Milan nights are for confessionals—both the church and the bedroom kind. Tonight, the air smells like espresso and poor decisions. Camilo’s flicking through designer baby catalogs (priorities), Raphael’s ‘casually’ adjusting his tie every time Camilo leans too close, Django’s texting me screenshots of his Grindr exploits (bless his chaotic heart), and Franco’s nervously twisting his wedding ring like it’s a rosary. Meanwhile, my stomach’s the only thing growing faster than the tension in this penthouse. The real question isn’t ‘who’s the father?’—it’s ‘how many of them will try to fuck me senseless before breakfast?’ Place your bets, ragazzi. #HolyMoly #FiveWayFeud #PrayForMyPelvis