CHAPTER 89: NAMES, NERVES AND NESTING

Aria had read that nesting was a natural instinct, but she never imagined it would take her over like a mission from the heavens. It began one morning when she woke up with an inexplicable need to rearrange everything. Not just her closet or the kitchen cabinets, but the entire house. Luca woke to the sound of furniture scraping across the floor and found her, eight months pregnant, trying to push a sofa by herself.

"Aria!" he barked, running over to stop her. "What are you doing?"

She looked up at him, hair tied in a messy bun, cheeks flushed, and eyes wild with determination. "The energy in this room is all wrong, Luca. The sofa has to face the window. The baby will need sunlight, and this" she pointed at the wall "this corner feels too cold."

He blinked. "The baby won’t care about feng shui."

"Maybe not," she said, pushing her lower lip out, "but I do."

He sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. "You’ve lost your mind, amore."

"Temporarily," she corrected. "Blame your child."

He laughed then, took her by the waist, and gently steered her to the couch. "Sit. I’ll move the furniture. You can supervise, commander."

She leaned back with a satisfied sigh, arms crossed, pretending to evaluate every angle while Luca single-handedly moved half the living room. Occasionally she’d make him stop just to tilt her head and say things like, "Maybe two inches more to the left," or "Hmm, no, a bit back."

By the time he was done, he was sweating and she was glowing.

"It’s perfect," she declared.

"You said that three positions ago," he grumbled but smiled anyway.

"Practice makes perfect," she teased.

Later that day, Luca found her sitting in the nursery, surrounded by stuffed animals, tiny clothes, and a baby monitor manual she was pretending to understand. The room had transformed completely since the first time they’d painted it together. Cream walls, pale blue curtains, and a rocking chair by the window where sunlight poured in like a blessing.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "You’ve made it beautiful."

She turned, her expression softening. "I want him to feel safe. Loved. Not like he was born into a war."

Luca stepped forward, crouching in front of her. "He will. Because he has you."

She brushed her fingers through his hair, her voice a whisper. "And you."

For a moment, the world was still, the chaos, the secrets, and the shadows of their past all falling away. There was only them and the small, growing life that had already changed everything.

Then Luca did something that made her laugh so hard she cried. He pulled a tiny, custom-made baby onesie from behind his back. Across the front, in bold letters, it read: Boss Baby.

Aria snorted. "Oh, no. You did not."

"Oh, yes," he said proudly. "He’s a Vitale. He was born to command."

She giggled, clutching the soft fabric to her chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love me for it."

"I do," she admitted, still smiling. "More because you’re cute when you’re corny."

Their evenings turned into a blend of tenderness and laughter. Luca read baby books out loud, though half the time he added his own commentary.

"’At eight months, your baby can hear sounds from outside the womb,’" he read. Then, in a softer tone, he pressed his lips to her belly. "Then hear this, little one. Your papa is not to be messed with."

Aria burst out laughing, swatting him playfully. "You’re going to scare him before he’s even born!"

"Good," Luca said with mock seriousness. "He’ll learn discipline early."

But when he spoke again, his voice softened into something almost reverent. "I can’t believe he’s really in there. That we made something this real."

Aria looked down, her eyes glistening. "I know. Sometimes I still can’t believe it either."

She reached for his hand and placed it over her belly just as the baby kicked. Luca’s eyes widened, wonder flooding his face. "He’s strong already."

"He takes after his father," she said softly.

That night, Luca couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, watching Aria breathe, her hand resting protectively over her belly. He thought about everything they had survived, the betrayals, the bullets, the endless fight for control, and for the first time, he felt something close to peace.

In the stillness, he whispered promises only the night could hear.

"I’ll give you the world," he murmured. "Both of you."

A few days later, Aria dragged him to a prenatal class. He tried to talk his way out of it, saying he was too busy and that his presence would "intimidate the instructor." Aria didn’t budge. "You’re coming," she said firmly. "You want to be a father, you learn how."

He regretted it the moment they walked into the pastel-colored room full of yoga balls and smiling couples. Luca, in his dark suit and watch worth more than the class itself, looked comically out of place.

The instructor clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone! Today we’re learning breathing techniques for labor!"

Aria smirked as Luca’s expression turned from confident to horrified.

They sat on the floor, cross-legged. When the instructor demonstrated the breathing, Luca leaned close to whisper, "You’re joking. She’s serious?"

"Very," Aria said, biting her lip to hide a grin.

He sighed and tried to follow along, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, except his version sounded more like a frustrated growl. The woman next to them jumped slightly.

Aria burst into laughter and couldn’t stop.

When class ended, Luca swore under his breath, muttering about never doing that again. But as they walked to the car, Aria looked up at him with that radiant smile that always melted him. "You were perfect," she said.

"I looked like an idiot."

"You looked like my idiot," she corrected, wrapping her arm around his waist.

The drive home was quiet, but in a good way. The kind of quiet that only came from being content.

That night, as they sat on the couch with her feet in his lap, Aria suddenly said, "I think I know his name."

Luca looked up from his phone. "Yeah?"

She smiled softly. "Adrian."

He repeated it, tasting the sound. "Adrian Vitale."

"It means ’from the sea,’" she added. "And somehow it feels calm. Like he’ll bring balance where we’ve only ever known storms."

Luca’s eyes softened. "Adrian." He nodded slowly. "I like that."

She smiled wider. "Then it’s settled."

He leaned in, kissing her hand gently. "Adrian. Our son."

The name hung between them, sacred and real.

When they finally went to bed, Aria lay awake for a while, feeling the small movements inside her, each flutter a reminder of how far they’d come. Luca’s arm was draped over her, protective even in sleep.

She whispered into the dark, "He’s lucky, you know. To have you."

Luca stirred, his voice a sleepy rumble. "We’re both lucky, amore."

And maybe they were. Because love, no matter how bruised, had found a way to bloom again, in the middle of chaos, in the shadow of danger, and in the quiet heartbeat of a child yet to be born.

As she drifted off to sleep, the rain began to fall outside, soft and rhythmic. The world was far from perfect, but in that small corner of it, surrounded by warmth and laughter and paint-stained memories, Aria finally felt what she had always been searching for.

Home.

The nesting phase didn’t let up, evolving into a whirlwind of organization that left Luca both bewildered and charmed. One afternoon, Aria decided the kitchen needed a complete overhaul. "The spices are a mess," she declared, emptying cabinets with relentless energy. Luca watched from the doorway, arms crossed, as jars clattered onto the counter. "Alphabetical order? By cuisine?"

"By frequency of use," she replied, sorting cumin next to oregano. "We’ll cook more once Adrian’s here. Healthy meals, family dinners."

He stepped in, helping stack tins. "You planning on turning us into chefs?"

"Us?" she teased, handing him a bag of flour. "You’ll burn water, but I’ll teach you."

Their laughter mingled with the clink of glass, turning the task into a dance of domesticity. Luca paused midway, pulling her close despite the bump between them. "You’re nesting like a pro."

"It’s instinct," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Making everything perfect for him."

Evening brought softer moments. Luca rubbed her swollen feet on the couch, the rain pattering outside like a lullaby. "Tell me about your dreams for him," he murmured.

Aria closed her eyes. "I want him to run barefoot in grass, not worry about shadows. Learn piano, read books, laugh without fear."

He nodded, thumb circling her ankle. "No empires for him. Just freedom."

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "We’ll give him that."

Nights often ended with stories. Luca’s voice, low and soothing, reading fairy tales to her belly. "Once upon a time," he’d begin, Aria drifting off to the rhythm.