The mafia boss’s baby wouldn’t stop crying on the plane until a single mother did the unthinkable. The baby’s cries pierced the first-class cabin like shattered glass, relentless and desperate. Every passenger who heard it grimaced, shifted uncomfortably, or glared irritably at the source of the commotion. But no one dared to complain. Not when they saw the man holding the child.

Dominic Santoro sat rigidly in his seat, his jaw clenched so tightly it could shatter diamonds. The tailored black suit that usually made him look like a dark angel now seemed to constrict him like a prison. His eyes, normally cold and calculating, held a glint of something strange. Panic. Pure, unfiltered panic.

 

The baby, his son, continued to cry, his tiny fists thrashing against Dominic’s chest. Two months old and already bearing the weight of a burden he hadn’t asked for. Two months since Isabella had breathed her last, bringing this child into the world. Two months since Dominic Santoro, the most feared man in the American underground, had become something he never thought possible. Helpless. Sir.

One of his bodyguards leaned in carefully, speaking so softly the other passengers couldn’t hear him. “We could land early. Find a no.” Dominic’s voice was still silky smooth. “We’re keeping to the schedule.” But the baby didn’t care about schedules. He didn’t care that his father controlled half the criminal operations on the East Coast. That men crossed the streets to avoid his shadow.

That entire families had disappeared on his orders. The baby knew only hunger, discomfort, and the absence of the warmth he had known for two precious months before it was taken from him. Dominic had tried everything. Bottles prepared by the nanny waiting at their destination. Pacifiers that the child spat out with surprising force.

Rocking awkwardly in his arms, more accustomed to signing death warrants than comforting cries. Nothing worked. Three rows ahead, Sarah Mitchell heard the desperate cries and felt her body respond instinctively. Her breasts ached with a sympathetic let-down, milk threatening to soak through the nursing pads she was still using, even though she closed her eyes, suppressing the wave of pain that always accompanied that thought. Six months.

Six months had passed since she had held her own daughter in her arms. Six months since the tiny heart had simply stopped beating one night. Without explanation, without warning. Sudden infant death syndrome, the doctors had said, as if naming the nightmare would somehow lessen the pain. Sarah was returning home from a grief therapy conference in New York, trying to piece her shattered life back together.

She was a pediatric nurse, or at least she had been. After losing Emma, ​​she couldn’t go back to the NICU, couldn’t watch other people’s babies thrive while her own lay cold on the ground. The crying intensified, and Sarah felt tears sting her eyes. She knew that sound, the desperate, hungry whale of a baby who needed something primal, something only a mother could provide. Her hands trembled as she gripped the armrests.

“Miss, are you alright?” The flight attendant stopped beside her, concerned. Sarah looked up and then back to where the crying was coming from. That baby. It sounds… I’m a nurse. Maybe I can help. The flight attendant’s expression shifted to a mixture of relief and skepticism.

The passenger had been adamant about not wanting help, but if she wanted to try, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Sarah unbuckled her seatbelt before she could reconsider and followed the flight attendant down the aisle. With each step, her heart pounded harder. It was crazy. She was still breastfeeding. Her body hadn’t received the news that there was no longer a baby to feed.

But she couldn’t just offer to breastfeed a stranger’s child, could she? Then she saw him. Dominic Santoro sat like a king on a throne, even in distress. Black hair swept back over a face that looked as if carved from marble by an angry god. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw obscured by a stubble, and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.

He wore power like a second skin, and danger emanated from him in waves that made his survival instinct scream for him to turn around. But the baby in his arms looked so small, so helpless against that broad chest. The baby’s face was red from crying, its tiny features contorted with sadness. “Sir,” the flight attendant began nervously. “This passenger is a nurse.”

She wondered if it was him. Dominic’s gaze locked on Sarah, and she felt the impact like a physical blow. Those eyes could tear the flesh from his bones, could make grown men confess to sins they hadn’t even committed. For a moment, Sarah forgot to breathe.

“Nurse,” he repeated, his voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. An accent lingered at the edges. Probably Italian, though Americanized over years in the United States. Pediatric, Sarah was heard to say, though he…

Her voice sounded distant. I know that cry. She’s hungry. I’ve tried the bottle. Frustration pierced Dominic’s outward control. She won’t accept it.

Sarah’s gaze shifted from the man to the baby, and something in her chest broke. The baby’s cry had taken on a desperate tone, the kind that speaks of true anguish. “I’d heard it too many times in the NICU, and his body responded before his brain could react.” “Some babies don’t take artificial teats,” she said softly, moving closer despite her instinct telling her to run from this dangerous man. Especially if they were breastfed at first. Was she his mother? Something changed in Dominic’s expression. A flash of pain so intense that Sarah caught her breath. “She died,” he said tersely. “Eight weeks ago, during childbirth.” The cabin seemed to fall silent around them, though the baby continued to cry. Sarah’s eyes burned with tears she’d held back. His grief recognized her own, even as her training as a nurse made itself known. “Then he’s probably refusing the bottle because he’s looking for something familiar,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. Something he associates with comfort and security.

Their eyes met, and Sarah saw the exact moment he understood what she was implying. He clenched his jaw, and for a second, he thought he would order her to leave. But then the baby let out another desperate cry, and something in the untouchable mafia boss crumbled.

