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The cool morning air brushed gently against the facade of the private clinic, a glass-and-marble building that screamed exclusivity from every angle. The usual bustle of the city seemed to come to a halt in the presence of the imposing caravan of black armored SUVs lined up outside.
Rosinante felt relieved to breathe in scents other than hospital antiseptic—and the sharp edge of Doflamingo’s irritation every time he snarled at a nurse for moving his pup too roughly.
Rosinante exited the building with slow movements, seated in a wheelchair as dictated by hospital protocol, though he insisted with a tired smile that he could walk just fine. Resting in his lap, wrapped in a white cashmere wool blanket, lay his pup. The baby, oblivious to the criminal empire and everything else, slept peacefully, one tiny fist brushing her cheek, completely relaxed after spending the morning feeding.
At his side, Doflamingo’s presence was almost intimidating, his impeccably tailored suit concealing the tension accumulated over the past few days. His face—usually carved into an expression of arrogance and disdain for the world—softened dramatically every time his gaze dropped to the bundle his omega was holding.
“Damn it, why is the paperwork taking so long? I’ve paid enough for this place for them to clear the way without questions,” Doflamingo growled, his deep voice vibrating with impatience as he shot a murderous look at the receptionist approaching them.
“Doffy, darling, please…” Rosinante intervened softly, placing a hand on his husband’s arm. “They’re just doing their job. Don’t use that language—the baby can hear you.”
Doflamingo let out a heavy sigh, but the aggression in his shoulders dissipated instantly. He leaned over both of them, ignoring the bodyguards holding the perimeter, and adjusted the edge of the blanket with unexpected tenderness.
“She’s too small, Rocinante,” he murmured, his tone bordering on awe and disbelief. “Look at her. She does nothing but sleep, and here I am wasting my time like an idiot just to see if she opens her eyes for one second. It’s ridiculous.”
Rosinante let out a soft laugh, resting his head against his alpha’s side for a moment. “She looks like you when you sleep—though she’s much more peaceful.”
When they finally reached the lead vehicle, Doflamingo didn’t allow anyone else to touch the wheelchair or assist his brother. He helped him up himself and made sure he was settled into the back seat of the SUV, which had been modified for maximum comfort. Once Rosinante was seated with Law in his arms, Doflamingo sat beside him, shutting the door and sealing out the noise of the outside world.
The drive to the mansion was silent. Law woke halfway through, letting out a small, hungry whimper. Rosinante, with the ease of someone savoring every second of his new motherhood, began to tend to her while Doflamingo watched in absolute silence, almost hypnotized by the rhythmic rise and fall of his daughter’s breathing.
“We’ll be home soon, little one,” Rosinante whispered, kissing the baby’s forehead and breathing in her soft newborn scent—a blend of milk and her parents’ natural aroma. “You have a huge crib waiting for you, though I know you’ll prefer your papa’s chest to sleep on.”
Doflamingo turned his gaze to the window to hide a smug smile, but he reached out again so little Law, drowsy and content, could wrap her entire hand around one of his fingers. The size difference was absurd, and in that moment, the alpha who controlled much of the modern underworld seemed to be under the absolute command of a newborn.
The massive wrought-iron gate swung open, allowing the caravan to roll down the path lined with perfectly manicured gardens. The mansion rose before them like a monument to opulence: white marble, enormous windows reflecting sunlight.
When the SUV stopped at the main entrance, a line of staff stood waiting in perfect formation, maintaining a deathly silence. Doflamingo was the first to step out, his movements quick, driven by a protective energy he barely bothered to conceal. He circled the vehicle and opened Rosinante’s door before any bodyguard could even attempt it.
Rosinante emerged with a calm that contrasted sharply with his husband’s intensity. Law remained latched to his chest, seeking refuge and nourishment beneath the fine silk fabric of her mother’s blouse. The baby made small, satisfied sounds, completely unaware of the display of power surrounding her.
