The bed felt vast and empty without him. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of our lovemaking a phantom touch on my skin. It was 3 AM. He had been gone for hours, swallowed by the violent world he commanded. The sheets still smelled like him, a mixture of expensive soap and his own unique, masculine scent. I rolled over, my hand touching the cool, empty pillow where his head should have been. *Please come back,* I prayed to a God I wasn't sure I believed in anymore. *Please be safe.*
The hours crawled by, each tick of the clock a tiny hammer against my nerves. 4 AM. I got up and paced the room, wrapping myself in one of his robes, needing the comfort of being surrounded by his scent. I stood at the window, a silent vigil, watching the dark, empty driveway. 5 AM. Panic, cold and sharp, began to rise in my throat. I tried calling his phone. It went straight to voicemail. I tried Marco. No answer. Something was wrong. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones.
At 6 AM, the first grey light of dawn began to creep into the sky. I was exhausted, but rest was impossible. I went downstairs, needing the semblance of normalcy. The house was just beginning to stir, the staff moving with their usual quiet efficiency. A maid saw me and her professional smile faltered. "Mrs. Russo, you're up early."
"Has Mr. Russo returned?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Not yet, ma'am," she said, and I saw the flicker of worry in her own eyes. They knew. They all knew that when the boss went out like this and didn't return by dawn, it was bad.
At 7 AM, Isabella rushed in, still in her pajamas under a long coat, her face pale with fear. "Ella! Have you heard from him?"
"No," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Nothing since he left."
"The attack was bad," she said, her voice trembling as she relayed information she must have gotten from her own contacts. "A full-blown firefight at the club. Multiple casualties."
My legs gave out. Isabella caught me, her grip surprisingly strong. "He's okay," she said, trying to convince both of us. "He has to be okay."
My phone rang at 7:30, the sound so shrill it made me jump. Marco's name flashed on the screen. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely answer it. "Marco?"
His voice was strained, tired. "Mrs. Russo. We're on our way back."
"Is he…?" I couldn't finish the question.
"He's alive," Marco said, and I nearly collapsed with relief. "But he's hurt."
My world tilted on its axis. "How bad?"
"Gunshot wound. Shoulder. He's stable, but he needs medical attention. We'll be there in ten minutes. Prepare the medical room."
The words galvanized me into action. "Get the doctor!" I yelled to the nearest staff member. "Now!" They scrambled, their training for just such a crisis kicking in. The mansion had its own fully equipped medical room, a small emergency room hidden away in a quiet wing. The on-retainer doctor, a grim-faced man who looked like he'd seen it all, arrived within minutes. I paced outside the room, Isabella holding my hand, her own fear a mirror of mine.
"He's going to be fine," she kept saying. "He's survived worse."
"I can't lose him," I choked out. "Not now. Not after last night."
Then we heard the cars. I ran outside, my heart pounding. The SUVs that pulled up were battered, their dark paint pockmarked with bullet holes. Men climbed out, some of them bloodied and leaning on their comrades. And then I saw him. Marco was helping him out of the back of the lead vehicle. Dante's left shoulder was wrapped in a makeshift bandage already soaked through with blood. His face was pale, his jaw clenched in pain, but he was on his feet. He was alive.
"Dante!" I cried, running to him.
He saw me, and a weak, pained smile touched his lips. "I'm okay."
"You're shot!" I reached him, my hands fluttering over his face, his good arm, checking for other injuries.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he insisted, but he stumbled, his legs threatening to give way.
"Get him inside," I ordered Marco, my voice taking on a tone of command I didn't know I possessed. "Now." I moved to Dante's other side, helping to support his weight as we guided him into the house and to the medical room.
The doctor was efficient. "Bullet went clean through. Missed the bone. He's lucky." He prepared to clean and stitch the wound. Dante, lying on the medical table, refused anesthesia. "Just do it," he gritted out.
I took his good hand, my fingers lacing with his. He squeezed my hand, his knuckles white, as the doctor began to work. I watched his face, my own tears threatening to fall, and forced my voice to be steady. "I'm here. I'm right here."
He turned his head, his pain-filled eyes finding mine. "I came back," he rasped. "Like I promised."
After the wound was cleaned and stitched, the doctor administered a strong dose of painkillers, which Dante finally, reluctantly, accepted. "He needs to rest for at least forty-eight hours," the doctor instructed before leaving. We were finally alone. The adrenaline faded, and the terror I had been holding at bay crashed over me.
"You could have died," I sobbed, the tears streaming down my face.
He pulled me close with his good arm, his embrace a little clumsy but fierce. "But I didn't."
"I was so scared," I whispered into his chest.
I helped him upstairs to our room. He was exhausted, the pain meds doing little to mask the deep ache in his bones. I gently helped him out of his blood-soaked clothes and into bed.
"What happened?" I asked, sitting beside him.
"Victor was there," he said, his voice tight with anger. "It was an ambush. He was waiting for me."
My blood ran cold. "Did you…?"
"He escaped," Dante snarled, frustrated. "Again. But I killed six of his men."
Six men. The number was staggering. "This is real," I whispered, the violence of his world a stark, undeniable reality.