Are you offering me what I think you’re offering me? His voice was dangerous, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sarah swallowed hard. This was madness. This was more than madness. But the baby was suffering. And her body was producing milk that had nowhere to go. And maybe, just maybe, she could help this tiny life even if she hadn’t been able to save her own.

“I’m still producing,” she admitted, her cheeks flushed. “I lost my daughter six months ago. My body hasn’t. I haven’t been able to stop it. If you ask me, if you allow me, I can try.” The silence that followed was deafening. All the first-class passengers remained silent, sensing they were witnessing something profound, even if they didn’t quite understand what.

Dominic Santoro stared at this woman, this stranger who had just offered the most intimate gift one human being could give another, and felt the ground shift beneath his feet. In his world, there were no gifts. Everything had a price. All kindness was like a knife. But this woman’s eyes reflected only compassion and a pain that mirrored his own.

“The bathroom,” he said abruptly, rising smoothly despite the child in his arms. “It’s more private.” Sarah’s heart pounded as she followed him to the first-class bathroom, fully aware of the bodyguard trailing behind them. This was real. It was really happening. The bathroom was small but luxurious, as luxurious as an airplane bathroom.

Dominic stood in the doorway; his large frame filled most of the space, a hesitation reflected in his features, which probably hadn’t shown uncertainty in years. “I’ll wait outside,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “Unless you need me, I’ll be fine,” Sarah assured him, though her hands trembled as she reached for the baby. “What’s his name?” “Marco.”

The word came out like a prayer and a curse. “For my grandfather.” Sarah took the baby gently, cradling his small body against her chest. Marco’s crying had subsided to broken whimpers, as if he sensed something was about to change. She looked at Dominic, this dangerous and powerful man who had just entrusted her with his most precious possession, and saw a vulnerability that took her breath away.

“I’ll take care of him,” she promised. Dominic nodded once, firm and controlled, then stepped back to let her close the door. The moment it shut, Sarah felt its weight. The feeling of what she was about to do enveloped her like a blanket.

Her hands moved on autopilot, unbuttoning her blouse with the efficiency of someone who had done it a thousand times. Then she placed Marco on her chest, supporting his little head as she had held so many babies in the sling. For a moment, nothing happened. Marco whimpered, turning his face against her skin, searching. Then his instincts kicked in and he latched on, and Sarah felt the familiar pull and release as he began to nurse.

Tears streamed silently down her face as she gazed at the baby in her arms. He wasn’t Emma. He would never be Emma. But he was a child who needed comfort, who needed nourishment, who needed the one thing her body still craved to give him. “It’s okay, little one,” she whispered, stroking his dark hair. It’s okay.

Outside the door, Dominic Santoro stood with his fists clenched at his sides, while his bodyguard wisely kept his distance. The silence that had replaced his son’s cries was both a relief and a torment. He had just handed Marco over to a complete stranger. He, who trusted no one, who checked everyone’s background…

A person who approached within three meters of his son had just handed him over to a woman whose last name he didn’t even know.

But something about her had pierced the armor she had built around herself. Perhaps it was the pain in her eyes, which mirrored his own. Perhaps it was the desperate courage it took to offer such intimate kindness to a stranger. Or perhaps it was simply that, for the first time in eight weeks, someone had offered to help without expecting anything in return.

When the bathroom door opened fifteen minutes later, Sarah emerged with Marco sleeping peacefully in her arms. The baby’s face was relaxed, his tiny fist pressed against her chest, completely at peace. Dominic looked at his son with true peace for the first time since Isabella’s death and felt something stir in his chest. Something dangerous.

Something that in their world could kill someone. “He’s asleep,” Sarah said unnecessarily, in a low voice so as not to wake the baby. “He ate well. He’ll probably sleep for a few hours.” She moved to hand Marco back, but Dominic’s hand reached out to stop her, his fingers encircling her wrist with surprising gentleness.

“Your name,” he demanded, though his tone had lost its edge. “Sarah. Sarah Mitchell. Dominic Santoro.” He released her wrist, taking Marco from his arms with expert care. His son barely moved, too happy to wake up. “I owe you one, Sarah Mitchell.” “You don’t owe me anything.” Sarah began buttoning her blouse, suddenly aware of how intimate the situation was. She was happy to help.

In my world, everything has a price. Dominic’s eyes locked onto her with an intensity that took her breath away. “And what you just did—feed my son, give him peace when nothing else could—isn’t something I can just walk away from.” Something in his tone made Sarah’s heart race harder than a car pull. It sounded almost like a warning. “I should get back to my seat.”

Wait. The word was an order, not a request. Dominic switched Marco’s arm with the ease of someone who’d been doing this alone for weeks, then pulled a card from his suit pocket. “Call me when we land. I want to thank you properly.” Sarah reflexively took the card, her fingers brushing against his. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her arm, and from the slight opening of his eyes, he felt it too.

That’s not necessary. It is for me. His voice had softened. “Dangerous. You gave my son something precious. The least I can do is invite you to dinner.” Sarah knew she should say no. Everything about that man screamed danger, from the way the other passengers looked away as he walked by to the bodyguards who followed his every move.

