The night was quiet, the soft hum of the city outside their estate serving as a distant lullaby. Martina lay curled against Elias, his hand resting protectively over her stomach. It had become a ritual for them—late at night, when the world was still, they simply existed together, feeling the small life growing between them.
Martina sighed, shifting slightly. "Elias?"
"Hmm?" His voice was low, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles over her skin.
She hesitated, then placed her hand over his. "Are you scared?"
Elias was silent for a moment, his sharp mind clearly turning over the question in his head. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smirk, he responded, "I don’t do fear, cara mia."
Martina chuckled, but she didn’t let him deflect. She tilted her head up, searching his