“Watch the step, you idiot Rosi,” Doflamingo warned, extending his arm for support while shooting a threatening look at a gardener who had gotten too close with a lawnmower.
“I’m fine, alpha. Don’t worry so much,” Rosinante replied with a serene smile, indulging his brother’s protective energy—or at least trying to keep him from growling and stinking up the place.
Feeling the first cool breeze of the afternoon, Rosinante paused. With a practiced, delicate motion, he readjusted the cashmere blanket, wrapping his pup more snugly to shield her from any draft. He didn’t want the temperature change from car to house to affect her. Law stirred slightly, burrowing deeper into her mother’s warmth.
Doflamingo, who normally walked with long, arrogant strides, matched his pace to his omega’s. He stayed close to his shoulder, acting as a human shield as they entered the grand foyer.
“This place is too big for someone so tiny,” Doflamingo murmured, scanning the double-height ceiling and crystal chandeliers as if reassessing his own home through a new lens. “Tomorrow I’ll have the corners of that marble table padded. I don’t want any risks when she starts crawling.”
Rosinante chuckled softly as they approached the grand staircase. “Doffy, it’ll be a long time before she crawls. She’s only a few days old.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he declared, the usual edge in his voice dulled only for him. “Everything has to be perfect for her. If anyone makes a mistake, they’re out. Or worse.”
“No threats today, remember?” Rosinante scolded gently, stopping at the steps. “Only peace for the baby. Look how calm she is.”
Doflamingo looked down at the warm bundle in Rosinante’s arms. Law had finally unlatched, fast asleep with a trace of milk at the corner of her lips. The peace radiating from her seemed to sedate his volatile temperament.
He leaned in and, with a softness no one outside that family circle would believe possible, wiped the baby’s face with his thumb. “She’s just as lazy as you, Rosi. All she wants is to sleep and eat.”
“It’s been a long day for her,” Rosinante whispered, beginning to climb the stairs toward the master bedroom. “Come on—she needs a long nap. And I think you do too, even if you won’t admit it.”
Doflamingo didn’t protest. He followed closely, watching every step his spouse took, feeling for the first time that the walls of his mansion had a purpose beyond flaunting his wealth.
When they reached the upper-floor main hall, the deathly silence Doflamingo had demanded from the lower staff was broken—not by service noise, but by a far more imposing presence. Waiting for them like an unconventional honor guard were the four pillars of the organization, Doflamingo’s most trusted men: Trebol, Diamante, Pica, and Vergo.
The moment Rosinante saw them, his face lit up completely. Despite the exhaustion of childbirth and travel, his smile became radiant. To the rest of the world, these men were ruthless criminals capable of unspeakable atrocities for money and power; to him, they were simply extended family.
“Look who’s here!” Rosinante exclaimed in an excited whisper, lowering the blanket just enough for them to see the baby’s face. “Law, wake up just a little—your uncles came to see you.”
Doflamingo snorted loudly, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, though he made no real move to stop them.
“They proclaimed themselves ‘uncles’ before she was even born,” Doflamingo grumbled, adjusting his jacket irritably. “And now there’s no getting the idea out of their heads. Don’t even think about touching her with dirty hands.”
The four executives completely ignored their boss’s roughness, utterly captivated by the tiny bundle in Rosinante’s arms.
Trebol approached first, hunched over with his perpetual grin, though he kept an unusually respectful distance. “Ne, ne, Doffy… she’s tiny!” he said thickly, adjusting his dark glasses. “Look at her—she’s as small as a doll. Are you sure she’s real? She’s a princess!”
“Of course she’s real, idiot!” Diamante cut in, nudging Trebol aside for a better view. Dressed in his usual flamboyance, he removed his hat with theatrical flair and bowed deeply toward the sleeping baby. “Welcome home, little miss. Uncle Diamante will make sure you have the finest toys on the continent. Nothing is too good for the heiress.”