But there was something about his expression as he looked at his son. A vulnerability that drew her to the broken heart. “Dinner.” She found herself agreeing. “Just dinner.” A hint of a smile touched Dominic’s lips, transforming his face from dangerous to devastatingly attractive. “Just dinner,” he repeated, though something in his tone suggested he was making a promise neither of them yet understood. Sarah returned to her seat a day later. The warmth of Marco’s small body still lingered on her skin. She didn’t notice how Dominic’s bodyguards were already gathering information about her. She didn’t see the calculating look in Dominic’s eyes as he watched her walk away. In his world, the world of the American Mafia, where tradition ran deeper than blood, what had just happened wasn’t simple.

This wasn’t just a kind stranger helping a child in need. In the old ways, the way his grandfather had taught him, the way that still governed ancient families, a woman who breastfed Dawn’s child became part of that family, became part of him. Sarah Mitchell had just fed her son. She had given Marco the one thing Dominic couldn’t give him. The one thing he had desperately longed for since Isabella’s death. In doing so, she had fulfilled a role that, according to the traditions of their world, made her sacred, made her his. Dominic looked at his peacefully sleeping son and felt the echo of his grandfather’s words in his mind. When a woman feeds her child with her own body, she becomes his mother.

And Dawn’s son can only have one mother, his queen. He didn’t really believe in the old ways. They were superstitions, traditions from another era. But as he held Marco peacefully for the first time since his birth, Dominic felt the weight of those ancient rules upon him like a cloak. Sarah Mitchell didn’t know it yet. But the moment she offered to nurse her son, she entered his world.

And in her world, some things were sacred. Some bonds couldn’t be broken. Some debts could only be paid one way. The plane continued its journey through the clouds, carrying two broken souls toward a destination neither of them had foreseen. Sarah Mitchell, the pediatric nurse running from her pain.

And Dominic Santoro, the mafia boss who had just found something more precious than power. Someone he could give his son…

A mother’s love. But love in her world came at a price. And that price was written in a tradition older than America. Sarah had saved her son’s life that night. Though she didn’t realize it, Marco was slowly starving, refusing every bottle, growing weaker every day. The doctors had talked about feeding tubes, about hospitalization.

But an act of compassion from a stranger had resolved what weeks of medical intervention could not. And Dominic Santoro always paid his debts. Always. The black SUV that picked Sarah up at the airport two days later wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d pictured a regular restaurant, maybe something fancy given Dominic’s obvious wealth.

Instead, the driver, a huge man with a cold stare and an earpiece, had escorted her to a vehicle that screamed, “Federal Protection or something darker.” The windows were tinted so dark she couldn’t see out, and the locks clicked ominously as soon as the door closed. “Where are we going?” Sarah tried to keep her voice steady as the SUV merged into traffic.

Miss Dawn. The driver’s gaze met hers in the rearview mirror. He thought she’d be more comfortable at a private dinner. Given the baby, Dawn, not Dominic, not Mr. Santoro, Dawn. Sarah’s stomach churned as it all fell into place. The plane’s bodyguards, the way the passengers had delivered the baby, the ease with which she dominated others, the casual use of the title Dawn, a title she knew from police dramas and organized crime news. My God, what had she gotten herself into?

The pickup truck wound its way through the streets of Newark before venturing into the suburbs. Each mile took them further from public spaces and closer to sprawling estates hidden behind stone walls and iron gates. When they finally passed through a particular gate, it was guarded by two men with very visible weapons.

Sarah felt her heart leap into her throat. The estate was enormous, a sprawling mansion that looked like something out of The Godfather. The manicured lawns stretched in every direction, and Sarah counted at least four other security guards patrolling the grounds before the SUV pulled up to the main entrance. Miss Mitchell. A woman in her sixties appeared in the doorway, her stern expression softening slightly as she looked at Sarah.

I’m Teresa, the house manager. Mr. Santoro is waiting in the children’s room. If you follow me. Children’s room, right? Because it was Marco. Sarah clung to that thought as Teresa led her through a house worthy of Architectural Digest. Marble floors, priceless works of art, furniture that cost more than Sarah’s annual salary.

Everything screamed wealth, power, and danger. They climbed a grand staircase to the second floor, and Sarah heard him before she saw him. Marco’s cries, not as desperate as on the plane, but still distressed. Teresa opened a door to reveal a children’s room, opulent and surprisingly warm, decorated in soft shades of blue and silver, with a mural of clouds covering one wall. Dominic stood by the window, Marco crying in his arms, his expression strained with frustration. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves, revealing muscular forearms, and Sarah caught her breath. Extensive tattoos disappeared beneath the fabric. They weren’t ordinary tattoos. They were deliberate, symbolic. She recognized some of the images.

A crown, what looked like family crests, the kind of ink that told stories in the criminal underworld. Sarah. Her voice was raspy with relief as she turned. Thank God. He’s been asking for you. Asking for me? Sarah’s voice came out higher than she intended. Dominic, what is this? Who are you really? Something flashed in her dark eyes.

Respect, perhaps because she was asking directly. He gestured to Teresa, who left silently, closing the door behind her. Suddenly, Sarah was alone with the most dangerous-looking man she had ever met and her crying baby. “I think you already know,” Dominic said softly, still rocking Marco. “You’re smart. You’ve put two and two together. You’re with the mob.”

