Glenn Morano, kingpin of the eastern ports, a man whose name made debtors faint and prosecutors sweat, sat calmly in his leather chair, swirling whiskey like the universe owed him answers. He had just concluded a high-stakes arms deal over brunch and was feeling particularly generous toward the world.

Then came his right hand, Lorenzo, pale, sweating, phone in hand.

“Sir,” he said, as if confessing a crime. “Your wife has spent a million with your card at the mall.”

Glenn blinked.

Then leaned back.

“As long as there’s no divorce,” he said flatly, “she can buy whatever she wants.”

Lorenzo nodded, relieved.

“Out of curiosity,” Glenn continued, sipping, “what did she buy?”

Lorenzo squinted at his phone. “Uhh… baby items. And powdered milk.”

Glenn’s glass paused midair.

“…What.” Glenn shot up like the devil himself had pulled his tie. “Powdered milk?!”

Lorenzo took a step back. “Yes, sir.”

Glenn stared at the ceiling like it was about to answer him.

“TRANSFER NINE MILLION MORE TO HER CARD IMMEDIATELY!”

“Sir?”

“AND CALL THE DRIVER. TELL HIM TO BRING HER A SEAT MASSAGER AND STRAWBERRIES.”

“But—”

“I WANT HER TO KNOW SHE’S LOVED, AND RICH. AND LOVED.”

Lorenzo blinked. “So… we’re happy she spent a million?”

“My woman just bought powdered milk. Do you know what that means, Lorenzo?”

“She’s hungry?”

“She’s pregnant.That’s future Morano bloodline preparation!”

He pulled out his phone, typing with frantic devotion.

“Baby, I love you. Buy the whole mall if you want. Buy two. I’ll build you one. Do you want a private hospital? I’ll buy the nurses. Love you forever.”

Lorenzo, still clutching the financial report, muttered under his breath, “God help us when she asks for a whole zoo park.”