"I don't recommend lots of movement if it truly is hurting you that bad," Angelo's cell phone blared the voice of the mobster family doctor. Remember Dr. Young from Walmart? Yeah, well he was still around. "Like I've said before though, I don't specialize in obstetrics so I don't know how to treat this. If you are worried about the well being of the baby though, maybe a quick trip into the clinic wouldn't be such a bad thing."

Uh...actually it would. For Angelo at least. I'm not wanted by every single good guy known to man kind, unlike him. We've had to lay especially low these last couple of months because one of Angelo's men slipped up, left the mafia, and abandoned omertà. He then got whacked after spilling some major details of the ongoings inside The Family.

So leaving the apartment was pretty much a rarity at this point, for me. Angelo still had to leave occasionally, but he was so sneaky about it. We couldn't even leave the house to go to the store, so Eleanor and Smith did that for us. This last week has been different though. He's actually been staying home with me, and running his mafia with Tony's (underboss) help from over the phone. Not sure if that's talent or what.

That was for a totally different reason though. I felt like if he wasn't here with me, I'd probably be dead because I literally cannot move.

Shoot me if I'm wrong, but I have this weird hunch that something super bad is going to happen to me. It feels like my stomach is being ripped open, and that's not just because its reaching its maximum stretching point. I mean, something is actually ripping.

Maybe it's the gun wound reopening.

"That's not really an option," I said. "Anything else?"

"No. Bed rest is the only thing I can think of. Don't stress too much. Your due date is almost here. Is it not in a month or so?"

"Three weeks," I clarified.

"Three weeks. Exactly. Don't worry too much, because if worst comes to worst and you go into labor soon, the baby will be able to survive on the outside by itself."

Yeah, or I could bleed to death in the process. That seems viable too.

"I recommend lots and lots of bed rest. Only get up if you absolutely have to."

I sighed and looked a very focused Angelo straight in the eyes. I don't know what he was thinking, but it didn't seem good, "That sounds horrible," I whispered, and rolled over onto my back. After realizing that that was a very bad decision because breathing wasn't great, I flipped back over onto my side to see Angelo grab his phone, end the call and toss it to the side.

"I'm worried about you," he got off the bed, folded his arms over his chest, bit the bottom of his lip, and stared off blankly. Sexy. "I don't like seeing you like this. You look miserable."

Thanks, I guess. "Well, I feel the part."

"I want you to go to the doctor, I really do, but..."

"...You can't go with me," I finished his sentence.

"Well, I could, but...I won't risk it and I don't want you to either. I think just getting out of the apartment building is enough to send you into active labor."

"You're just insulting me left and right today."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that in a negative way. The elevator is still broken though and that's a lot of flights for you to walk down when we don't even know what's wrong with you. It could make it worse, and I don't want that."

"Nor do I," I looked away from him and stretched my arm out across the bed to get the phone he carelessly tossed to the side. If I was gonna have to stay in bed all day, I was going to have some fun while doing it. And that fun was going to come in the form of a dumb game.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?"

"Angelo. Calm down. It's not even that bad right this moment. Good god, you're worse than a worry bug."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not hurting, that bad."

"So it is bad though?"

"A little bit."

"Give me that for a minute," he pointed to his cell phone, so I slid it across the bed and he grabbed it before leaving the room.

I was lucky enough that the tv remote was still in arms reach, so I took that and started flipping through channels, but sadly, pretty much nothing but the Kardashian's was on. I think I really am gonna die.

I laid here for probably fifteen minutes before Angelo came back and total déjà vu hit me. He had a glass of water and something, probably a pill, in his other hand, "Here," he dropped what was definitely a pill in my hand.

I read the writing on it and...

Vicodin?!

"I thought you couldn't take these while you're pregnant," I said.

"You can. I called a doctor. A real doctor."

"Well, why do you even have these? You need a prescription."

"Um...mafia. Duh. Now just take it. Please."

"If this kid is going to come out having weird Vicodin withdrawals, I'm blaming you so fast it won't even be funny."

"It's not going to happen, so do whatever makes you happy, criceta mia."

________

I didn't have a body pillow. It was highly recommended and praised by Alessandra, but I never found the time to get one and I never cared enough to bug Angelo about it. He seemed to do just fine anyway.

I was basically on top of him, my left leg draped over his and my arm stretched across his torso. I was happy here, but the evil mini person inside me was not.

I rolled over onto my back and then sat up oh so very slightly, "What the hell?" I whispered quietly to myself. I had to fight to keep some other words in too.

It was safe to say that the Vicodin had worn off. Now I was left writhing in pain and struggling to keep myself from waking Angelo up. I don't know why I didn't want him awake, but it seemed stupid to me now.

"Angelo," I smacked his arm once. No movement. "Angelo!" I yelled this time and smacked him twice as hard.

"What?" He grumbled.

"I need to go to the hospital," I carefully scooted away from my spot so that he could see what was underneath me, stained into the sheets.

"What the..."