“It wasn’t a question. I am the Mafia. At least I’m the head of the Santoro family. We control most of the operations from here to Boston. Shipping, construction, waste management. Some legitimate, some—” He paused. “Less legitimate.” Sarah backed toward the door, fumbled for the handle. “I have to go. Marco needs you.”

Dominic’s voice stopped her, not because it was authoritarian, but because it was broken. “Look at him, Sarah. Really, look at him.” Against her better judgment, Sarah did. The baby in Dominic’s arms was thinner than he had been on the plane. His cry was weak, setting off her nursing instincts. Dark circles under his eyes, and his skin had lost the healthy rosy glow that babies should have.

What had happened? He started moving forward, unable to stop himself. He’d looked fine two days ago. He doesn’t eat. Dominic clenched his jaw. Not the bottle, nothing. He

He had a bottle the night we landed, and since then, he’s refused everything. The pediatrician wants to hospitalize him. Put in a feeding tube. But I… —her voice broke—. I can’t do that to him.

He’s already lost his mother. If I could give him what he needs, I would. But… —But you can’t—Sarah finished, understanding all too well. She reached out for Marco, and as soon as the baby was in her arms, his crying subsided to whimpers. He turned his face to her chest, groping for something.

“Oh, darling, you’re really hungry, aren’t you? I’m sorry.” Dominic ran a hand through his hair; the gesture made him look younger, more vulnerable. I know this isn’t fair to you. I know I have no right to ask, but when I saw how he answered you on the plane, he was so calm.

Sarah, I haven’t seen my son calm since the day he was born. Not once. Sarah looked from the baby in her arms to the man in front of her. This terrifying, powerful, and dangerous man, who was also a desperate father trying to save his daughter. She thought of Emma, ​​of how he would have moved heaven and earth to keep his daughter alive.

How she would have begged, borrowed, or stolen anything that could have prevented that terrible duel. “This is madness,” she whispered. “I know you’re a criminal.” “Yes, I should run out that door and never look back.” “Probably, but he needs to eat.” Sarah looked at Marco, whose whimpers had turned into ragged sobs as he continued to search for sustenance. “And I can help him.” “I’ll pay you,” Dominic said quickly and urgently. “Anything you want—a salary, a house, anything. Just help him. Please. They did.” This man, who was clearly not used to asking for anything, who probably ruled his world with absolute authority, was begging her to save his son. “Can we have some privacy?” Sarah asked quietly.

Dominic nodded and headed for the door, but Sarah’s voice stopped him. “Wait, first I need to know something.” She looked him straight in the eye, refusing to look away, despite how intimidating it was. “On the plane, you said I’d intruded on your world, that what I did created some kind of debt. What did you mean?” A muscle in Dominic’s jaw tightened.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer, and Sarah thought maybe not. Then he sighed, the sound heavy with tradition. “My grandfather was born in Sicily,” he began, his accent thickening slightly as he spoke of his heritage. He brought the old ways with him when he came to America. He built this family on those traditions.

One of those traditions is about children, specifically about who feeds them. I don’t understand it. In old families, blood isn’t… the only thing that makes a family. Milk is, too. Dominic’s gaze was intense, burning with something Sarah couldn’t quite put her finger on. When a woman breastfeeds a child who isn’t biologically hers, especially the child of Adonai, she becomes part of that family, she becomes sacred to them.

In the oldest traditions, what does she become? Sarah’s heart pounded. The child’s mother, Dominic finished. And in our world, a child of Dawn can only have one mother, his wife. The silence that followed was deafening. Sarah stared at him, trying to process what he had just said, trying to understand if he meant what she thought he meant. “You can’t be serious. I don’t expect you to marry me,” Dominic said quickly.

“That’s not… This isn’t medieval Sicily, but in my world, what you did on that plane means something. It means you’re now under my family’s protection, whether you like it or not. It means other families will see you as connected to us. And it means… —she paused, as if struggling to find the words—. It means I can’t let you go. I can’t let myself go.”

Sarah’s voice rose. “You don’t own me. I’m not a possession you can claim because of some old superstition. It’s not a superstition for the people I deal with.” Dominic’s voice hardened. “As soon as it gets out that you breastfed my son, it’ll get out, Sarah. Things like this aren’t a secret in my world.”

You’ll become a target. Rival families will see you as a way to get to me. You’ll need protection. My protection. Then I won’t do it again. Sarah hugged Marco tighter, even as the baby’s cries intensified. “I’ll help him today. I’ll make sure he eats well. And then I’ll leave. No one has to know. Teresa already knows.”

My driver knows. My security team knows. Dominic approached, and Sarah fought the urge to back away. And in about three hours, when my deputy comes to deliver his weekly report, he’ll know. Tomorrow, every family, from here to Chicago, will know that Dominic Santoro’s son has a wet nurse. That’s how fast information travels in this world.

Then tell them I’m just an employee, a contract nurse. It doesn’t work that way. Frustration colored her tone. Symbolism matters. The act itself matters. You gave my son something precious, something intimate. In the eyes of the old families, that makes you precious. It makes you mine to protect. I’m not yours.

But

As Sarah spoke, Marco let out a desperate cry, and she felt her body respond. Her milk was letting down despite her emotional state. The baby sensed it too, rubbing himself more frantically against her shirt. Dominic saw her, saw in her eyes the realization that her body was betraying her resolve. “He needs you,” he said softly. “And whether you like it or not, you need me now too.”

