My Don Married My Pregnant Sister So I Choose His Mafia Rival novel · Chapter 29 of 32

Chapter 29: Angelina's Daughter

I was off the bow and down the pier before the deckhand could drop his ice pick.

Angelina grabbed my arm with both hands.

Her grip was like the engineer's in the burn unit.

"Car," I said over my shoulder. "Now."

The deckhand ran for my truck.

"I can't have it here." Angelina's teeth were chattering, and not from the snow. "Not on a pier. Not in a ticket booth. Marcella, I'm not having it in a ticket booth."

"You're not having it anywhere for twenty minutes. Breathe."

"You breathe."

"I am. Watch me. In. Out."

She glared at me and breathed.

The hospital was up the hill from St. George.

The deckhand drove the hill road through the snow.

Angelina held my hand in the back seat and swore at every pothole in words she'd learned from Nonna at the stove.

At the emergency doors, a nurse took one look and called for a chair.

Angelina didn't let go of my hand.

"Don't leave," she said.

She said it like an order.

Then her face crumpled, and she said it again.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

It took nine hours.

I stood at the head of the bed in my wet boots and Papa's coat for all nine.

She cursed me.

She cursed Cosimo, at length, with real talent.

She cursed Papa for dying and Nonna for being right and the snow for falling.

Around the seventh hour she stopped cursing and just held on.

I held her hair back the way I had when she was sick at nine.

At ten past four in the afternoon, my niece came out small and purple and furious.

She was five pounds and one ounce.

She screamed like a ferry horn.

"Is she all right?" Angelina said. "Why is she so small? Is she all right?"

"She's loud," the doctor said. "Loud is good."

They put her on Angelina's chest for one minute before they took her down the hall to the warm cribs.

Angelina looked at her.

Then she looked up at me.

"Hold her," she said. "Before they take her. Please."

I held her.

She weighed nothing at all.

She had a fist of dark hair and Papa's chin, square, already set against the world.

I wasn't ready for that.

Nobody had told me it would be his chin.

"Cardone," Angelina said from the bed, very tired. "Not Varrone. Write it down. Cardone."

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