Sunlight pours through the tall windows, gentle and golden, warming my bare skin tangled around the crisp white sheets.
I blink into the brightness, stretching slowly. Every muscle aches, but it’s not the physical pain that stings—it’s the ache in my heart.
I wish Dante was here.
The thought sneaks in before I can stop it. I know it’s ridiculous. After everything—the lies, the betrayal, the violence—I shouldn’t be yearning for him. I want space, mostly. But the truth is, I miss him.
Even after Isabella told me the truth about my father, even after she cleared Dante’s name, a shadow of doubt still lingers. Trust doesn’t come easy—not anymore. But despite it all, I crave his touch. His mouth on mine. His low, gravelly voice melting all my defenses.
I let my eyes drift shut, my heart betraying me as it conjures up images of him with vivid clarity. In my mind, I’m back in his arms, wrapped in his kiss like I was the only thing that mattered.
“I should go,” I say breathlessly in the dream, though my fingers clutch desperately at his shirt.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Dante speaks against my throat. “Not when I finally have you back.”
His hand slides beneath my shirt, his palm dragging heat across my skin. I gasp, arching into him, helpless against the way he commands every part of me—body, breath, thought. His lips brush my collarbone.
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I swear it.”
A flutter in my belly snaps me out of my daydream. I blink hard, heart racing. “Okay,” I say, smoothing a hand over the slight swell of my stomach, “that’s enough of that.”
Dragging myself out of bed, I wander into the bathroom. It’s stunning—glass enclosed stone shower, large garden tub, marble floors and countertops gleaming beneath a high skylight. I turn on the water in the shower, practically salivating at the thought of being able to take one. The simple things I was deprived of while being held captive have become luxuries. I step inside, reveling in the warm water and steam that envelops my body. After washing and conditioning my hair, I later up with the vanilla body wash, breathing in the calming scent.
I step out and towel off, then slip into the plush robe hanging on the hook. I shuffle downstairs, wrapping the robe tighter around me.
The house is quiet. Peaceful. Almost unnervingly so. Through the kitchen window, a pair of guards patrol the property’s perimeter, moving in practiced silence. They’re the only human contact I’ve had since arriving here a week ago.
Dante said they could escort me into town if I wanted. I haven’t taken him up on that yet. Maybe because I’m still rattled by the whole ordeal or maybe because I’m still figuring out what comes next with us. Either way, I’ve kept to the estate.
I flip on the kettle and move around the kitchen slowly, my body still sore. The kitchen smells like honey and lavender from the tea I’ve been living on.
My phone lights up on the counter, Halsey’s name flashing on the screen with a text message.
En route. Prepare yourself. I’ve got tea and baby stuff like you wouldn’t believe. ETA: 5 min.
I smile for the first time all morning.
I pour my tea and curl into a chair near the window, sipping slowly while staring out at the garden. The view is beautiful in an eerie way—quiet, expensive, secretive. But for the first time since I got here, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. Halsey coming to visit gives me a new hope. I haven’t seen her since before the craziness.
I’m safe and alive and my best friend is about to arrive.
The doorbell rings. I shoot up like I’ve been electrocuted, padding across the heated wood floors barefoot, tea forgotten on the table. I pull the door open and—
“Halls!” I yell.
“Eva!” she screams back, practically jumping across the threshold.
We crash into each other, hugging so tight it hurts.
“You smell like chamomile and trauma,” she says.
I can’t help but laugh. Of course she’d say something like that. “You smell like the city. God, I missed you.”
“I brought tabloids, contraband gummy bears, and enough mafia gossip to fuel ten bad mob movies.” She wiggles the oversized tote on her arm. “And maybe there’s some varieties of tea and lots of cute baby stuff in there too. You ready?”
I step aside, eyes misty. “I was born ready.”
For the first time since I got here, the house doesn’t feel like a prison.
She looks me up and down as she comes in, noticing my robe and bare feet. “You look comfortable. I see the Chappaqua spa lifestyle suits you.”
I roll my eyes and smile, shutting the door.
She looks around. “Beats my cramped place, that’s for sure.”
We go into the kitchen. I make her a cup of tea, then warm up the one I left abandoned. We carry our mugs into the living room, and she plops onto the couch, placing the tabloids and a few manila folders on the coffee table.
“So, you want the good news, the bad news, or the weird news first?”
I drop into the armchair across from her. “Ugh. Is there an option for none of the above? Part of me actually likes being totally cut off from the world.”
“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Pick your poison.”
I sigh. “Let’s do weird first. I’m in the mood for something bizarre.”