Pica, towering over everyone else, simply nodded solemnly. His massive hands twitched nervously, as if he wanted to greet her but feared breaking something just by being near. He remained silent, likely aware that his high-pitched voice might wake the baby, but his eyes shone with fierce loyalty toward the tiny creature.
But it was Vergo who surprised Rosinante the most. Always stoic and severe, he approached with firm steps. He wore his impeccable plaid suit, but as usual, there was a piece of hamburger stuck to his left cheek—something he seemed completely unaware of.
“Security around the house has been tripled, Corazon,” Vergo reported professionally before softening as he looked at the baby. “She’s beautiful. She looks like you.”
“Thank you, Vergo,” Rosinante replied warmly, resisting the urge to wipe his cheek and ruin the moment. “I know she’ll be safe with you here.”
“‘Uncle Vergo,’” he corrected seriously, staring directly at Doflamingo as if daring him to argue.
Doflamingo clicked his tongue, but a crooked half-smile betrayed him. Seeing his deadliest men reduced to a group of smitten admirers over a baby who couldn’t even hold her own head up secretly pleased him.
“You’ve seen her. She’s alive, she’s got ten fingers and ten toes. Now scram,” Doflamingo ordered, though his tone lacked venom. “She needs to eat and sleep, and Rosinante needs rest.”
“Just one more minute, Doffy,” Rosinante pleaded as Law lazily opened one eye, revealing a curious grayish gaze that lingered on the strange figures before her for a second—then she yawned and snuggled back against her mother’s chest.
The four men seemed to melt at the sight.
“She’s definitely a Donquixote,” Diamante declared proudly. “That look says she doesn’t care about anything.”
“Alright, enough of the show,” Doflamingo cut in, wrapping a protective arm around Rosinante’s shoulders and guiding him toward the master bedroom, away from the group. “Tomorrow you can bring your ridiculous gifts. Now get out.”
As they walked down the hallway, Rosinante rested his head on his husband’s shoulder. “They’re good guys, Doffy. Law is going to be very spoiled.”
“They’d better spoil her,” he growled, opening the bedroom door. “Because if anyone makes her cry, I’ll kill them. And this time, I mean it.”
The heavy mahogany door closed behind them, shutting out the murmur of staff and the intensity of the “uncles.” The silence that filled the master bedroom was instant and soothing. For the first time in days, the air didn’t smell of disinfectant or hospital flowers, but of home: a gentle blend of wood, clean sheets, and Doflamingo’s expensive, subtle cologne.
Rosinante let out a deep sigh, one that seemed to come from the marrow of his bones. His shoulders dropped instantly, releasing the tension of facing the outside world.
“Finally…” he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment as he hugged Law a little tighter.
His gaze drifted around the room. Though familiar, it had changed. Beside the massive canopy bed—an island of comfort in the middle of the room—stood the new addition: the crib.
It was a piece of exquisite craftsmanship, carved from white wood with subtle gold accents, custom-made to match the mansion’s luxurious aesthetic while retaining a childlike delicacy. The mattress was dressed in the finest cotton sheets, so soft they felt like clouds, ready to receive the heiress. On the black marble dresser, once reserved for watches and jewelry, now reigned the order of infant care: pristine stacks of diapers, glass bottles of hypoallergenic lotions, and small packs of wipes ready for any emergency.
In one corner of the crib waited patiently a pair of plush toys: a fluffy white polar bear and a soft fabric whale. Rosinante smiled at the sight. He knew Law wouldn’t be able to play with them for months, but seeing them there made everything feel real. His daughter had a place—a safe space prepared with obsessive love.
“Give me the baby,” Doflamingo ordered softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Without waiting for a reply, but with astonishing delicacy, he slid his large hands beneath Law’s body, transferring her weight from his husband’s tired arms to his own. Law barely stirred, sighing at the change in warmth but not waking.
