I woke to the soft, steady rhythm of Dante's breathing beside me. His injured shoulder was still healing, but he had slept through the night without stirring. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and went downstairs. The house was quiet, but I could hear the faint clatter of pans from the kitchen. As I entered, a small body launched itself at my legs.
"Auntie Ella!" Mia's cheerful voice was a sunbeam in the dark, imposing mansion.
My heart melted. "Hi, sweetie. Did you sleep okay in your new room?"
"The bed is so big!" she chirped, her mouth sticky with syrup from the pancakes a nervous-looking staff member had made for her. "It's like sleeping on a cloud!" Her pure, unadulterated innocence was a fragile, beautiful thing in this world of shadows.
Sarah was at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee, her face etched with exhaustion and worry. "Morning," she said, her voice flat.
"Morning," I replied, sitting beside her as Mia went back to her breakfast. "I know this is… overwhelming."
"Overwhelming?" she scoffed, her voice a low, bitter whisper. "Ella, there are men with guns patrolling the garden. Mia asked me if they were policemen. What am I supposed to tell her?"
"Tell her they're security," I said softly. "Here to protect us."
"From what? You still haven't told me everything. What kind of criminal is he, Ella? Drugs? Murder?" Her eyes searched my face, and when I couldn't answer, her own face crumpled. "Oh, God."
Mia, oblivious, tugged on my hand. "Can we go to the garden? I saw swings!"
Grateful for the interruption, I agreed. We went outside, the guards following at a discreet distance. As Mia laughed, soaring high on the swings, Sarah and I sat on a nearby bench.
"She doesn't understand any of this," Sarah murmured.
"And she won't," I vowed. "We'll keep her safe. We'll keep her innocent."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes." We sat in silence for a moment, watching Mia play. Then Sarah asked the question I had been dreading and longing for someone to ask. "Do you love him? Your husband."
I didn't have to think about it. "Yes," I said, the word feeling more real than anything I had ever said. "I do."
"Even knowing what he is?"
"Because I know *who* he is," I corrected gently. "Not just what."
Just then, Dante appeared, walking toward us across the lawn, his injured arm in a fresh sling. Mia saw him first and stopped swinging, her expression curious but not afraid.
"Good morning," he said, his eyes on me. "You left without waking me." He leaned down and kissed my forehead, a natural, affectionate gesture that made my heart flutter. Sarah watched the interaction, her expression unreadable.
"Who are you?" Mia asked, her head tilted.
Dante knelt, bringing himself down to her level. "I'm Dante. I'm Ella's husband."
"Why is your arm broken?"
"I got hurt at work," he said simply.
"Does it hurt?"
"A little," he admitted.
Mia's face grew serious. "My mommy says kisses make boo-boos better." She leaned forward and planted a small, sticky kiss on the fabric of his sling, right near his shoulder. "There. All better."
A look of pure, unguarded tenderness washed over Dante's face. He was completely disarmed. "Thank you," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "I feel better already." I watched them, my heart swelling so much I thought it might burst. Even Sarah's hard expression seemed to soften at the edges.
"Can you push me on the swing?" Mia demanded.
Dante looked at his sling. "I'll try with one hand." He stood and went to the swing, pushing her gently with his good arm. Her giggles filled the air as he pushed her higher, a genuine, rare smile lighting up his face.
"I didn't expect that," Sarah whispered beside me.
"He's full of surprises," I said, my eyes never leaving the sight of the ruthless mafia boss playing with my niece.
Later, over an informal lunch at the kitchen table, Mia chattered away, and Dante listened, completely engaged. He asked her about her favorite color, her favorite animal, what she wanted to be when she grew up. She basked in the attention. "You're nice," she declared finally. "I like you."
"I like you too, Mia," he said, and I knew he meant it.
After Sarah took a tired Mia upstairs for a nap, Dante pulled me close. "You're good with her," he said.
"She's easy to like," I replied. "She reminds me what we're fighting for." I hesitated. "She asked if you want kids."
"I heard." He looked at me, his gaze intense. "Do you?"
"I… I never really thought about it. Before you."
"And now?"
"Now," I said, my voice soft, "I think… maybe. Someday. When it's safe."
"Then I'll make it safe," he vowed, his voice a low, fierce promise.
His promise was put to the test that afternoon. Marco interrupted us. "Boss, the team is ready."
"I have a strategy session," Dante explained. "About Victor. We're planning the final move."
