Beneath the Stars

**Sofia's POV:**
The main course arrived on elegant white plates—perfectly seared steak for Ace, grilled salmon for me. The chef knew I couldn't eat rare meat while pregnant, and I appreciated the thoughtfulness that Ace had undoubtedly insisted upon. "You're staring," I said softly, catching Ace's gaze lingering on my face rather than his food. "Can't help it." His lips curved into that rare, genuine smile that still made my heart skip. "Eight months ago, I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again. Now you're here, carrying our son, looking absolutely breathtaking under the stars." I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Even after all this time, his words still affected me like the first time he'd called me beautiful. "You almost died, Ace. Multiple times." My voice dropped to barely a whisper. "The doctors said—" "I know what they said." He reached across the table, his fingers finding mine with that familiar warmth. "Fifteen percent chance. But I had something to live for." His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "Someone to live for. Two someones now." I squeezed his hand, feeling the familiar weight of the bracelet he'd given me—the one with the key. Trust. That's what it meant. And despite everything, despite the violence and darkness that surrounded our lives like shadows we couldn't escape, I trusted this man with every fiber of my being. "Eat your food before it gets cold," I teased, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment. "You paid enough for this dinner to feed a small country." Ace chuckled, the sound low and warm, vibrating through the evening air. "Only the best for my queen." But as he cut into his steak, I noticed the slight tremor in his hand—so subtle that anyone else would miss it. But I wasn't anyone else. I knew every tell, every crack in his armor. "What's wrong?" I asked quietly, my fork pausing halfway to my mouth. "Nothing." "Ace." I leveled him with a look that said I wasn't buying it. "We promised. No more lies. No more walls." He set down his knife and fork with careful precision, his jaw tightening in that way it did when he was wrestling with something he didn't want to say. For a long moment, he just stared at his plate, and I waited. I'd learned that pushing Ace only made him retreat further into himself, back into the darkness he'd lived in before me. "I'm terrified," he finally admitted, his voice barely audible above the soft classical music floating through the rooftop. "Of being a father. Of fucking it up beyond repair. Of becoming—" He cut himself off abruptly, but I knew exactly what he meant. "You're not your father," I said firmly, my voice cutting through his fear like a blade. "How do you know?" His blue eyes met mine, and I saw the raw vulnerability there—the fear he tried so desperately to hide from the world. "What if there's something fundamentally broken in me? What if I hurt him without meaning to? What if the violence is genetic, coded into my DNA, and I pass it on to—" "Stop." I stood up carefully, my belly making the movement awkward and ungraceful, and walked around to his side of the table. Ace immediately pushed his chair back, pulling me onto his lap despite my protests about crushing him. "Listen to me. You are nothing like Kai. You've spent your entire life fighting against becoming him. You're gentle with me, even when you're angry. You're patient when I'm impossible. You care so deeply it scares you." "I've killed people, Sofia. Hundreds of them." His voice was hollow, haunted. "I've tortured men until they begged for death. I've burned buildings with people still inside. That's who I am." "No." I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me, to really see me. "That's what you've done to survive in a world you were born into. There's a difference. Our son will grow up knowing he's loved unconditionally. Knowing he's wanted desperately. Knowing his father would burn the world down to keep him safe." I pressed my forehead against his. "That's already infinitely more than you had." Ace's arms tightened around me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to this earth. His forehead dropped to rest against my shoulder, and I felt the shudder that ran through him. "What if I can't do it? What if I freeze up, or worse—" "Then we figure it out together." I ran my fingers through his dark hair, feeling him relax incrementally under my touch. "You're not alone anymore, remember? You have me. You have Ice and Dante. You have a family now, Ace. A real one." He lifted his head, and for a suspended moment, we just looked at each other. The restaurant noise faded away—the soft violin melody, the murmur of other diners living their normal, uncomplicated lives, even Ice and Dante's quiet conversation at their nearby table. It was just us, suspended in this perfect bubble of intimacy and understanding. Then I felt it. A sharp, vicious tightening across my abdomen that stole my breath and made me gasp audibly. "Sofia?" Ace's entire body went rigid beneath me, every muscle tensing. "What's wrong? Talk to me." "I—" Another contraction, stronger this time, squeezing like a vice. My hand flew instinctively to my belly, pressing hard. "I don't know. It hurts." The fear that flashed across Ace's face would have been almost comical if I wasn't terrified myself. In one fluid motion, he stood, lifting me with him as if I weighed nothing despite my pregnant belly. "Ice! Dante! Now!" Both men materialized at our side within seconds, their relaxed expressions morphing instantly into high alert, hands moving toward concealed weapons. "What happened?" Ice demanded, his eyes scanning the rooftop for threats. "She's in pain." Ace's voice was tight, controlled, but I could feel the barely contained panic thrumming through him like electricity. "We need to get her to Dr. Morrison. Now." "Wait." I grabbed his arm, trying to breathe through the discomfort as it slowly eased. "It's passing. It might just be Braxton Hicks. The doctor said I'd get them closer to the due date." "Might?" Ace looked at me like I'd suggested we juggle knives. "We're not taking any chances. Not with you. Not with him." "Ace—" "No." His tone left absolutely no room for argument, and I saw the mafia boss emerge—cold, decisive, unyielding. "Dante, bring the car around to the back exit. Ice, make sure the route is clear. I want eyes on every corner between here and the clinic." The efficiency with which they moved was both impressive and terrifying. Within three minutes, I was in the back of our armored SUV, Ace's arm wrapped protectively around me while Ice drove with controlled urgency through the city streets. "Slow down," I muttered as we took a corner fast enough to make me grab the door handle. "You're going to kill us before we get there." "The baby—" "Is fine," I insisted, though another small contraction made me wince and press my hand harder against my belly. "They're irregular. Not consistent. Not real labor. Just false alarms." But Ace wasn't hearing it. His hand stayed pressed against my stomach, as if he could protect our son through sheer force of will. I'd never seen him this scared—not during the explosion when he almost died, not when facing his father with murderous intent, not even when I'd first told him I was pregnant and watched the color drain from his face. "He's going to be okay," I whispered, taking his trembling hand in mine. "We're both going to be okay. I promise." Ace didn't respond, but his grip tightened almost painfully, and I saw his jaw clench as Ice navigated through traffic with the kind of reckless precision that came from years of getaway driving. ---