Page 37

I take Fiona, who snuggles close with a contented sigh. Over her head, my gaze finds Matteo's, the intensity of our interrupted moment still vibrating between us.

He moves closer, patting Fiona’s back. She turns her head, blinking sleepily up at him before reaching out one small hand toward his face.

"Ba," she murmurs drowsily, patting his cheek with clumsy affection.

Matteo freezes, his eyes widening. He catches her tiny hand in his, pressing a kiss.

"Yes, piccola," he whispers. "I'm here."

Fiona smiles dreamily before her eyes flutter closed again. Matteo looks up at me, his expression stripped of all its usual walls.

In this moment, watching this man, who will soon be one of the most powerful figures in our world, looking at my daughter with such undisguised love, I understand with perfect clarity that there are no more decisions to be made.

Choice, not fate or obligation, has set the path before us. By love.

We are already a family. Everything else—the titles, the responsibilities, the dangers—is secondary to that essential truth.

The Donna of the Bellanti syndicate.

It’s a role I’ve never imagined for myself, yet now it fits like a second skin.

This is who we are now. This is who I choose to be, and I don’t regret any bit of it.

12

Epilogue

Fourmonthslater

Matteo

Blood drips from my knuckles, splattering on the marble floor of the Commission chamber. The copper scent mingles with gunpowder and fear. Four bodies lie at my feet—Caruso’s last desperate loyalists who dared try to kill me at another Commission meeting.

Seriously, they are as dumb as Massimo.

“Is this all of them?” I ask, my voice calm.

Valentino nods by the chamber door. “All accounted for, boss.”

I turn to the twelve powerful Commission members gathered around an ancient table. They had asked for my presence to deal with the last batch of Massimo’s men, when we were suddenly attacked again.

Meeting my father’s gaze, I announce, “Apologies for the interruption, gentlemen. Please, continue with the sentencing of Caruso’s remaining men.”

After a long silence, Don Vincenzo clears his throat. “I believe this matter has resolved itself rather... definitively,” he says, his hands folded.

He turns to my father. “Luca, it appears your son handles threats to our order with remarkable efficiency.”

My father’s lips curl into a subtle smile. “He always has.”

“The Commission recognizes the rightness of Bellanti control,” adds Don Vitale, his gold rings catching the light as he gestures to the bodies. “These fools have hastened not only their own demise but that of any who challenge the new order.”

“New order,” my father repeats thoughtfully as he stands, commanding every eye in the room. “Perhaps more new than you realize, my friends.”

He approaches me with measured steps. For thirty years, my father has ruled our syndicate with brutal precision, earning the title of the country’s most dangerous man. Now, he studies my face as if memorizing it one last time.

“I had planned to wait until things quieted,” he says, his voice filling the silent chamber. “But the time has arrived sooner than expected.”

He removes his heavy gold signet ring—a symbol of his decades-long authority. The Commission shifts, understanding the importance of the moment.