"This is my life, Ella. Our life now." He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "If you want out…"
"Stop," I cut him off. "I told you, I'm not leaving." I took a shaky breath. "But I need you to promise me something. Promise me you'll be more careful. That you won't take risks you don't have to. Because I can't…" my voice broke. "I can't lose you."
He pulled me down, his lips pressing against my forehead. "I promise. Last night… it changed everything for me, too." He looked at me, his gaze raw and honest. "I have something to live for now. Someone worth coming home to."
I climbed carefully into bed beside him. "Then come home," I whispered. "Always."
"Always," he vowed.
We both fell into an exhausted sleep. When I woke that afternoon, he was already awake, watching me. The look on his face was different—harder, more determined. He had almost died. He had almost left me alone. He couldn't let that happen.
"Hey," I said softly. "How's the pain?"
"Manageable," he said. "How are you?"
"Better, now that you're here." I started to get up. "I'll have them bring some food up."
He caught my hand. "Ella? Thank you. For taking care of me."
"Always," I said, my heart aching with love for this complicated, dangerous man.
We were eating in bed—an act so normal it felt surreal—when his phone, which had been buzzing incessantly, finally captured his attention. He ignored it, but I insisted. "You should check it. It might be important."
"Nothing is more important than this," he said, looking at me. But just then, Marco knocked and entered, his face grim.
"Boss, sorry to interrupt. We have a problem."
My stomach sank. "What kind of problem?" Dante asked.
Marco glanced at me, his expression apologetic. "It's about the girl. Mia."
My heart stopped. "What about Mia?"
"Victor's men were spotted near Sarah's house this morning," Marco said, his voice low. "Taking photos. Our men intervened, but the message is clear. He knows where they live."
I jumped out of bed. "Is she okay? Is Sarah hurt?"
"They're fine, for now," Marco assured me.
Dante's face was like stone. "Bring them here," he ordered.
"What?" I stared at him.
"Sarah and Mia," he said to Marco, his voice absolute. "Bring them to the mansion. Today. They'll be safer under my protection."
"You want to bring them *here*?" I cried, torn between the need to have them safe and the terror of exposing them to this life. "Into this world? Sarah will ask questions, she'll see everything!"
"They're already in this world, Ella," Dante said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Because of me. At least here, I can guarantee their safety."
"Guarantee? Dante, you were just shot!"
"Which is exactly why I know what I'm up against," he countered. "And why I will do anything to protect this family. Including yours."
I paced the room, my mind at war. He was right. They were targets now. There was only one choice. "Okay," I said, my voice shaking. "Bring them here. But I tell Sarah. My way."
Two hours later, I was waiting at the entrance when Marco's car pulled up. Sarah got out, her face a mask of confusion and fear, holding tightly to Mia's hand. Mia saw me and her face lit up. "Auntie Ella!" she yelled, running into my arms. I scooped her up, hugging her tight, my eyes meeting Sarah's over Mia's small shoulder. Her gaze was demanding answers I didn't know how to give.
I told a maid to take Mia to the new princess room we'd had prepared, and then I faced Sarah. I told her an edited version of the truth—that my powerful husband had enemies, and that those enemies were now targeting us. Her face cycled through shock, disbelief, and finally, white-hot anger.
"You married into the mafia?!" she shrieked. "You lied to me for weeks!"
"I was protecting you!" I cried. "I did it to pay Adam's debt!"
"By dragging my daughter into a gang war?!"
Just then, Dante entered the room, drawn by our raised voices. He still wore casual clothes, his arm in a sling. Sarah froze, recognizing the aura of power and danger that clung to him like a shroud.
"Mrs. Parker," he said, his voice calm. "I'm Dante Russo." He looked at her, his gaze direct and unflinching. "My enemies want to hurt Ella. You and Mia are now leverage. I am offering you my protection. Here, in this house, I can guarantee your daughter's safety."
"Guarantee?" she scoffed, pointing at his sling. "You're bleeding!"
"Which is why I know what I'm up against," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "And why I will do anything to protect my family." He looked at me, his meaning clear. "Including yours."
The tense standoff was broken by Mia running back into the room, her face alight with joy. "Mommy, the room has a real princess bed!"
Sarah looked at her daughter's innocent, happy face, then at me, then back at Dante. The fight went out of her, replaced by a weary resignation. "How long do we have to stay?"
"Until the threat is neutralized," Dante answered.
"Just… keep her safe," Sarah whispered. "Whatever it takes."
After she left to join Mia, I collapsed into a chair. "This is a nightmare. Everything I did to protect her only brought the danger closer."
Dante came and sat beside me, taking my hand. "Then we end the fire," he said, his voice grim. "Permanently."
I looked at him. "How?"
His expression darkened, his eyes turning to chips of ice. "By killing Victor. Once and for all."
I knew he was right. But I feared the cost. Mia was upstairs, playing in a princess bed, completely unaware that her aunt was downstairs, silently agreeing to a man's murder. I had crossed so many lines to get here. What was one more? If it meant keeping her safe, I would cross them all. Even if it meant losing the last piece of myself in the process.