Chapter 4 - The Birth of Leo
The winter storm that hit Denver in late April was unexpected, bringing eight inches of heavy, wet snow that paralyzed the city's side streets.
Inside the small, warm apartment above La Piccola Gemma, Hazel’s world contracted into a single, overwhelming focus: pain.
"Breathe, Hazel! Deep breath, sweet girl!" Gia commanded, holding Hazel’s left hand so tightly her knuckles were white.
Hazel lay back against the damp pillows, her face slick with sweat, her teeth grinding together as another massive contraction ripped through her abdomen. The midwife, a calm, capable woman named Elena whom Gia had summoned two hours earlier, stood at the foot of the bed, her expression focused and serene.
"You're fully dilated, Hazel," Elena said softly. "The baby is right there. On the next contraction, I need you to give me everything you’ve got."
Hazel squeezed her eyes shut. The pain was an ocean, vast and terrifying, threatening to pull her under. She felt small, fragile, and utterly alone.
In her mind, a memory flashed—a memory she had fought for months to suppress. She saw Mateo’s broad hands, strong and steady, wrapping around her waist during a thunderstorm two years ago, pulling her against his massive chest, his low voice rumbling against her ear: I’ve got you, Hazel. Nothing in this world touches you while I’m breathing.
You liar, she thought, a sudden surge of fiery, stubborn rage bursting through the wall of her exhaustion. You left me. But I don't need you. We don't need you!
"Now, Hazel! Push!" Elena called out.
Hazel screamed—a raw, guttural sound born of five months of unspoken grief, anger, and fierce, protective love. She bore down with every ounce of strength remaining in her small frame, her body straining against the bedsheets, her fingers digging into Gia’s arm.
"That’s it! Head is crowning! One more, Hazel! Just one more!"
Hazel took a deep, ragged gasp of air, squeezed her eyes shut, and pushed.
A strange, miraculous lightness suddenly flooded her lower body, followed immediately by the sharp, high-pitched wail of a brand-new voice entering the world.
"It’s a boy," Elena announced, her voice filled with quiet joy as she quickly wrapped the slick, squirming bundle in a warm white towel and laid him directly onto Hazel’s bare chest. "A healthy, beautiful little boy."
Hazel collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving, tears streaming down her face as she looked down at the tiny creature resting against her heart.
He was tiny, but his limbs were sturdy, his skin a soft, flushed pink. He had a thick mop of dark, almost black hair plastering his tiny forehead. But when he opened his tiny, swollen eyes, winking against the soft light of the bedroom lamp, Hazel’s heart stopped dead in her chest.
They were gray.
Not blue, like most newborns. A deep, clear, stormy gray—the exact shade of Lake Michigan before a winter storm. The exact shade of the eyes that had watched her leave his estate five months ago.
"Oh," Hazel sobbed, her fingers trembling violently as she stroked the soft fuzz on the baby's head. "Oh, my sweet boy..."
"What are you going to name him?" Gia asked, wiping her own tears away with the corner of her apron as she leaned over the bed.
Hazel looked at her son. He had stopped crying, his tiny rosebud mouth opening and closing as he nestled against the warmth of her skin. He looked fierce, stubborn, and entirely hers.
"Leo," Hazel whispered, her thumb gently brushing over his dark brow. "Leo Brooks."
Not Lombardi. Never Lombardi.
He would bear no name tied to Chicago. He would grow up in the bright Colorado sunshine, surrounded by the smell of baking bread, sweet butter, and unconditional love. He would never hear the sound of gunfire, never see a man bleeding on marble floors, and never know what it was like to be discarded by a father who valued his pride more than his family.
"Leo," Gia smiled, kissing Hazel’s sweaty forehead. "A little lion. Perfect."
As the midwife finished cleaning the room and Gia went downstairs to brew a fresh pot of chamomile tea, Hazel lay in the dim room, holding her sleeping son against her breast.
May you like
Outside the window, the snow began to stop, the grey clouds parting to reveal a vast, star-filled Western sky. Hazel looked down at Leo’s sleeping face, seeing the unmistakable shadow of Mateo Lombardi in the line of the baby’s strong jaw and dark hair.
"You are mine," she whispered into the quiet room, her tear-stained face pressed against his soft head. "Take nothing tied to his name... I took the only thing that ever mattered."
