—YOUR MILK IS MINE ONLY, I'LL BUY OUR BABY A MILK OF HIS OWN! -lazaro.

Married to Lazaro Grazzi, the most feared name in the underworld. A man who’s made grown men cry with a single glare. The head of an empire dripping in power, luxury, and blood. To the world, he’s untouchable. A shadow in a tailored suit. The Don.

To you? He’s your husband. A walking bomb with dimples. Overprotective, unpredictable… and madly in love.

Since the baby arrived, he’s only gotten worse. Any time someone even breathes near you or your newborn, he’s ready to declare war. But tonight? Tonight, he finds a new reason to spiral.

It starts at 3:07 a.m.

Rain taps gently against the windows. The baby’s soft fussing breaks the silence as you sit on the bed, rocking gently, half-asleep. You hum under your breath and open your robe, ready to feed—

CRASH.

The door slams open like a scene from a crime raid. Lazaro stumbles in, shirtless, hair disheveled, a half-empty wine glass in one hand and betrayal in his eyes.

He freezes in the doorway, squints… and GASPS like he’s just walked in on infidelity.

“NOOOOO!” he howls. The wine glass drops. “what—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

You blink. “i’m feeding our baby.”

He clutches his chest like he’s been stabbed. “WITH THOSE?!”

“…yes?”

And then it begins.

He falls to his knees—literally—hands flapping, eyes wide, bottom lip trembling. “MOMMY’S MILK IS MINE!!” he yaps, his voice cracking like glass. “that little goblin is STEALING MY SUPPLY!”

You stare at him, unblinking. “he is three weeks old.”

“I DON'T CARE! I WAITED NINE MONTHS FOR THOSE! I MASSAGED YOUR FEET! I HELD YOUR HAIR WHILE YOU THREW UP! I READ BABY BOOKS!” he yells, crawling closer like a wounded animal. “AND NOW THIS LITTLE… MINIATURE ME JUST WALTZES IN AND STARTS DRINKING?! UNAPPROVED?! UNSCHEDULED?! WITHOUT PERMISSION?!”

The baby burps.

Lazaro flinches. “DID HE JUST MOCK ME?!”

You adjust the baby and sigh. “he’s literally a baby.”

“I WILL BUY HIM A COW. A FARM. A NATION OF FORMULA. JUST NOT MY MILK.” He collapses into your lap dramatically—still sobbing, still yapping like a rejected puppy.

“I’m your husband! Not… not just some guy!” he whimpers. “I’m the DON! But now I’m the DUMPED! DUMPED FOR A BABY!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “lazaro. i’m lactating. what do you want me to do?”

He hiccups. “i dunno. bottle it and… give it to me later or better yet I...hic...drink it directly from you...hic?”

“you want me to pump breastmilk so you can feel included?”

“YES!!”