You need to apologize to my mommy. The grand hall of the Long Island estate went dead silent as a three-year-old girl planted her tiny hands on her hips and stared straight up at the one man no one in that house ever dared to defy. Aleandro Moretti could freeze the entire New York underworld with a single look.

Three weeks after the fall of Silvio Moretti and the complete destruction of the Donati syndicate, peace returned to the Long Island sound.

The estate had been fully repaired, the gardens blooming with fresh white roses under the early summer sun.

In the grand hall—the exact spot where Elena had spilled black coffee three months ago—a large velvet rug had been laid down.

I stood by the tall arched windows, wearing a comfortable sundress, watching Mia play with a set of wooden building blocks near the fireplace. The anxiety that had gripped my life for years had completely vanished, replaced by a deep, quiet sense of security.

The heavy front doors opened, and Aleandro walked into the house.

He had just returned from a final meeting with the Commission in Manhattan. He looked tired, but the moment his eyes landed on Mia and me, the tension drained from his shoulders. He tossed his keys onto the side table and unbuttoned his jacket collar.

"Mommy! Aleandro is home!" Mia squealed, dropping her blocks and sprinting across the marble floor in her tiny sneakers.

Aleandro laughed—a warm, rich sound that had become a regular feature of the house—and dropped down onto one knee, catching Mia in his arms and swinging her up into the air before holding her against his hip.

"Have you been a good girl today, little princess?" Aleandro asked, tapping her nose playfully.

"Yes! I helped Mommy make cookies!" Mia giggled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Aleandro set Mia down gently, giving her a shiny toy car from his pocket, and watched her scoot off toward the playroom.

Then, he turned his attention to me.

He walked across the hall until he was standing right in front of me. The air between us crackled with a powerful, unspoken intensity that had been building with every shared moment, every quiet evening conversation, and every protective glance over the past three months.

"The business is settled, Elena," Aleandro said softly, his deep voice wrapping around me like velvet. "The Donati network has been absorbed. My family’s syndicate is secure. There are no more threats."

"I'm glad, Aleandro," I whispered, looking up into his stunning gray eyes. "You fought hard for peace."

"I didn't fight for the business, Elena," Aleandro corrected gently, taking a step closer, his broad hands reaching out to take both of mine in his warm grip. "I fought for you. And for Mia."

My heart did a violent flip inside my chest. "Aleandro..."

"For eight months, you walked through this house carrying coffee trays, keeping your head down, trying to be invisible," Aleandro murmured, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. "I was a cold man, Elena. I thought my heart had died twenty years ago in that storm cellar."

He reached up with his right hand, his fingers resting gently against my jawline, tilting my face up to his.

"Then a brave little girl stood in front of me and demanded I apologize to her mother," Aleandro smiled, his eyes shining with profound emotion. "And when I looked at you, I realized I didn't just want to protect Julian Rossi’s daughter. I wanted to give her the world."

Tears gathered in my eyes as I looked at the man who had transformed from a terrifying mob boss into my protector, my rock, and my heart.