“Because I promise you, Sarah Mitchell, as soon as other families find out about this, your life will never be the same.” Sarah looked down at the suffering baby in her arms, then back at the dangerous man in front of her. Every rational part of her brain screamed for her to run, to get as far away from this world as possible. But she was a nurse. She had taken an oath to help those in need.

And this baby, this innocent child who had lost his mother the day he was born, desperately needed her. “One week,” she heard herself say. “I’ll stay for one week. Help him get used to the bottle. Work with a lactation consultant to find a solution.” But then I leave, and you tell everyone I was just a temporary medical solution.

No strange mafia marriage traditions, no sacred bonds, just a professional agreement. Dominic’s expression was unreadable. One week, and he wanted a written contract stating that I was free to leave after seven days without retaliation, without being followed, without being claimed as property. Done. He pulled out his phone. I’ll have my lawyer draft it in an hour.

Sarah nodded, not daring to speak. She moved away from him and settled into the plush rocking chair near the window. Privacy, she repeated. This time, Dominic left without arguing, closing the door behind him. Sarah heard him bet someone outside. Of course he did. He probably had guards everywhere. But for now, she was alone with Marco.

“Okay, little one,” she whispered, unbuttoning her shirt with trembling hands. “We’re going to feed you.” Marco latched on instantly, and his desperate sucking gradually turned into the rhythmic tugs of a contented baby. Sarah closed her eyes; tears streamed down her face as she rocked him. This was wrong in so many ways.

She was breastfeeding a crime boss’s baby, sitting in a mansion bought with blood money, trapped by traditions older than America. But, my God, it felt good to hold a baby again. To feel needed, to feel that maybe she could save him, even though she hadn’t been able to save Emma. Outside the door, Dominic leaned against the wall, listening for the silence that meant his son was finally eating. Finally at peace.

He pulled out his phone and made a call. “Luca, I need you here now, and bring the lawyer.” He paused, listening to his deputy’s reply, “Because we have a problem. The baby has a wet nurse.” He could almost hear Luca’s shock through the phone. In his world, everyone would know exactly what that meant.

“Yes,” Dominic continued somberly. “I know what tradition says. That’s why we need the lawyer. I need to figure out how to protect her without…” He stopped, unwilling to utter what the old ways demanded. What his grandfather would have insisted on without question.

When a woman breastfeeds Dawn’s child, she becomes his wife, not through ceremonies or paperwork, but through an act older and more binding than any legal contract: the sacred act of nurturing the family’s heir. Dominic had told Sarah he didn’t expect her to marry him, and he meant it. He didn’t believe in forcing women into anything. To hell with tradition.

But she knew it too, in the eyes of all the old-school families, from New York to Sicily. The moment Sarah Mitchell held Marco to her chest, she became the queen of the Santoro family. Whether she liked the crown or not, and that meant Dominic had to protect her.

He had to publicly claim her as his own before the rival families decided to make their own decisions. He had to make it clear that touching Sarah Mitchell was tantamount to declaring war. In the Santoro family. He just had to figure out how to do it without her hating him in the process. Inside the nursery, Sarah held Marco as he breastfed him, completely unaware that she had just become the most valuable and dangerous woman in the American underworld.

Unbeknownst to Dominic Santoro, his rivals were already making plans, seeing an opportunity in this unexpected turn of events. Unbeknownst to him, the man on the other side of the door was already falling in love with her, drawn to her courage and compassion in ways that terrified him. Because in his world, love was a weakness. Love killed people, but his son needed her.

And more and more, Dominic realized that he needed her too. One week, she had said, “Seven days for Marco to eat properly, and then I’ll leave.” Dominic stared at the closed bedroom door and made a decision that would change everything. He would give her the week, let her think she could leave, let her feel safe enough to let her guard down.

And in that time, I would show him that, despite the darkness of

In his world, despite the blood on his hands, he could be whatever she and Marco needed. Because one week wasn’t going to be enough. Not even close to enough for either of them. Four days into Sarah’s week, the mansion had become a strange home.

Teresa had explained that she’d been given a bedroom next to the children’s room for convenience, though Sarah suspected it was more to keep her close and safe. The rooms were beautiful, decorated in soft cream and gold tones, with a bathroom featuring a bathtub so large you could swim in it. Everything exuded luxury, comfort, and a sense of confinement.

Sarah spent most of her time in the nursery with Marco, feeding him every three hours, learning his rhythms, watching him slowly regain the healthy flush that babies should have. Dominic was present for almost every feeding, sitting in the corner chair like a silent guardian, watching his son nurse with a heart-wrenching expression.

He never pressured her, never crossed any boundaries, but his presence was constant and increasingly magnetic. “He’s gaining weight,” Sarah said on the fourth night. Marco slept peacefully in her arms after feeding. In a few more days, he’d be strong enough to try the transition to expressed milk and bottles. Good. But Dominic’s tone didn’t sound pleased. He seemed tense, tense. His jaw was clenched like that.

She was beginning to realize she was holding something back. “What’s wrong? We need to talk.” She stood up, closing the bedroom door more firmly. “About the situation.” Sarah’s stomach clenched. “What situation? Word got around.” She ran a hand through her hair, tousling the perfectly styled black strands.

