneer in her voice could slice through steel.

I smiled at her. Mamma Mia, I’ve never seen a woman get so angry!

"Focus, Ellie. Almost there." I said.

"Focus?" She spat the word like venom. "When I am done with this, I will kill you."

Oh, she is feisty!

"Look!" A nurse pointed, and I shifted my gaze, and time stopped.

There it was—the baby’s head, crowning, a sliver of new life fighting its way into the world.

"Keep pushing!" The command came from the doctor.

"Pushing! That’s all I’ve been doing!" Ellie retorted angrily.

I watched, every muscle tensed, as the top of the baby’s head emerged further with each of Ellie’s Herculean efforts.

"Push, mi amore, you can do it!" I encouraged, suddenly feeling joy erupting from within me. I had killed many before but never helped bring someone out in the world.

"Shut up, Giovanni! Just... shut up!" Her fingers gripped the front of my gown, knuckles white, her body convulsing with the effort of each push.

I took her hand in mine and squeezed it. I wanted to hold her and maybe kiss her a little. But I also knew kissing her now would be a bad idea. She might bite my tongue off.

"Almost there," a nurse said, her eyes fixed on Ellie’s progress.

"Can’t... can’t do this..." Ellie’s voice wavered.

"You are doing it, mia cara. You’re incredible." The words fell from my lips with sincerity that surprised even me.

"Feels like... punishment...for letting that asshole Slava fuck me," she managed between gritted teeth.

"Ah, si, I agree," I admitted, earning a death glare from my little redheaded firecracker.

"Here comes another one, deep breaths," coaxed the doctor, his hands poised and ready.

"Deep breaths," I echoed, feeling useless next to the professionals yet compelled to stay by Ellie’s side. My heart hammered against my chest.

I was Giovanni Leones, and I never got nervous, but this...this was the most nerve-wracking moment of my entire life.

Ellie gave out a final outcry, and soon, I heard the sound of a baby crying.

"Congratulations," the doctor announced, his voice a beacon of triumph amidst the chaos. "It’s a beautiful baby girl."

Ellie’s head lolled to one side, her face ghostly pale against the stark white of the hospital pillow. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she slipped into unconsciousness, a silent surrender to the exhaustion that claimed her.

I watched as the nurse cleaned the baby and bundled her in a blanket. And then, she walked toward me.

"Here you go," she said, her words clipped as she thrust the bundle into my arms.

My hands, which had thrown punches and shot bullets, now cradled something far more delicate—a tiny, fragile baby. Her skin was red and wrinkled, her head full of black hair.

"Careful," the nurse instructed, her gaze scrutinizing my awkward hold. "Support her head."

I adjusted my arms. She was light, nearly weightless.

"Err...ciao," I murmured, my voice unsteady. Her tiny fingers, impossibly small, grasped at the air.

"Keep her warm," another voice commanded. Someone was moving in my peripheral vision, but I barely registered their presence. All that mattered was the infant in my arms, the steady rhythm of her breathing syncing with my own.

"Is she... is she okay?" I stuttered.

"Perfectly healthy," the doctor replied, a smile in her voice as she turned his attention to Ellie.

I looked down at the baby, her eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings, innocence personified. In that instant, I understood the depth of Ellie’s pain and how strong she was.

"Sign here, please," the doctor said, sliding a clipboard with a birth certificate toward me. His hand hovered over a line marked ’Father’s Signature’.

I blinked, the sharp scent of antiseptic stinging my nostrils. My gaze flickered from the document to Ellie’s unconscious form, then down to the baby cradled in my arms.

"Uh," was all I managed, my brain scrambling. The pen was put into my hand, a gentle nudge against my palm. Without a thought, my name flowed across the paper—Giovanni Leones—in ink as black as the uncertainty that filled me.

"Congratulations," the doctor said, but his voice seemed distant, like an echo in a vast, empty hall.

I stared at the signature, my signature, on the line meant for someone else. It was done. A simple act of confusion, and suddenly I was...what?

A father?

"Ha!" The sound burst from me, a mix of disbelief and irony. I looked at the baby—my baby? No, not mine. But I signed the damn birth certificate like she belonged to me.

Oops!