Chapter 9 - The Birth of Leo Moretti
The next three hours were a blur of pain, sweat, and firelight.
Dr. Aris guided Adrian through the speakerphone while Marco and two bodyguards carried boiled water, clean towels, and blankets into the living room, setting up a sterile field around the sofa.
Outside, the storm raged, blowing snow against the windowpanes. Inside, the fire crackled as Adrian held me in his arms.
"Push, Claire! Push, my love!" Adrian encouraged, his suit completely soaked with sweat, his face inches from mine, letting me crush his fingers with every contraction. "You're doing so well! I can see his hair! He has dark hair like me!"
"I can't!" I sobbed, tears streaming down my face, completely exhausted. "Adrian, I'm so tired!"
"Yes, you can!" Adrian yelled gently, pulling my upper body up against his chest, supporting my back with his strong arms. "You are the strongest woman I have ever known! You put down Sal Russo, you survived me, and you're going to bring our son into this world right now! Push, Claire!"
I gathered every remaining ounce of strength in my body, threw my head back against his shoulder, and pushed with everything I had!
A loud, piercing cry echoed through the darkened living room!
WAAAAAH! WAAAAAH!
The room went completely still, save for the sound of the newborn's sharp, healthy lungs.
Dr. Aris shouted over the satellite phone: "Clear his airway! Wrap him in a warm towel immediately!"
Adrian, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold the surgical scissors Marco handed him, tied and cut the umbilical cord. He gently wrapped our small, five-pound son in a soft fleece blanket and laid him directly onto my bare chest.
I collapsed back against the pillows, gasping for breath, my eyes falling on the tiny, pink, wrinkled face resting against my heart. He had a full head of thick dark hair and tiny fingers that immediately hooked around my index finger.
"He's okay..." I wept softly, kissing the baby's soft forehead. "He's healthy..."
Adrian dropped his head onto my shoulder, burying his face into my neck, his entire body trembling violently as he broke down into deep, chest-heaving sobs of joy.
"He's perfect..." Adrian wept, his hands framing both me and the baby, holding us as if we were the fragile center of the universe. "You did it, Claire... you gave me a son..."
"Our son," I corrected softly, smiling through my tears. "Leo Moretti."
Adrian raised his head, his face wet with tears, looking down at little Leo, then at me.
May you like
"Leo," Adrian whispered, kissing the baby's tiny cheeks, then leaning up to press his lips against mine in a long, soft, reverent kiss. "Welcome home, Leo."
At 6:00 AM, as the storm finally cleared and the golden rays of the winter sun broke over the snow-covered Brooklyn skyline, emergency medical personnel finally arrived. But as they rushed into the room with a stretcher, they found us wrapped together on the velvet sofa—Adrian, Leo, and me—fast asleep in a warm, unbroken circle of love.