About you? About what you’re doing for Marco? Three families have already contacted me to ask. Ask? Polite ways of asking if I’ve formally claimed you. His eyes met hers. Dark and intense. Whether you’re under my protection as a mere employee or something more. And what did you tell them? That you’re mine. The words came out harsh, possessive.

Anyone who touches you answers to me. Sarah should have been angry. She should have protested being called his, but something in the fierce protection of his voice made her feel safe rather than trapped. “So I’m a prisoner here. You’re protected here.” Dominic moved closer, and Sarah’s pulse quickened. “There’s a difference. You can leave. I signed the contract, remember? But if you leave, I can’t guarantee your safety.” The Moretti family has already said they want to meet the woman who guards the Santoro air. “Why would they want to meet me? Because you’re valuable.” He stopped just before touching her, close enough for her to see the golden glint in his dark eyes. “In the old ways, the woman who nurses Adon’s son has almost as much power as the Dawn itself. She’s sacred, she’s protected.” He hesitated. “So what? What if something happened to me? You and Marco would be the logical successors to control the family.” The words fell like stones between them. “That makes you dangerous to my rivals and valuable to my allies.” Sarah’s arms tightened around the sleeping baby. This is madness.

This is my world. Dominic’s voice softened. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. But Sarah… he paused, as if struggling with something. I’m not sorry you’re here. The confession hung in the air between them, heavy and dangerous. Sarah caught her breath as she watched the emotions spread across his usually composed face.

Vulnerability seeks something that felt dangerously close to affection. Dominic, let me finish. He interrupted her gently. These last four days seeing you with my son, seeing him calm and healthy thanks to you. Sarah, you gave us both something I thought was lost forever. A chance at having a normal family. I’m not your family. I’m just helping. You are family.

He extended his hand slowly, indicating his movement so she could pull away if she wanted. When she didn’t, his hand cupped her cheek with surprising gentleness. The moment you fed Marco, you became family. Maybe not in the legal sense, maybe not the way the modern world understands it, but in the ways that matter to me, to my son. You are already ours.

Sarah knew she should pull away, remind him of their agreement, the three days she had left before she left. She definitely shouldn’t bend toward his touch like a flower toward sunlight. “This can’t happen,” she whispered. But her body betrayed her words, drawing her closer to him.

“Why not?” His thumb brushed against her cheekbone, and Sarah felt the calluses there. Proof that this man wasn’t just a suited executive, but someone who knew how to use his hands, how to fight, how to survive. “Because you’re dangerous. Because your world is violent and dark, and I’ve already lost.” His voice cracked.

“I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t watch anyone else die.” Realization flooded Dominic’s expression. Emma. Sarah shuddered. “How do you know I had you investigate?” She said it unapologetically. “The moment you offered to…”

Feeding Marco on that plane, I had my people investigate everything about you.

I know about your daughter, the SIDS diagnosis, that you haven’t worked since it happened, that you’ve been in grief therapy, that you’re rebuilding a life that seems impossible to rebuild. Sarah should have been furious at the invasion of her privacy, she should have slapped him and stormed off. But instead, she felt strangely relieved that he knew, that she didn’t have to explain the gaping wound in her heart.

“Then you understand why this can only be a temporary arrangement,” he said softly. “Why I can’t grow fond of Marco or myself.” Dominic clenched his jaw. “Sarah, I know loss. I watched Isabella die giving birth to our son. I watched her bleed out while the doctors tried everything to save her.”

I took her hand as the light left her eyes, knowing I was losing my wife and that my son was losing his mother before he could even breathe. Tears streamed down Sarah’s face. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be.” “Just don’t give up on us out of fear.” He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers.

These past few days, I’ve seen you be so brave. Brave enough to feed a stranger’s child. Brave enough to step into a world you didn’t understand. Brave enough to love my son, even knowing you’d have to leave him. Don’t tell me you’re too scared to try. Try what? Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper.

This? And then he kissed her. It was gentle at first, a soft pressure of lips that asked permission rather than demanded surrender. Sarah froze for half a second. Marco was still asleep in her arms. Every rational thought screamed that this was wrong. But then Dominic’s hand slid through her hair and she melted into the kiss as if she were coming home.

He tasted of whiskey, of danger, and something uniquely his that made her spin. His other hand rose to cradle her face, holding her as if she were precious, as if she were sacred. The kiss deepened, and Sarah felt sixteen years of walls crumble around her heart. When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Dominic rested his forehead against hers. Stay, he whispered. Not even a week.

Stay. I can’t. You can. His voice was fierce now, desperate. Marco needs you. I need you. And unless I’m completely misunderstanding things, you need us too. Sarah looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, then back at the dangerous, beautiful man offering her a life she’d never imagined. A life that terrified her. A life that somehow felt more real than anything she’d experienced in months. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “Me too.” Dominic kissed her forehead, soft and reverent. “But I’m more scared of letting you go.” Before Sarah could reply, Marco stirred, letting out a small whimper. She automatically began to rock him, her maternal instincts awakening.

