A week after Victor's death, I woke to the gentle morning sun filtering into our bedroom. There were no alarms, no shouts, no gunfire. Just the steady, peaceful rhythm of Dante's breathing beside me. I lay there, watching him sleep, his face relaxed and unguarded in a way I had never seen before. The ruthless Don was gone, replaced by the man I loved, a man finally at peace. The quiet was a strange, unfamiliar thing after months of chaos, but I was slowly learning to embrace it.
I slipped out of bed and went downstairs, drawn by the sound of childish laughter. In the kitchen, Mia and Isabella were in the middle of a pancake-making extravaganza. Flour dusted every surface, and Mia, her face smeared with chocolate, was giggling as Isabella tried to flip a pancake. The staff hovered nervously in the background, clearly unused to such cheerful chaos in their pristine kitchen.
"Auntie Ella!" Mia squealed, running to hug my legs. "We're making breakfast!"
I joined in, my heart swelling with a simple, profound joy. This was normal. This was family.
Sarah entered a few minutes later, a tired but genuine smile on her face as she watched us. "Morning, everyone," she said, pouring herself a coffee. She sat down, her expression turning serious. "I need to talk to you all."
My stomach dropped. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," she assured me. "But… it's time. It's time for Mia and me to go home."
"Go home?" Mia cried, her lower lip trembling. "But I like it here!"
"I know, baby," Sarah said gently. "But we have our own home, our own life." She looked at me, her eyes filled with gratitude. "We've imposed on you long enough."
"You're not imposing," I said, my own heart aching at the thought of them leaving. "You're family."
"I know," she said. "But Mia needs her routine back. Her school, her friends. And I need to get back to work."
"When?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"This weekend. In three days."
Mia burst into tears, and I scooped her into my arms, holding her tight. "I'll visit all the time," I promised, my own tears threatening to fall. "All the time."
Dante appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene with a quick, perceptive glance. He understood immediately. "You're leaving," he said to Sarah. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she said. "It's time."
He nodded. "I understand." He paused, his expression hardening slightly. "But my security detail stays on your house. Permanently."
"Is that necessary?" Sarah asked. "Victor is…"
"Dead," Dante finished for her. "But I have other enemies. I always will. You're family now. That means you're protected. Always."
Sarah's eyes welled up. "Thank you, Dante. For everything."
The next three days were a bittersweet whirlwind of memory-making. We took Mia to the zoo, a discreet but heavy security detail trailing us. We had movie nights in the mansion's private theater, complete with popcorn and candy. We baked cookies, filling the huge kitchen with the scent of chocolate and the sound of Mia's laughter. I treasured every single moment, knowing how empty the house would feel without her.
Mia had become completely attached to Dante. She followed him around like a little shadow, demanding he watch her cartwheels and lift her up so she could touch the ceiling. He indulged her every whim, his patience and gentleness a constant source of wonder to me. I watched him with her and saw the father he could be, the father I wanted for my own children someday.
The night before they were set to leave, after Mia was tucked into bed, the conversation I had been both dreading and anticipating finally happened. We were in our room, and I was quiet, a profound sadness settling over me.
"You're going to miss her," Dante said, pulling me close.
"So much," I admitted. "This house is going to feel so empty."
"We'll visit them often."
"It's not the same." I took a deep breath. "I want kids, Dante. Our own."
He tensed slightly beside me. "Now?"
"Not right this second. But… someday soon. I see you with Mia, and I see the kind of father you would be, and I want that. For us."
His hesitation was a palpable thing. "My world is dangerous, Ella."
"Victor's gone," I argued. "You said yourself—"
"Victor was one threat. There will always be others. I don't want to bring a child into this life."
I pulled back, a familiar frustration rising. "So you'll never have kids? Because of what you do?"
"I don't know, Ella!" he said, his own frustration matching mine. "Can't we just enjoy this? What we have right now?"
"I am enjoying it! But I want more than just 'right now.' I want a future."
