False Alarms

**Sofia's POV:**

Dr. Morrison's private clinic was located in a nondescript building downtown—the kind of place that catered exclusively to people who valued discretion and could afford to pay for it. The doctor herself was already waiting when we arrived, clearly having been called ahead. She was an older woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and steady hands that had probably seen more bullet wounds than baby deliveries.

Ace carried me inside despite my protests that I could walk, his face a mask of controlled terror. He set me carefully on the examination table and immediately began pacing the small room like a caged predator.

Dr. Morrison worked quickly but thoroughly, her movements efficient and professional. I could see Ace struggling not to bark orders at her, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he watched her every move with laser focus.

"Braxton Hicks contractions," Dr. Morrison finally confirmed, pulling off her gloves and offering me a reassuring smile. "False labor. Your body is preparing for the real thing, which is completely normal at this stage."

She directed her next words at Ace, probably sensing he was the one spiraling. "The baby is perfectly healthy. Strong heartbeat. Good positioning. Everything is progressing exactly as it should."

"You're absolutely certain?" Ace's voice was rough, strained in a way I'd rarely heard.

"Positive." She pulled up the ultrasound image on her screen. "See? He's doing great. Moving around, sucking his thumb. Completely unfazed by all the excitement."

I felt the knot of anxiety in my chest finally start to loosen as I watched our son on the screen. He did look peaceful, completely oblivious to the chaos he'd just caused.

"But you're at thirty-four weeks now, Sofia," Dr. Morrison continued, turning back to me. "It could happen any time in the next few weeks. Make sure you have everything ready—hospital bag packed, route planned to the delivery location, your birth plan finalized."

"We will," I promised, already mentally going through the checklist we'd been working on.

Dr. Morrison handed me some instructions and reminded us to call if anything changed, then left us alone in the exam room. For a moment, neither of us moved. Ace just stood there, his back to me, shoulders rigid with tension.

"Ace?"

He turned slowly, and the expression on his face nearly broke me. Raw fear mixed with relief, vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. Without a word, he crossed to me and pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.

"I can't lose you," he whispered into my hair, his voice breaking. "I can't. If something happened to you or Jaxon—"

"Nothing's going to happen." I wrapped my arms around him as best I could with my belly between us, feeling him tremble against me. "We're okay. We're both okay. I promise."

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing uneven. "I need you to understand something. You and Jaxon—you're everything to me. Everything. If I had to choose between running my empire and keeping you safe, I'd burn it all down without a second thought."

My breath caught at the intensity in his voice. "Ace—"

"I mean it." His eyes opened, blazing with fierce emotion. "The Hernandez family, the territory, the power—none of it matters if I don't have you. None of it means anything."

I reached up to cup his face, feeling the slight stubble scratching my palms. "You have me. You'll always have me. Through everything—the fear, the uncertainty, all of it. I'm not going anywhere."

He kissed me then, deep and desperate, like he was trying to convince himself I was real. When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard.

"Let's go home," I whispered.

The drive back was quieter, less frantic. Ice had calmed down considerably, though I noticed he still checked the rearview mirror more frequently than usual. Dante sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at us with barely concealed relief on his normally stoic face.

I leaned against Ace, exhausted from the emotional roller coaster. His arm was secure around me, his other hand resting protectively on my belly where Jaxon had resumed his acrobatic routine.

"I'm sorry I scared you," I murmured against his chest.

"Don't." His voice was firm but gentle. "Don't apologize for something you couldn't control."

"You're going to have to get used to scares though," I said softly, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. "Babies are scary. Toddlers are downright terrifying. And teenagers—"

"Don't even finish that sentence." But I felt him relax slightly, heard the hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "Our son is never dating. I'm locking him in a tower like some reverse Rapunzel until he's at least thirty-five."

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound bursting out of me and filling the car. "Pretty sure that's not how parenting works."

"I'm a mafia boss. I make my own rules."

"Mmm. We'll see how that works out for you when you're facing down a determined toddler who's just discovered the word 'no.' My money's on the toddler."

Ice snorted from the front seat. "I'd pay to see that."

"Shut up and drive," Ace muttered, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Just saying, Boss. You might be scary as hell to grown men, but a three-year-old? They don't give a shit about your reputation."

Even Dante cracked a smile at that, shaking his head. I felt Ace's chest rumble with quiet laughter beneath my cheek, and the sound filled me with warmth. These moments—when he let himself be light, let himself laugh and joke and just be—these were the moments I treasured most.

Back at the mansion, Ace once again insisted on carrying me upstairs despite my protests about being perfectly capable of walking. "Humor me," he said, already scooping me up.

"You're impossible."

"You love it."

"Unfortunately, yes."

Ice and Dante disappeared to their own rooms after extracting promises from both of us to call if we needed anything. Ace carried me straight to our bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us with his foot.

He set me gently on the bed—so carefully, as if I might shatter—and immediately knelt to remove my heels.

"I can do it myself," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. My feet were killing me.

"I know. Let me do it anyway."