“Go to bed, Rosinante,” he continued, nodding toward the mattress. “You’ve been sitting in that plastic hospital chair for three days. You need a real bed.”
Rosinante didn’t argue. He walked to the bed and sat on the edge, running his hand over the cool silk duvet. The sensation was glorious. He slowly kicked off his shoes and slid beneath the sheets, groaning softly in pure pleasure as his back relaxed against the feather pillows.
“Heaven… this is paradise,” he murmured, sinking into the softness. “You have no idea how much I missed our bed.”
Doflamingo, cradling Law in the crook of his arm like a precious, fragile football, approached the crib. He inspected it critically, checking for the hundredth time that nothing could possibly suffocate the baby, then turned to his omega.
“I told you that clinic was crap, VIP suite or not,” he muttered, though seeing his brother comfortable eased his scowl. “Here, no one will bother us every two hours to check blood pressure.”
He stood by the bed, rocking Law almost imperceptibly while looking at Rosinante. “Should I put her in the crib?” Doflamingo asked, hesitating for a second. He was reluctant to let her go, enjoying the warm weight of his daughter, but knowing Rosi truly needed rest.
Rosinante looked at him from his mountain of pillows, eyes heavy with sleep. “Put her down for a bit, Doffy. She’s out cold. That way you can come lie down too… even if it’s just to sit for a moment.”
Doflamingo held his breath—an absurd reflex for a man who had faced gunfire without blinking, yet now felt that the slightest misstep could shatter the room’s peace. He leaned over the crib rail, lowering his arms with excruciating slowness until Law’s back touched the soft mattress.
Losing direct contact with her father’s warmth, the baby frowned in her sleep. A short, sharp whine—like an annoyed kitten—escaped her lips, and her tiny hands flailed, searching for something to grasp. Doflamingo froze, hands still hovering over her, ready to scoop her up if she cried.
But he acted quickly. He took one of the thermal cotton blankets folded nearby and tucked it around her small body up to her shoulders, ensuring her arms were gently contained beneath the fabric.
“Shh, shh…” he hissed softly, running his index finger along her cheek.
The weight of the blanket and the familiar touch seemed enough. Law sighed, turned her head to the side, and slipped back into that deep, enviable newborn sleep. Doflamingo waited five more seconds—counted mentally—to make sure it wasn’t a false alarm. When he saw her chest rise and fall steadily, he straightened up, feeling his own spine crack as the tension released.
He loosened his tie with a rough tug as he crossed the room, discarding it onto a chair without care. He kicked off his Italian leather shoes, which thudded softly against the carpet, and finally approached the bed.
The mattress sank noticeably under his weight as he sat and then lay back. The moment his back hit the sheets, Rosinante moved.
It wasn’t conscious—pure instinct. Eyes still closed and half asleep, his body recognized his alpha’s presence. He turned and slid across the space between them until he bumped gently into Doflamingo’s side. He draped an arm over his torso and buried his face in the hollow of his neck, inhaling deeply.
“You’re cold…” he murmured against his skin, pressing closer as if trying to give him all his warmth—or steal it.
Doflamingo let out a long breath, sliding an arm beneath his omega’s shoulders and pulling him in completely. He rested his chin atop Rosinante’s head, the soft hair tickling his jaw.
“The car’s air conditioning was too high,” he replied quietly, eyes fixed on the ceiling while his hand stroked Rosinante’s back in slow, soothing motions. “Go to sleep, Rosi. I’ll keep watch.”
“Mmm… no… you sleep too,” Rosinante muttered, his words already slurring as his breathing grew heavy and rhythmic against Doflamingo’s chest. “We’re home… no one’s coming in…”
Doflamingo didn’t answer. He simply closed his eyes, enjoying the comforting weight of his little brother against him and the absolute silence of the mansion—broken only by the nearly imperceptible breathing of little Law a few meters away.
For the first time in days, the “Joker” allowed himself to let his guard down, surrounded by the only two people in the world who made his empire worth anything.