He sighed, the anger draining out of him. "I'm not saying no. I'm saying not yet. Let me make things safer. Let me transition more of my business into legitimate ventures. Clean things up."
"How long will that take?"
"I don't know. Six months? A year?"
"Promise me you'll try," I said. "Promise me we can talk about this seriously then."
"I promise," he said, pulling me back into his arms. "Just… be patient with me."
The next morning was heartbreaking. I held a sobbing Mia in my arms, my own tears falling freely. "I love you so much, baby."
"Love you too, Auntie Ella," she cried. "Can I come back and visit?"
"Anytime," I promised. "This is your home too."
Sarah hugged me tightly. "Thank you, Ella. You saved us."
Mia ran to Dante and hugged his legs. "Bye, Dante."
He knelt, his expression softening. "Bye, little one. Be good for your mom." He handed her a small, stuffed bear. "Keep this safe for me until I see you again."
We stood on the front steps, Dante's arm around me, and watched the car disappear down the long driveway. The house was instantly, deafeningly quiet.
In the days that followed, we fell into a new, peaceful routine. We had breakfast together. He went to his office to manage his sprawling, and now increasingly legitimate, empire. I spent my days reading, exploring the city with a discreet guard, and having lunch with Isabella. We had dinner together every night. We fell asleep in each other's arms. It was a life I had never dared to dream of. But after a few weeks, a strange restlessness began to set in. I was bored. I loved my life with Dante, but I had no purpose beyond being his wife.
"I was a teacher," I explained to Isabella one afternoon. "I had a purpose. Now I just… wait for him to come home. I need more."
"So do more," she said simply. "Get a job. Volunteer. You don't have to be just 'Dante's wife.' Have you even asked him?"
I realized with a jolt that I hadn't. I had just assumed my role was to stay home, to be available. That evening, I broached the subject with Dante. "I've been thinking," I said over dinner. "I want to work. Or volunteer. Something with a purpose."
He looked surprised. "You're bored with me already?"
"Not bored," I clarified. "But I need more than just this beautiful house and a wonderful husband. I need to *do* something."
He considered it for a moment. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. Maybe teach again? Or volunteer at the children's hospital? Something with kids."
"Then do it," he said without hesitation.
"Really? You don't mind?"
"Why would I mind?" he said, a genuine smile on his face. "I married you, Ella, I didn't imprison you. My world doesn't have to define yours. If you want to work, then work. Just be safe."
His support was a balm to my restless soul. We spent the rest of the evening planning, discussing options. He was completely on board, encouraging me to find something that made me happy. "You make me happy," I told him. "But I need a purpose, too."
"I understand," he said. "I have my work. You should have yours."
Later that night, lying in bed, the conversation turned back to the topic that was always just under the surface. "Do you still think about it?" I asked. "Having kids?"
"More since Mia left," he admitted. "The house is too quiet." He was quiet for a moment, then he confessed the root of his fear. "What if I'm like my father, Ella? He was a brutal, cold man. He taught me everything I know through violence. What if that's all I know how to be?"
"You are nothing like him," I said fiercely, turning to face him. "I've seen you with Mia. You are gentle and patient and loving."
"With you," he said. "But with a child of my own…"
"You would love that child completely," I insisted. "You are not your father, Dante. You are so much more."
He pulled me close, his voice a low, determined whisper against my hair. "Give me six months. Let me clean up more of my business. Let me make our world as safe as I possibly can. And then we'll try. For a family. I promise."
"Six months?"
"Six months."
"I can wait six months," I said, kissing him. "But not a day longer."
He laughed, a real, happy sound. "Deal."
The storm had passed. Mia was safe, the threat of Victor was gone, and the contract that had brought us together was nothing but ash. We had six months. Six months to build the life we had fought so hard for, the life we deserved. I fell asleep in his arms, dreaming not of violence and blood, but of tiny hands and childish laughter. Of a future we would create together. Finally, we could breathe.