Principessa of Chicago, page 25
Pain thundered through me, causing a cry of pure agony to escape from my lips. I didn’t care about the crying and shrieking—I had given up caring an hour or two ago when I had vomited from the pain.
I squeezed Alessandro’s so hard I felt his bones give out a cry of protest.
My husband rubbed my back. “Soon, my love. Soon you’ll hold our baby, and this will be nothing but a painful memory.”
“When?” I asked then laughed at the insanity of my question. Who the hell knew when?
More time passed—but no longer did I measure my life in seconds and minutes. But contractions. The space between them was my reprieve, but when the contractions got closer and closer, my breaks became very small.
“Deep breaths, Sophia,” cooed Dr. Parlatore. She felt around my stomach. “The baby is low and head down. This is good. Everything is going well, Sophia.”
“When does the epidural kick in?” I moaned.
Dr. Parlatore and Alessandro shared a look.
“You’ve already had the epidural, Sophia.” Said the doctor. “But it is no guarantee you won’t feel pain.”
“Then get me another one!”
Tears ran down my face. I had imagined my epidural to knock my pain out for the entirety of labour. Instead, it had lasted a few hours and only numbed the right side of my body. I was forced to rely on the gas and Alessandro’s hands–neither which took away the pain.
This labour was already painful and long enough.
The contractions had started the day before on the front step. I had thought they were terrible, but now I mourned those early contractions–they weren’t anything compared to real labour. Beppe had freaked out but managed to get me to the hospital. Alessandro had met us there, his hair wild and eyes panicked.
I was two weeks early–not early enough for concern, but early enough that they had induced me straightaway. Apparently, first babies were meant to take their time and it was second and third babies that slipped out. My baby, clearly, hadn’t gotten the memo.
When I had reached seven centimetres dilated, Dr. Parlatore had been called and preparations for the birth had been underway.
Another contraction hit and I doubled over in pain, leaning onto my knees to stay above the floor and howling. Dita wiped at my neck and forehead, trying to comfort me. She had braided my hair before to keep it from knotting but kept having to redo it due to my constant sweating and movement.
Then after what felt like hours, Dr. Parlatore called the attending midwife into the room. She said, “You need to get onto the bed, please, Sophia. I need to check you.”
I did as I told, spreading my legs for the doctor. She checked to see how close the baby was and the position.
Dr. Parlatore nodded and said, “Okay, Sophia, we’re going to start pushing. I need you to give everything you can while I count to 10. Once I reach 10, you can have a break.”
Push? I felt exhaustion in my bones. Felt nothing but pain and tiredness. I didn’t have enough strength left to push this baby out.
“I can’t.” I said. “Just get me c-section.”
“Yes, you can.” Dr. Parlatore told me. “And you will.”
I looked over to Alessandro, who was staring at me with dark eyes. I grabbed his arm, clinging to him. “Bring the car around. We’re leaving.”
“No, no, we’re staying.” He wiped my forehead.
A sob escaped through my lips. “I don’t think I can do this.”
He leaned over me, cutting us off from the rest of the world. “You can do this, Sophia. You’ve made it this far. The rest will be a piece of cake.”
I rolled my eyes. “Get out of my face.” I looked up at Dr. Parlatore. “Okay, okay, I’m ready.”
I leaned back on the bed, legs spread, and arms braced, heaving through another contraction. They felt like pulsing pains now—still severe but with no breaks. Clutching my stomach, I braced my legs on either side of the bed and steadied myself.
Alessandro encouraged me from the side, wiping my sweaty forehead, while Dita told me to suck it up and push. Steady and comforting presences. I could see the midwife preparing the little bed for the baby, a towel in her hands.
Her confident stance, the I’ve-Done-This-Hundred-Times look in her eyes, made me feel a little better.
“Okay, Sophia, I need you to give everything you’ve got.”
“I don’t have much left.” But I shoved my heels into the mattress and pushed.