Dominic watched them, and the look on his face took Sarah’s breath away. Possessive, protective, and filled with so much longing it hurt. “Let me get him downstairs,” he said softly. Together, they approached the crib, a huge piece of carved wood and soft sheets that probably cost more than Sarah’s stroller.

He gently laid Marco down, and Dominic immediately adjusted the blanket, checked the baby monitor, and performed all the little rituals of a father who’d been doing this alone for two months. When he sat up, Sarah was there. And suddenly, the air between them was filled with energy again. The lights in the room dimmed.

Marco’s soft breathing was the only sound. They were alone in this bubble of domesticity. And Sarah felt the last of her remaining resistance crumble. I should go to my room, she said, but she didn’t move. You should, Dominic agreed, also motionless. We need boundaries. We do. This is happening too fast. It is. But when his hand pulled her toward him, Sarah didn’t resist. When he kissed her again, deeper this time, with the hunger of a man who’d been holding back for days, she kissed him back with the same fervor. They moved away from the crib, their minds on the sleeping baby, until Sarah’s back hit the wall and Dominic pressed against her, all hard muscle and controlled strength. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her lips. “I should, but will you?” Sarah looked into his eyes, those dark, dangerous eyes that somehow made her feel safer than she had in months, and made a decision that would change everything. “No.” He had barely uttered the word when his mouth was upon hers again, and Sarah forgot all the reasons why this was a terrible idea.

She forgot about his criminal empire, the danger, the fact that she’d only known him for less than a week. All she could feel was his warmth, his strength, the way he held her as if she were something precious he’d been searching for his whole life. When they finally broke apart, both panting, Dominic rested his forehead against hers. “Three more days,” he said. “Your contract gives you three more days before you’re free to leave.”

“Go.” “Yes. If you still want to leave after that, I won’t stop you. I’ll honor our agreement.” His hands framed her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “But Sarah, I’m going to spend those three days convincing you to stay. I’m going to show you that what we could have, what we could be, is worth the risk.”

“What if I still want to leave?” Pain was etched on her face, but she nodded. “Then I’ll let you go. I’ll make sure you’re protected. I’ll set up a safe place where the other families can’t touch you, but I’ll let you go.” Sarah scrutinized her face, searching for lies, manipulation, any sign that this was a trap.

But all she saw was honesty and a vulnerability this powerful man probably didn’t show anyone else. “Okay,” she whispered. “Three days.” Something fierce and possessive flashed in Dominic’s eyes. “Three days,” he repeated. Then he kissed her once more, softly and reverently, before forcing himself to pull away. “Get some rest.” Marco will be hungry in a few hours.

Sarah nodded, her lips still tingling from his kisses, and left the room. Her legs trembled as she walked the short distance to her own room, turning over in her mind everything that had just happened. She had kissed him. She had let him try to convince her to stay.

She was falling for a man who probably had more blood on his hands than she cared to know about. But God help her. When she was in his arms, none of that seemed to matter. Sarah locked her bedroom door and leaned against it, one hand pressed against her pounding heart. Three days. In three days, she would either walk away from the first man who had made her feel alive since losing Emma, ​​or she would plunge headlong into a world that terrified her. She didn’t know which option scared her more.

At the end of the hall, Dominic stood in the bedroom, watching his son sleep peacefully. For the first time since Isabella’s death, he felt something more than guilt and grief. He felt hope. He felt a glimmer of something. This might be happiness. Sarah Mitchell had entered their lives like an angel, offering him salvation when he was drowning.

And now, now she had three days to make him understand that what existed between them wasn’t just about Marco needing a mother or about ancient traditions that bound them together. It was about the fact that, when he looked at her, he didn’t see the broken nurse running from her pain. He saw his future.

He saw the woman who could be by his side, who could be strong enough to survive in his world, who could love his son as fiercely as he did. He saw his queen. The problem was, Sarah didn’t see herself that way. Not yet. She still saw herself as the woman who hadn’t managed to save her daughter, as someone too broken to take on something as big as loving them. Dominic pulled out his phone and texted Luca. Cancel all meetings for the next three days.

Don’t bother me unless the city’s on fire. Three days to convince Sarah Mitchell that, despite the darkness, despite the danger, despite all the rational reasons she had to run away, she belonged here with this strange, fractured family that was somehow coming back together. Three days for her to fall in love with them.

Dominic Santoro had built an empire on sheer willpower and relentless determination. He could surely win a woman’s heart in three days. As Marco let out a soft sigh in his sleep, Dominic made a silent promise. He would give Sarah every reason to stay and none to leave. He would show her the man beneath the title, the father beneath the dawn, the heart beneath the armor.

And if she still decided to leave after that, then he would have to let her go, even if it destroyed him. But first, he would fight with all his might to make her want to stay. The game had begun, and Dominic Santoro never lost. Not when it mattered so much. Sarah awoke in the midst of the chaos.

The explosion shattered the pre-dawn silence, rattling the windows throughout the mansion. She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding, her first thought a blur: “Marco.” She ran barefoot down the hall to the children’s room, finding Dominic already there, his son clutching his chest. “What’s wrong?” Sarah’s voice trembled. They made their move. Dominic’s face was like stone.

