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The estate was alive that morning, the kind of life that wrapped around the walls like sunlight streaming through sheer curtains.

Laughter bounced off the grand hall, soft music floating from hidden speakers, blending with the clinking of champagne glasses and the gentle hum of conversation.

Staff moved quietly in the background, ensuring everything was just right, but the real star of the show was the little toddler at the center of it all.

Little Leo, chubby and barefoot in his navy-blue overalls and a crisp white shirt, wobbled across the polished marble floor with all the determination he could muster.

His arms flailed as he tried to keep his balance, but his face lit up with pure joy as he made his way toward his father, waiting at the end of the path.

Nikita had his arms wide open, a rare smile softening his otherwise sharp features.

Even in that moment, he looked a bit intimidating, dressed in a dark suit that hugged his broad frame perfectly, a subtle scar tracing his jawline, a constant reminder of his last encounter with my father.

But when Leo tumbled into his chest with a delighted squeal, the cruel Bratva boss seemed to disappear.

What remained was a father, laughing with unfiltered joy as he lifted his son into the air and spun him around once, then twice.

Across the room, I watched, my glass of champagne untouched in my hand.

My red silk dress accentuated my curves, hugging me in all the right places.

Around my neck was a diamond jewel sparkling in the soft light— a gift from my husband.

But my focus wasn’t on myself—it was on them: the two most important men in my life.

My breath hitched as Leo wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck and planted a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

Nik chuckled, pressing his forehead against the boy’s, his voice low and tender with a sprinkle of sheer affection.

My lips curled into a genuine smile as I watched them—father and son sharing a wonderful moment.

Nik was saying something to the boy in their native Russian.

Although I couldn’t catch the words, they resonated in my heart like a sweet melody.

The walls of the grand hall, once filled with orders, footsteps, and the weight of power, now held a different kind of memory.

Balloons in soft pastels floated in the corners, and a handmade banner reading “Leo’s First” hung above the fireplace.

Olga had insisted on making it herself, a small token of her love for little Leo.

A small cake, adorned with blue frosting and tiny fondant decorations, sat on the table by the window, waiting to be celebrated.

Our guests—friends and acquaintances of the Tarasovs—filled the room, lingering in groups. Their soft laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses added to the ambience of the space. It wasn’t just a celebration; it was more than that. It was a mark of how far we’d come.

A year had gone by already, and it all just felt like yesterday when I got entangled in the mess that altered the course of my life.

Olga had asked me to trust the process, to trust her, and that things would fall in place at the right time.

It was hard to make sense of what she was saying back then, even though deep down I wanted it to be true.

My fear had stood in the way of my faith.

But here we were, a year later, and things couldn’t have turned out better.

My eyes met Nik’s across the sea of guests, and in their depths, I saw the man the rest of the world still feared, the cold and ruthless mafia boss. However, beneath the surface —underneath the steel—was a warmth that only I had been allowed to know and explore.

He walked across the room, cradling Leo in his arms, and when he finally paused in front of me, he gently kissed my forehead, saying nothing at all.

This was our new reality now.

In this brief, beautiful moment filled with laughter and warmth, I let myself believe that indeed things had turned out better than I had thought. It was okay to consider myself the luckiest woman alive, the most loved, cherished, and adored.

Scarlett had said, “I told you so” on the day Nik had officially made a wife out of me.

Our wedding was small but classic, with limited guests, strictly by invitation.

I had doubted the possibility of finding happiness in this household, and with good reason.

But now, it was hard to remember the times when these same walls were nothing but the prison that held me captive.

How could something so bitter and sour turn out to be so sweet and wonderful?

Yes, I lost the Romano name, but soon after, I picked up another, an even more powerful one.

Tarasov.

Alessia Tarasov.

That was my name now.

Even though it hurt me like hell that my father had disowned me for choosing my happiness over everything else, I still understood his pain.

He couldn’t fathom how his only daughter could betray him by falling in love with his worst enemy.

I got that. He was too angry to even consider my feelings, but then again, that was classic Dante Romano; it was always about him, his name, and reputation. It was never about us, his children.

What dad didn’t know was that he was the only one in the family who had refused to speak to me.

My brothers and Uncle Roberto had been in touch with me ever since—they even sent birthday gifts for my son.

Of course, all of this was done under the radar because we couldn’t have Dad flaring up and making mountains out of mole hills. Again.

They understood my plight, what I had to endure as a Romano who had no say over her own life.

My brother, Bruno, believed that I was the lucky one since I managed to cut myself off from the rest of the family.

At least, I got to live my life the way I wanted, unlike he and Marco, who still had to live under our father’s shadow.

They’d kept me informed on how bitter he had become and how even the smallest things could upset him to the point where he now threw tantrums like a child. Dad was a proud man—a really proud man—and that pride was the obstacle between him and me.

To my father, this was some sort of game, and I was the trophy he’d lost to the man who almost ruined him.

He couldn’t find it in his stone-cold heart to let go and let the past remain in the past. No.

He’d rather hold on to his pain, to his pride.

The Romanos had finally moved back to Italy for good this time, away from the chaos and drama they left behind.

As much as this separation from my family hurt me, I knew it was for the best. Bruno was right; I was the lucky one.

I dodged a bullet and took hold of my own life, doing what I wanted.

I was content this way, free from the childhood trauma I suffered trying to live up to my father’s expectations.

The pressure was so overwhelming that I didn’t know what true liberty and freedom were until I had the opportunity to make a choice.

Choice, a concept that was once alien to me, once a luxury that even my father’s money could not afford, was now my reality. How ironic.

I’d always loved nursing, intrigued by the idea of saving lives, not taking them. It was my deepest ambition, one that I thought would never see the light of day. I buried this and the dream of owning my own business—a boutique—all because a predefined path had already been set out for me.

Dad’s influence over his children’s career options was so strong and frightening that all we knew was law.

Nothing more. His decision was final, leaving no room for arguments or suggestions.

Dad’s dream of being legally untouchable—of building an army of soldiers in law to protect his empire—blinded him from seeing the damage his selfishness was causing his children.

He wouldn’t even entertain any discussion aimed at attempting to help him view things from a different perspective.

More than once, he’d had serious quarrels with his brother. Why? Simply because Uncle Roberto was of the opinion that children should be allowed to choose their own path and destiny. Dad was rigid, with a stony heart, and he ruled his household with an iron fist.

About a year ago, when my husband asked what I wanted out of life, I froze for a second. No one, aside from Uncle Roberto, had asked me that before, and so my brain was blank for a minute.

Nik and I had a long conversation about how I’d always loved nursing and my dream to own a boutique. I told him my fears and how my trauma could stand in the way of my success. All my life, the law was all that I knew; changing to something else now felt like a huge challenge.

I still remembered his words as if it were just yesterday. He said then, “It’s okay to be afraid; we all feel fear at some point in our lives. And trust me, change can be difficult, but I’m here with you…every step of the way.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as his voice echoed in my head, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this journey of finding my purpose. We agreed that I’d nurse our child for at least a year after he was born and then enroll in a physical or online nursing class.

In all honesty, I was afraid to start life all over again, to venture into something new, a line different from the original one carved out for me.

But I was lucky to have a husband who had my best interests at heart, a man who loved and adored me with every fiber of his being.

Treading this path would not be easy, but at least, I was certain that he’d be by my side every step of the way.

For me, no assurance was better than that.