I pushed and pushed and pushed, until I was gasping and sobbing. Until I had pooped myself (which Dita honourably cleaned up) and pushed until my body couldn’t go anymore.
“I can’t—I can’t.” I cried. “I can’t get them out.”
“Yes, you can.” Dr. Parlatore told me. “This is the worst part.”
Alessandro kissed my cheek, gripping my hand. “You’re so strong, Sophia. You’ve got this. You’re so close.”
You have to do this, Sophia, I told myself. Get this baby out. Get it out now.
And then go on the pill so you never have to do this ever again.
I heaved deeply. In and out. In and out.
I summoned everything left inside of me, braced myself and pushed.
A wail left me as I pushed and shoved. I pressed down so hard on my body that it would be forced to obey my will. It felt like hours and minutes, it could’ve been one year or hundred years. Time was nothing to me—only breathing and pushing was my melody.
Something deep inside me took over. I pushed away the others, holding myself and clutching onto the bed. It groaned in protest beneath me.
Fire burst from me and I could feel the baby—
“Head’s out, Sophia. Keep going.”
Maybe I was screaming, maybe I wasn’t.
Who knew?
I didn’t even know I was reaching out, between my legs, until I felt something slimy in my grip. I put my hand beneath the babe’s head and gave one last thunderous shove. Then another and then—A heaviness fell onto my hand and I moved, needing to see—to feel—
A bright and sharp cry filled the room.
With both hands, I pressed the baby to my chest, crying into them as they did to me. Blood covered us both, but I did not care. The baby fit perfectly to me, a puzzle piece that clicked just right. My hands had been made to hold them.
Dr. Parlatore rubbed the babe with a blanket and checked between the legs.
“It’s a boy.”
“A boy.” I laughed. “My boy, my son.”
I looked over at my husband. Tears filled his black eyes and he radiated pride. He pressed his hand to the baby in my arms, his fingers shaking.
I think everybody was crying but I couldn’t check.
For my eyes latched onto my baby for the first time and I could not look away.
We were set up in the bed. The babe was washed quickly, rubbed of blood, and then placed immediately back against my skin. I clutched him to my chest as we laid in bed together, unable to tear my eyes off him. He had stopped crying and was instead trying to crack open his eyes and look around.
“I can’t believe it’s a boy,” Alessandro whispered when we were left alone. “A boy. My son.”
“It’s a boy.” I repeated.
“A boy.” He covered his mouth. “Our son.”
“Would you like to hold him?”
Alessandro just nodded.
I didn’t really want to give him up just yet, but Alessandro hadn’t gotten to hold him yet. The baby was half-covered under the blanket and my hands. We had to work together to peel him off my chest and wrap him up.
I adjusted myself, sitting up a bit straighter and moving the blanket out of the way. He stretched his arms out, so gently and carefully. Slowly, I placed the baby in his arms, adjusting the blanket so his little alien face was visible.
Alessandro looked down at his son.
Love at first sight.
There was no other way to describe it. He took one look at his son and fell in love.
“Oh, Sophia, look what you made,” he whispered.
I nodded. “He’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”
And he was. So small and tiny, with a little nose and tiny lips and miniature eyes. His head could fit into the palm of my hand and his foot wasn’t even the size of my thumb. How he could be so small and alive was amazing to me—so small and yet strong and thriving and looking around, following our voices.
“He’s awake.” Alessandro said in awe.
I pulled myself up, taking in the baby’s face. My son had peeled open his eyes, little blue ones, and was glancing blearily around.
“He’s looking around.” I whispered. “I don’t think he’s happy to be here.”
“Me too.” He agreed. Alessandro pressed a careful finger to the little frown on my son’s forehead. “My grumpy boy.”
Compared to my husband, he was comically small. Like a doll.
Alessandro looked to me. “Thank you.”
“We both made him.”
