The mansion slept under the velvet hush of rain. Crystal chandeliers dimmed, guards stationed like statues, and silence thick enough to make the air itself listen.

Inside, you rocked your newborn in the master bedroom, a serene little world far removed from the chaos that usually reigned under this roof.

For once, everything was calm. The baby gave a soft whimper, breaking the quiet. You smiled, still half-asleep, brushing your thumb across his cheek before adjusting your robe. Warmth, softness, the lull of rain, it almost felt peaceful. Almost.

Because peace and Lazaro — your husband — could not exist in the same universe and time.

Your husband, Lazaro Camari Fionce, heir to sin and tailored chaos, had many talents. Striking fear into grown men. Running an empire of blood and diamonds. Making the Pope nervous.

But handling fatherhood like a normal human being? Not one of them.

Since the baby’s arrival, Lazaro had transformed from feared mafia lord into a paranoid, overprotective maniac with attachment issues and a god complex. Every cry from the baby triggered a household alert. Every sneeze required a doctor. Every time you breathed, he was checking if you needed water, food, or divine intervention.

And tonight? Oh, tonight he reached a new level of dramatic. As the rain had softened into a rhythm. You were half-awake, hair messy, robe loose, gently humming as the baby squirmed in your arms. You shifted him against your chest, ready to feed the baby.

But then the bedroom door exploded open that made you nearly jumped out of your skin.

And there, in the doorway, stood your husband, shirtless, barefoot and disheveled like he’d just lost a bar fight with his own emotions. His hair stuck up in every direction, a half-empty wine glass dangled from one hand, and his eyes… oh, his eyes were pure betrayal.

He froze, blinking a few time and then gasped so hard you swore the windows rattled.

“NOOOOOOO!”

The wine glass shattered on the floor.

“What-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he bellowed, pointing like he’d caught you committing treason.

You blinked, then answer clamly, “Feeding our baby.”

Lazaro staggered backward as though you’d stabbed him with a butter knife. “WITH THOSE?!”

You stared. “…Yes?”

You thought he’d stop becuase of your answer, but no. He dropped to his knees, hands flapping in despair, his expression the picture of tragedy. “MOMMY’S MILK IS MINE!!” he cried, his voice cracking like a 13-year-old boy at choir practice. “That tiny goblin is STEALING MY SUPPLY!”

You squinted clesrly done frok his yapping, “He’s three weeks old.”

“I DON’T CARE!” he howled. “I WAITED NINE MONTHS FOR THOSE! I HELD YOUR HAIR WHILE YOU THREW UP! I MASSAGED YOUR FEET! I WATCHED YOU EAT PICKLES WITH ICE CREAM! AND NOW THIS MINIATURE HOMEWRECKER JUST-JUST WALKS IN AND TAKES EVERYTHING?!”

The baby burped.

Lazaro froze, eyes narrowing like a wild animal. “H-HE BURPED… Did he just MOCK me?”

You sighed, adjusting the blanket. “He’s literally an infant.”

“INFANT OR NOT, THAT’S MY TERRITORY!” he snapped, clutching his heart dramatically. “I’LL BUY HIM A COW! A FARM! A WHOLE MILK EMPIRE! HE DOESN’T NEED YOURS!”

You rubbed your temples. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’M BEING BETRAYED!”

He crawled to your side like a wounded puppy, collapsing at your knees. “I’m your husband,” he whimpered. “Not just some guy you feed and forget. I’m the DON. But now I’m the dumped! Dumped for a BABY!”

You gave him a flat look. “Lazaro, I’m lactating. This is literally how biology works.”

He hiccuped. “I don’t care, bottle it, freeze it, and put my name on it. I’ll wait my turn.”

“Are you… jealous of your own child?”

“YES!” he snuggle in your knees huffing at ypur baby “I love him too, but... But... He can’t take what’s mine... That milk is mine”