Halsey kicks off her boots like she owns the place. “Okay, so get this. Rumor has it that Linda Patterson is halfway to Siberia on some cargo ship. No joke. The whispers say your favorite Russians arranged a little one-way cruise after everything blew up.”
She snorts, clearly relishing the scandal. “Of course, the official story is that Linda left the country for an extended business retreat. Which we both know is mob PR code for she’s screwed. She crossed a line and now she’s off the radar, courtesy of the Abramovic crew. Probably eating cold stew out of a tin. No more spa days and fancy clothes for her.”
I raise an eyebrow and set my mug down, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “I know.”
Halsey blinks. “Wait—you already knew all this?”
“I was there, Halls.” I lean back against the cushions. “When the order was given, I heard her scream while Isabella told her she was getting shipped off. Begging for mercy one second, cursing the next. It was ugly.”
Halsey’s jaw drops slightly. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah. But honestly? She’s lucky she’s still breathing. After what she did, everything she planned, Dante and Abramovic could’ve made it permanent. Siberia’s practically a mercy.”
We sit in silence for a beat, letting that settle before Halsey mutters, “Remind me to never piss off a Bellacino.”
I smirk, lifting my tea again. “Smart girl.”
She laughs. “Anyway, next up is the good news. Luca got fired. They stripped him of his heritage rights, kicked him off of all the boards, banned him from Bellacino-owned properties. So he’s basically an unemployed trust-fund brat with no trust fund.”
A laugh escapes me. “That’s ironically satisfying. Sarah’s probably furious.”
“Actually,” Halsey says, a satisfied grin taking hold, “she dumped him. She kicked him out of her penthouse, from what I hear. So yeah, he’s single, broke, and living with mommy’s memory in absentia.”
I give a low whistle. “Good riddance. Luca was always a spineless jerk.”
“Agreed. And last, the bad news.” She sobers a bit, toying with a magazine corner. “The Russians and the Italians are going crazy trying to untangle Linda’s secret deals. She apparently promised Lombardi all sorts of resources—major blackmail deals and offshore bank accounts along with other unknowns. The city’s in reshuffle mode and tensions are high. Which means your man Dante is busier than ever.”
My chest tightens. “He’s not my man.”
Halsey arches a brow. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
I scowl, crossing my arms. “He’s the father of my child, assuming I let him be. It’s complicated. Let’s leave it there.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Sure. Complicated. The best relationships start off that way, right?” Then she leans forward. “Listen, though. They really are in cleanup mode. I’ve heard from a couple of sources that Dante’s been shutting down Linda’s leftover alliances left and right. The Russians, meanwhile, are smoothing out some old rivalries. People are calling it the Abramovic–Bellacino Peace Treaty, or some nonsense. But it’s definitely the calm after the storm.”
I nod slowly. “And me? Where do I fit in all this?”
Halsey purses her lips, then shrugs. “Your name is still hush-hush. I guess no one wants to advertise that the Petrov heiress is alive and pregnant with Dante’s child. If that gets out, it could spark a second meltdown or encourage random Russians with old grudges to target you. So you’re basically still in protective-limbo status. Lucky you.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, glancing around. “Lucky me.”
She sighs, noticing my glum tone. “Hey,” she says softly, “don’t let it get you down. You survived. Gianni’s dead. Linda’s on her way to Siberia, and Luca’s officially dethroned. You can breathe now.”
I manage a small smile. “Yeah. I’m trying. And you’re right. It’s just still so much to process.”
She reaches out and gently squeezes my knee. “Whenever you’re ready to face the Bellacinos, I’m sure Dante will be waiting.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s too busy with mobster housekeeping. I’m sure he’s got bigger fish to fry.”
“Oh, come on. He’s been checking in with me daily to make sure you’re doing okay. He’s really not all that intimidating if you ask me. He clearly cares about you.”
I smile. I know she’s right.
I spend the next few days thinking, questioning, and teetering on the edge of making a decision. Meanwhile, Halsey keeps me updated on every scrap of news. Dante is apparently holed up in the Bellacino mansion, orchestrating alliances with Abramovic, rearranging the new normal.
Time passes. My body heals. My bruises fade. The nurse who examined me when I first arrived here visits weekly, checking on the baby’s vitals and performing regular ultrasounds with a mobile ultrasound machine. The baby’s kicks get stronger as they grow, a daily reminder that I need to figure out our future sooner rather than later. Each night, I drift off imagining what it would be like to raise this child away from the mafia, a quiet and dull life.
But once morning arrives, I feel the tug of Dante’s presence, the ghostly memory of his arms holding me. The heartbreak in his eyes when he knew I thought he killed my father. The relief when I found out he didn’t.