“No—no—you held him for nine months and brought him into this world. Thank you.”
We both stared at him a little longer, totally entranced.
“He looks just like you.” I didn’t mean to sound jealous–but I couldn’t help it. “He’s got your nose and forehead and lips.”
Alessandro peered down at him, cocking his head to the side in interest. “He does a little bit, doesn’t he?”
“He’s got your temper, it looks like.”
My husband flashed me a brief grin. “Unlucky for you.”
I huffed and stroked my son’s soft head. “I think you mean, lucky me. Can you believe we made the cutest baby in the entire world?”
“Not biased?”
“Not even a little bit.”
We stared at him for a few more minutes.
Alessandro asked, “What will we call him?”
“Dante. After your mother.” I said.
My husband snapped his head up to me, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. He gathered himself quickly. “Then his middle name should be Antonio. After your mother.”
I smiled and leaned over my baby. “Then his name is Dante Antonio Rocchetti. And his life shall be glorious.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
The soft beeping of the machines was the only sound in the room as Dante and I laid down together. Alessandro had fallen asleep in a chair in the corner of the room, not looking comfortable at all, but too exhausted to stay awake.
I held Dante in my arms, watching him sleep. I had tried to fall asleep and had slept successfully for a few hours, but I kept waking up. My thoughts had focused onto one single thing: my son. Every thought I had, even in my dreams, had centred around him.
Was he happy? What was he doing? Is he breathing? Having a bad dream?
Yeah, I thought, brushing his little nose. Sleeping wasn’t going to be achievable anytime soon.
Dante blinked slowly, his little face scrunching up.
“Oh, did Mama wake you up?” I whispered in the dark. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, darling.”
He didn’t, just continued to wake up. He began to wriggle in his wrap, not looking pleased.
“You’re grumpy–like your daddy.” I mused, loosening the wrap a little bit. He didn’t stop wriggling. “What’s the matter? Why are you wriggling?”
Then I smelt it.
I covered my nose. “Dante.” I gasped. “Is that coming from you? That smell from my angel?”
Dante relaxed.
“Oh, okay.” I sniffed him, and then immediately regretted it. “That’s...that’s disgusting. Well...Mama already changed a diaper today. Let’s wake Daddy.”
I picked up a pillow and ditched it at Alessandro, careful not to disturb Dante. Alessandro started as soon as the pillow hit him, his eyes snapping to me immediately.
“Do you mind passing me that pillow?” I asked innocently.
He rose from his seat, stretching out his joints. “You okay? Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Dante and I were talking about you. And you know what he told me? That he wants you to change his diaper.”
Alessandro snorted. “Did he now–Christ, he stinks.” He covered his nose with his hand, expression twisting.
“Don’t say that about our baby.” He shot me a look. “But you’re right. Dante is–Our son is part stinkbug.” I tinkled his belly and he wriggled happily. “That’s right. I’m talking about you!”
Alessandro scooped him up, resting him in the crook of his arm. I watched as he changed Dante–who was not pleased and cried the entire time.
“Why is his poo so weird?” My husband wondered, taking a moment to eye the diaper in horror.
“Newborns have yellow and black poo. There shouldn’t be a lot.”
“There isn’t.” Alessandro changed him, then wrapped him back up. Dante seemed to settle with a dry diaper, his little eyelids fluttering close. “Ah, back to sleep then, my boy. You’ve been fed, done your poo and now it’s bedtime.”
Alessandro brought him back over to me, passing him into my arms. I held him tight, pressing him against my chest.
“I checked out the other babies in the nursery and we have the best-looking one.” I told him.
He sighed, though he sounded amused.
“I’ll sit up with him if you want to go to sleep,” he assured me.
I peered up at him. “Really? I don’t want some stranger watching him.”
“The midwives are not unqualified strangers, but I see your point.” Alessandro took him back, gripping him with both hands. “We’ll be right here. We won’t leave the room.”
