"You are going to be the mother of my child." Dante declared, point-blank, as he lays down into the bed with his wife.
There is no space for discussion, no possibilities or considerations. He declared it so, and there is no State, Party, Church or God that is keeping him from making real his intentions. There is no power or authority high enough to keep him from it, and if he is usually amenable to her wishes and desires, this is a point he will not bulge, regardless of her thoughts on the subject.
Liliana Adornato is going to bear his children. That is an immutable fact of the world. It is the only way, he feels, to reinforce their ties to each other even further, and if there is an opportunity, he is compelled to take it.
Those words once struck fear into her heart. She has been raised by the Church, she is pious and modest, and discussions about reproduction were frowned upon, regardless of the context. There was a time, too, that he was but a violent man with a rather disturbing interest on her, and even as they evolved in their acquaintance, she fears being a mother, having none of her own to mirror.
Regardless, with some legitimate surprise, she eventually began to find his sweet whispers to be calming. In a world of violence and uncertainty, that dogged disposition toward the idea was reassuring, because, for it to happen, they would have to be both together and alive. It felt as a promise, a vow that was regularly renewed. Every night, every opportunity, he would repeat it.
Until it finally happened. A few years into their marriage, Liliana fell pregnant.
It had taken longer than expected, but they did it. They are in the homestretch, all that remains ahead is a peaceful delivery, and Dante felt both satisfaction and dread as his hand, far larger and far more powerful than hers, rest atop her swollen stomach, his thin fingers sweetly rubbing the smallest of circles into her skin. His wife is so warm, so human, so full of hopeand love.
"And I couldn't be happier, Dante." The blond woman said, calmly, as she shuts her book close and sets it on the nightstand table.
He does not deserve her. He knows in absolute certainty that he does not, but he is not keen in having just what he deserved.
"How are you feeling, my beloved?" He asks, smiling indulgently.
Dante tested the waters with honey-laced words, his voice tentative and light. He did not expect her to softly giggle and entwine her fingers with his, a simple yet sweet gesture considering she has not necessarily been put in this situation by choice.
The first weeks were tough, between the usual mood swings of a woman in that state of being, the unabashed fear Liliana felt over the situation, his pressuring and the knowledge that, regardless of their individual thoughts over it, there is nothing that they could do. The Church forbids termination, and they would likely take offence with the abandonment of the child after their birth, not to mention how exposed to danger they would be exposed due to their parentage.
Once, he had told her, with no small amount of frustration, that there were only but two countenances they could adopt over her pregnancy, and only one would bring any happiness. Perchance, she has finally agreed to be positive.
"Oh?"
"I'm wonderful, my love." The woman smiled up at him, a beautiful sight he had no right to see. Darling little fingers guided his larger ones to a peculiar spot where he felt a small kick. "I'm wonderful and so is our baby boy."
If Dante had the courage to dip his lips into hers in a soaring kiss, he is certain he would find her filled with the pure love rather than that warm breath. Liliana is too much for him, too goodfor him.
This would not last. This could not last.
As Gilbert once put it, their way of life is under threat. War is going to break out eventually, the fascists are coming for them eventually, he would break away from his father's one day. It was inevitable, it was the life they led, and yet, he had done this to a woman he professed to love. He abducted her, confined her, impregnatedher with a child who would struggle to fit into wherever they go, as a civilian or otherwise. He had put a child in her knowing full well that her world would not remain peaceful much longer.
He is not any better than the ruthless, inhumane mafiosi that he so detested.
Be as it may, by gods, he is not perfect. He has no pretentions towards sainthood, in spite of his piety. Starting his family anew with Liliana, there was nothing he wanted more than to live in peace at her side, for her to mother his children. For him to have any chance in that future, he knew he would have to take her with him, to have her under close surveillance as the world falls apart around them.
Danger always creeps around them, there was always something about to happen, a new enemy with disgruntled rage. It only takes one bullet to kill a man, and he knew she would invariably be forced to raise the child by herself, her heart aching and searching for her lost husband should he not return. If he was any better, he would have left her alone much before, he would not chain her so inalienably with him in this manner.
This was dangerous, this was the calm before the storm. This would not last because he was a selfish man. This would not last because this world was not meant for new, vulnerable little lives. This would not last, the realisation turning around his aching heart over and over.
This would not last. Nothing ever does.