I have to get serious about building something resembling a real life—something stable, something whole. I can’t keep dancing around the inevitable. I have to face the subject I’ve been avoiding the most.
It’s a sunny afternoon. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thumb scrolling through my contact list until I find the number I’m looking for. One of Dante’s most trusted men.
I’m ready to come to the estate. I want to speak with them.
For a second, I just sit there. Once I send the message, it’s done. The quiet hiding phase ends. No more safe walls. No more excuses.
I hit send.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Understood. We’ll pick you up in 30. Be ready.
That’s it. No fanfare. No delays. Just thirty minutes until I walk back into the lion’s den.
I set the phone down, my palms clammy, thoughts caught somewhere between dread and perhaps hope. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know if I’m ready to see Dante again. But what I do know is I’m done stalling.
It’s time to face whatever comes next.
An hour later, I find myself standing outside the imposing doors of the Bellacino mansion once again, a slight breeze rustling my hair.
My footsteps echo on the polished marble floors of the foyer, the grand chandelier above throwing patterns of light across the glossy surfaces. I’m flooded with memories of the way I felt the last time I was here—uncertain and nervous. I’m still uncertain but no longer nervous. This time, I’m downright determined.
I’m led into a small sitting room where Isabella is perched on a plush, velvet couch. She looks up as I enter, a genuine smile spreading across her face.
“Eva,” she says, standing. “Good to see you.”
I cross my arms, measuring my words. “It had to happen eventually.”
She nods. “You look well, all things considered.” Her gaze drifts to my belly, a look of admiration on her face.
I clear my throat. “I’ve had a few weeks to think, to rest, to process. Rumors are swirling, and from what I gather, your alliances are relying on me to forgive you.”
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Straight to business, I see. Yes, the Russians value you—your child, specifically—as a potential bridge between our families.” Her voice softens. “But I’m more concerned about bridging the gap between you and Dante.”
I let out a short laugh. “You say it like you had nothing to do with that gap. You killed my father, Isabella. Then you lied about it and let your son take the blame.”
She winces, and I sense real regret. “I know, and I’ve apologized, but that doesn’t erase the damage. I won’t ask you to forget, nor can I expect you to forgive me, but perhaps we can still find a path forward. For the sake of your child, for the sake of peace between the Italians and the Russians.”
I meet her gaze head-on. “I can forgive in time, but I’ll never forget. One day, you’ll pay for what you did—maybe not with your life, but with the weight of your guilt. That’s between you and whatever higher power you believe in. For now, however, I do agree we need to stand united.”
She exhales heavily, relief crossing her features. “Thank you. That’s more than I deserve.”
I shrug. “Call it practicality. If my baby and I are going to have any kind of future, I’d rather not spend it ducking bullets. If achieving peace means a Petrov–Bellacino alliance, I’m not going to stand in the way.”
Hope lights up her eyes. “You’re quite formidable, Eva. Truly your father’s daughter.”
Hearing that feels strangely good, but I keep my composure. “So the Russians want me allied with you, and you want me allied with Dante?”
She nods. “That’s correct. But let’s not sugarcoat things. This is also personal. Dante’s been miserable since the night he left you in Chappaqua. He’s tried to stay busy, but we can all see it. He loves you.”
My heart stutters. I shift my weight, trying to look casual. “Well, I’m sure he has bigger concerns.”
Isabella’s brows lift. “He’s had plenty of concerns in his life, but you’re the only one that keeps him up at night.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that supposed to make me swoon?”
A wry grin curves her mouth. “I wouldn’t dare speak for him, but I do think you deserve to know how deeply he cares about you.” She tilts her head toward the door. “He’s in the study, unless you’d prefer to speak here.”
My stomach flip-flops with anxiety and excitement. I open my mouth to respond, but Isabella holds up a hand stopping me, her expression brightening.
“Actually, let me call Dante in. He hasn’t been told you’ve arrived yet. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
“Okay.”
Isabella presses a button on an intercom near the door, speaking briefly into it. “He’ll be here shortly.”
Anticipation takes over. This is the moment I’ve both wanted and dreaded—facing Dante after everything I’ve learned, everything I went through.
Isabella steps away, giving me space, but I can feel her presence like a quiet ally. I glance around the room, observing the ornate fireplace, the paintings on the walls, looking anywhere but at the door where Dante will appear.
I straighten my posture and smooth my clothes. My heart flutters as I stroke a hand lightly across my stomach.
I can practically hear Isabella’s faint smile behind me, though I don’t look at her. Finally, footsteps approach from the hallway, and my pulse kicks into gear.
He’s here.
I’m not sure if I should run or stand my ground.
I steel myself and lift my chin. I requested this conversation. I’ll be the one leading it this time.