I watched as Alessandro sat down with him, feeling unsure. But I was exhausted... Eventually, I laid down in the bed, snuggling up to the pillows. I watched my two boys, listening to Alessandro whisper silly nothings to him.
I smiled, falling asleep quickly and without any resistance.
The next day, the Rocchettis arrived.
All of them came baring gifts and huge excited grins. The moment they spotted me, I was covered in kisses and Italian praises. Enrico gifted me a huge teddy bear that read IT’S A BOY! Everyone else just settled for pretty bouquets.
Don Piero got to hold Dante first, grinning down at him. “Ah, a strong boy. Good job, Sophia.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased.
Alessandro watched his grandfather closely as he had his turn with the baby.
All the other Rocchettis got to hold Dante, as well. Santino and Enrico were delighted, whereas Carlos Sr. just offered me a polite congratulations. When Dante began to fuss, he was passed back into my arms.
“He wants his mama,” Carlos Jr. said, giving up all liability for the crying baby.
“When are you guys checking out?” Don Piero asked.
“In a minute.” Alessandro said. “They’re just printing out his certificate to say he passed some sort of test?”
“The car seat test.” I added.
All of them nodded, looking confused. I didn’t elaborate.
After a few lewd comments Alessandro’s way about waiting six weeks, the men began packing up the presents and our stuff. They worked together in silent tandem, fitting together like a puzzle.
It was a shame there was so much rift within the family. They may be able to hide it from the Outfit, present a perfect front, but this was not a group of people who felt any sort of loyalty to each other outside the duty of blood.
“Why don’t you go and bring the car around?” I asked Alessandro, as I struggled to get out of the bed.
He nodded curtly, his eyes roaming me for any sort of discomfort. He’d had to help me shower earlier–both an awkward, funny and exhausting adventure.
“Let’s go,” he told his family. “We’ll pack the car.”
“Have you installed the car seat?” Toto asked.
“Of course, Dad.” Alessandro said, irritated.
“Did you do it properly?”
Alessandro gave his father a warning look, the two bickering as they left. The other’s followed, all carrying presents beneath their arms. Don Piero stayed behind, eyeing Dante.
“Everything okay?” I asked, glancing briefly at the hallway outside the door. I could spot Beppe and Oscuro guarding it, their dark forms silently threatening everyone who passed by.
“Everything’s fine.” Don Piero said, giving me a warm grandfather-like smile. “I never thought I would live to see my great-grandson. I am very pleased.”
“I’m glad.” I looked away, trying to hide the fact that I knew what he planned to do with his great-grandchild. I held Dante tighter in my arms, slipping on my sliders.
Don Piero crossed his arms. “I am surprised with the name.”
“Because Danta has such a foul reputation?” I inquired.
“That’s exactly why.”
I stroked my son’s forehead. “Maybe the new generation of Rocchettis can be better than the past ones.”
“I have hoped that for many decades.”
“And been disappointed?” I joked, wrapping my dressing gown around me–very slowly. I had to do it one arm at a time, without dropping my son. “Worry about your own children, Piergiorgio, I will worry about mine.”
His eyes gleamed. “I worry about every single Rocchetti, including you.”
“Me? I have the most common sense out of the lot.” Not exactly true.
Don Piero just smiled and glanced out the window, looking pensive. His dark eyes saw something I could not. “War is coming, Sophia.”
I stood up straighter, holding my son tighter. “You’re certain?”
“I can feel it in the air. The restlessness beginning to grow, the attacks, the shifts of power. The world will look different next year–and the year after that.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, trying to hide my nerves. A war? My heart ached for my son. How would I protect him?
Don Piero offered no advice. “I have lived through many wars, but I'm not sure I'll make it through this one. The Mobs, Bratva, Costa Nostra, Triad, Yakuza, Corsican Union and Cartels–hell, even the government is getting ready. Everyone is gearing up, growing stronger.”
