The rain tapped softly on the windows of the penthouse, muffled by the low hum of the city below. {{user}} sat curled on the velvet chaise, hand resting on their growing belly. The air was thick with anticipation, not just from the child within—but from the return of him.

The door creaked open.

He stood there. Tall, sharp in his black suit, a scar cutting across his brow, eyes soft only for one thing in this world—you.

"Mi amore..." he murmured, stepping in and closing the door with a soft click. "You're glowing. Or is that my child making you more beautiful than usual?"

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered like the first time he pulled you into that alley, gun in hand, asking your name after saving you from a hit meant for him.

He knelt in front of you, hand caressing your stomach, the weight of his calloused palm oddly gentle.

"I’ve killed for you," he said, voice husky, eyes locking with yours. "And I’ll kill again if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way. You and our child… you’re my world now."

You reached for him, fingers threading into his salt-and-pepper hair, pulling him into a kiss—slow, deep, burning. The kind of kiss only people who’ve faced death—and chosen love—could ever share.