ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Four

Freya

They say the first night with a new baby is the hardest. While Arella isn't a baby, it's still hard. She's crying for the fifth time tonight. I've done everything I can to try and calm her. She's already in bed with us, so there's not much more I can do on that front.

Her diaper is dry and she's not hungry. I've already tried offering her some food. All I am do is hold her on my lap while rocking she. She won't even go to Damon. He's tried taking her and she screamed bloody murder.

To make matters worse, my breasts are aching. They still haven't stopped leaking since I had Asteria. It's like insult to injury. My body knows I gave birth, it just hasn't got the memo that my baby died inside me. I'm still producing milk for a baby that's not even here.

How am I supposed to heal when I can't stop leaking milk every time I hear a baby cry in public? It's horrible.

Arella's cries escalate in volume until she's screaming in my ear. Damon stands, walking out of the room to return with a pacifier in his massive hand.

"Here, try this." He holds it out to me and I shake my head.

"She's three, Damon. She doesn't need that," I argue, "Where did you even get that thing?"

"There was several packs of them in the former nursery. My men stored everything away in the spare bedroom. I went and grabbed one. Just try it. She needs a soother. She probably hasn't even had one. What's the harm?"

I know he's right. I just don't want Arella to get attached to a pacifier at three years old. Yes, mentally she's younger than that, so I guess it's okay.

"Here, try this." I offer her the pink pacifier, placing the silicone in her mouth.

She instantly closes her lips, tentatively sucking on the silicone. Her body relaxes and she snuggles her head under my chin. Well, that worked. Sighing, I lean back against my pillows and try to get comfortable.

Damon climbs back into bed, turning on his side and propping his head up on his hand. He's one handsome man. I'm a lucky woman.

"Uhh, babe?" He mutters, his eyes glued to my breasts.

"Yes?"

"You're leaking." He points to a wet patch on my wine red silk pajamas.

Groaning, I scrub my hand down my face. He knows about my lactating problems. I mean, he's obsessed with my breasts. They're the first thing he plays with when we have sex, so this shouldn't be news to him.

"Arella crying triggered my milk. It'll be okay." Shrugging, I lean back and close my eyes.

"You could try nursing her." He suggests flippantly.

My eyebrows raise as I open my eyes, turning my head to look at him. "Wouldn't that be weird? She's three, way past nursing age."

He flops down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "She's small and needs nutrients. We could fill her up with vitamins and hope for the best, or you could nurse her. Your milks just going to waste at this point."

"She's not mine biologically, though."

"Plenty of adoptive parents breastfeed their babies."