"Can I come?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
He looked surprised. "To the war room? It'll be… graphic."
"I can handle it," I insisted. "I'm a part of this now. I want to know the plan."
He considered me for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. Come."
The war room was in the basement, a secure, sterile space dominated by a large table covered in maps and surveillance photos. The five men already there—his top lieutenants—stopped talking when I entered with Dante. He silenced their unspoken objections with a single, cold glare. "Gentlemen, my wife will be joining us." I sat beside him, claiming my place at the table.
The plan they laid out was a brutal, frontal assault on Victor's warehouse complex. "We hit at night, three teams," one man said. "Cut the power, go in fast, eliminate everyone."
My stomach churned, but I kept my face a neutral mask.
"Victor will expect a frontal assault," Dante mused.
"Then don't give him one," I said, my voice clear and steady in the silent room. All eyes turned to me.
"What do you mean?" Dante asked.
"He knows you're coming for him. He'll be fortified. So, draw him out. Give him something he wants more than safety." I looked directly at Dante. "Give him me."
"Absolutely not," Dante snapped, his voice like a whip crack.
"Hear me out," I pleaded. "If he thinks he can grab me, he'll get sloppy. He'll come out of his fortress."
"No!" Dante slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. "You are not putting yourself in danger. End of discussion."
The meeting continued, but my suggestion hung in the air. Afterward, when we were alone, the fight I knew was coming erupted.
"You didn't have to embarrass me in front of your men!"
"And you didn't have to suggest suicide!" he roared back. "Do you have any idea what Victor would do to you if he got his hands on you?"
"I'm trying to help end this!" I cried, my own voice rising. "So Mia can go home! So we can have a life!"
"We will have a life! My way! The safe way!"
"Your way is a bloodbath!"
"Yes!" he yelled, his voice raw with an emotion I'd never seen from him before. "Because I do the bleeding so you don't have to! That's what you don't understand, Ella. I would burn this entire city to the ground before I let anything happen to you!"
His raw, desperate protectiveness broke through my anger. I stepped closer, my voice softening. "I know you would." I reached up and touched his face. "But you can't do this alone anymore. We're partners. Let me help. Not as bait. But let me be part of this. All of it."
He leaned into my touch, his anger deflating, leaving only a bone-deep weariness. "I'm so terrified of losing you."
"Then fight smarter, not harder," I urged. "Use your head, not just your guns."
He was quiet for a long moment. "You're right," he admitted, surprising me. "Victor's been playing me, making me react. I need to outthink him." He looked at me, a new respect in his eyes. "I need your perspective." He took my hand. "Alright. Partners." He kissed my knuckles. "But you are never, ever bait. Deal?"
"Deal," I smiled.
That evening, we had a family dinner in the formal dining room—me, Dante, Sarah, Mia, and Isabella. It was a strange, beautiful, domestic scene. Mia, enchanted by the grandeur, declared that I was the queen and Dante was the king. Everyone laughed, the tension of the past few days momentarily forgotten. Even Sarah seemed to be relaxing, seeing the way Dante was with Mia, the way he looked at me.
Later, as I was tucking Mia into her princess bed, she yawned. "I like Dante. He's nice. Is he going to be my uncle?"
"He already is, sweetie," I said, my throat tight.
When I returned to our room, Dante was in bed, reading. He looked up as I entered. "She asleep?"
"Out like a light," I said, climbing in beside him. He put his book down and pulled me close.
"Does it scare you?" he asked quietly. "The idea of having kids? In this life?"
"Yes," I admitted. "But also… no. With you, I think we could make it work."
"After this is over," he vowed, his voice a low murmur against my hair. "After Victor. I want to try for that life. The one with kids and safety and waking up next to you every morning."
"Me too," I whispered, my heart full.
We lay there, wrapped in each other, daring to imagine a future that seemed impossible just days ago. And then we heard it. A loud crash from downstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of shouting and then a burst of automatic gunfire.
We both sat bolt upright. "Stay here!" Dante commanded, already out of bed and grabbing the gun he kept in the nightstand drawer.
"What's happening?!" I cried, my heart seizing with terror.
He was at the door, his body a tense, lethal silhouette. "Victor found us."
We had spent the day playing house, imagining futures and families. Mia had kissed his boo-boo. We had talked about children of our own. And then the gunfire started. Because in our world, happiness always came with a price. And Victor was here to collect.