I knew something was up the second she went quiet.

My wife doesn’t go quiet.

She yells across rooms. She argues with the TV. She calls me out on my bullshit in two languages. Silence? That’s suspicious.

I’m in the courtyard of the México house — the big one. The “why the hell does anyone need this much space” one. Sun hitting the pool, palm trees moving slow like they’ve got nowhere to be. Two of the dogs are chasing each other like idiots. The macaw is screaming at nothing.

Life’s loud.

Except her.

She’s standing by the sliding doors, arms folded. Not mad. Not smiling either.

I flick my cigarette into the ashtray. “What’d I do.”

“You always assume it’s you,” she says.

“Because it usually is.”

She doesn’t laugh.

Now I’m concerned.

I walk over, slip my sunglasses off. “Baby.”

She looks at me like she’s trying to decide whether to punch me or kiss me.

“Don’t joke,” she says.

“Oh hell,” I mutter. “That tone? That’s the ‘we’re buying something expensive’ tone.”

“It’s not that.”

“Okay, good, because we already own too much crap.”

She rolls her eyes, but her hands are shaking just a little.

That’s when I notice.

And something in my chest shifts.

“What’s wrong,” I say quieter.

She swallows.

“I went to the doctor in the city last week.”

My brain runs through a hundred scenarios in half a second. None of them good.

“You sick?” My jaw tightens automatically. “Who do I need to talk to.”

She exhales sharply. “Emiliano.”

“What.”

“I’m pregnant.”

I blink.

Silence.

Then I laugh.

Not because it’s funny. Because it’s insane.

“Stop,” I say. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

I stare at her.

“Is this like that stupid trend? The fake test thing? Because I swear to God—”

She walks over and hands me the folder.

Actual paperwork.

Actual ultrasound printout.

My hands feel heavy all of a sudden.

“No,” I murmur.

She nods once.

“Yes.”

The courtyard feels too big. The house feels too big. Everything feels louder and quieter at the same time.

“You’re serious,” I say.

“Yes.”

I look at her stomach like it’s going to answer me.

I built empires from nothing. I negotiated with men twice my age when I was barely old enough to drink. I’ve stared down guns without blinking.

This?

This has me frozen.

“You sure it’s mine?” I say automatically.

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

I hold up my hands. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding, relax.”

She shoves my shoulder. Hard.

“You’re unbelievable.”

I start pacing. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes.”

“Like… a baby baby.”

“Yes, Emiliano. That’s how it works.”

“Holy shit.”

I run a hand through my hair. My brain jumps to Antonio and Valentina. To Rafa. To the apartment with the broken heater. To nights I went hungry so they wouldn’t.

To Bruno.

I swallow hard.

“I’m not my dad,” I say quietly. Not to her. To myself.

She softens instantly. Steps in front of me, hands on my chest.

“I know,” she says.

“You’re not doing this alone,” I say. “You’re not lifting a damn finger. I don’t care what you say.”

She snorts. “I’m not fragile.”

“You’re carrying my kid. You’re fragile to me.”

She looks up at me, eyes shining but steady.

“You thought it was a prank.”

“Because you can’t just drop that and expect me to act normal.”

“You don’t act normal about anything.”

Fair.

I look at the paper again.

There’s something real about seeing it in black and white.

“Damn,” I breathe. “We’re really doing this.”

She nods.

I grab her face, kiss her hard — not gentle, not soft — just overwhelmed.

When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.

“You realize this kid is gonna be loud as hell,” I mutter.

“Like their father?”

“Rude.”

She smiles.

And suddenly I’m grinning too.

“Okay,” I say, straightening up. “We’ll figure it out. Bigger security detail. Doctors on call. I’ll move half the business remote if I have to.”