All the vulnerability of their kiss the night before was replaced by the cold dawn he’d glimpsed on the plane. “The Morettes! They just bombed my warehouse at the docks.” Before Sarah could reply, Luca burst through the door, blood trickling from his temple. “Boss, it’s a distraction. They attacked three locations simultaneously and left a message.” He looked at Sarah, clearly hesitant. “Tell it,” Dominic ordered.

They want the woman. They said if you don’t hand over the Santoro wet nurse before midnight, they’ll raze all your property. The room spun around Sarah. This was her fault. Her presence had put this family in their sights. Hand me over to them. The words tumbled out before she could stop them. If that stops the war, no.

Dominic’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. He handed it over.

Marco said to Teresa, who had silently appeared in the doorway, “Take him to the safe room now.” Then he stood before Sarah, gripping her shoulders with barely controlled intensity. “Listen to me carefully. You are under my protection. That means I would burn this entire city down before I would let anyone take you.”

Do you understand? Sarah saw him then. The monster everyone feared. His eyes had turned black and cold, his whole body radiating lethal intent, but his hands on her shoulders remained soft, even as fury surged from him in waves. “They’ll kill you,” he whispered. “They’ll try.” A dangerous smile curved his lips.

“They’ll fail, but Sarah,” his expression softened slightly. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” She should say, “No, I should demand he let her go. End this before more people die.” But looking into his eyes, seeing the fierce protection there, she found herself nodding. Good. He pulled her close and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “Luca will take you to the safe room with Marco. Stay there until I come for you. Don’t open the door for anyone else. Dominic, I’ll be back.” He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I promise you, Sarah Mitchell, I’ll be back. We have three days left. Remember, I haven’t finished convincing you to stay.” Then he left, barking orders into his phone as he stormed out of the nursery.

Sarah froze until Luca gently touched her arm. “Miss Mitchell, we need to move.” The safe room was deep in the mansion’s basement, accessed through a hidden door in the cellar. It was surprisingly comfortable—a complete apartment with bedrooms, a kitchen, and enough supplies for weeks. Teresa was already there with Marco. The baby, miraculously, was still asleep amidst the chaos.

“How long will we be here?” Sarah asked as Luca secured the heavy door. However long it took, Teresa’s face was grim. Dawn would not rest until every threat was eliminated. The hours dragged on. Sarah fed Marco when he woke, his body repeating its usual movements while her mind screamed with worry. What was happening up there? Was Dominic safe? How many people were dying because of him? When Marco finally fell back asleep in the portable crib, Sarah found herself pacing like a caged animal.

Teresa watched her with knowing eyes. “Do you love him?” the older woman said softly. “It wasn’t a question. I barely know him. That doesn’t answer my question.” Sarah stopped walking, her shoulders slumped. “How can I love someone whose world is so violent? Someone who probably has blood on his hands?” “My husband worked for Dawn’s father,” Teresa said.

Thirty years in this life. It took its toll in the end. A rival’s bullet meant for old Dawn. But those thirty years were filled with love, loyalty, and family. Yes, there was darkness. There’s always darkness in this world. But there was also light. Does the light outweigh the darkness? That’s for you to decide, Miss Mitchell.

Teresa stood up and walked toward the small kitchen. “But I’ll tell you this. I’ve worked for the Santoro family for 40 years. I’ve seen three capos, and I’ve never seen one look at a woman the way Dominic looks at you, as if you were his salvation.” Sarah was still processing those words when the lights flickered.

Once, twice. Then the emergency generator kicked in, bathing everything in an emergency light. What does that mean? Sarah’s voice rose in panic. Teresa’s face paled. It means someone cut the main power. It means they’re here. The sound of gunfire came from somewhere above them, muffled but unmistakable.

Sarah ran to Marco’s crib and scooped him up to protect him. The baby woke with a startled cry, sensing the tension. Then the lights went out completely. In the darkness, Sarah heard Teresa approaching. She heard the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. “Stay behind me,” the older woman ordered. The warmth of a grandmother was replaced by cold efficiency.

“More gunfire!” they shouted, the sounds of combat filtering through the reinforced walls. Sarah hugged Marco tighter, tears streaming down her face as she whispered soothing words to the crying baby. “This was all your fault. All of it. If you just left on that plane, the door to the safe room shook hard. Once, twice.” Someone was trying to force their way in. Teresa, Sarah’s voice broke.

“They can’t get through that door,” Teresa assured her. But Sarah sensed uncertainty beneath the confidence. “It’s reinforced steel. It would take an explosion that would shake the room. Smaller than the one in the warehouse, but devastating in the confined space.” Sarah’s ears rang as she watched smoke seep through a crack that had appeared in the supposedly impenetrable door.

“Run!” Teresa pushed Sarah toward the back of the safe room. “There’s an emergency exit behind the bookcase. Grab Marco and run.” “And you? I’ll stop them.” Teresa raised her weapon with a determined expression. “Go, Miss Mitchell. Dawn is counting on you to keep their son safe.” Sarah ran, Marco…

Screaming in her arms, fumbling for the hidden latch that Teresa had shown her during the security briefing.

The bookcase opened, revealing a narrow tunnel dimly lit by battery-powered emergency lights. Behind it, she heard the door to the safe room finally give way. She heard Teresa’s gunshots once, twice, three times. She heard a man’s voice shout in Italian.

She was in the tunnel, running blindly through the darkness with Marco clutched to her chest, not knowing if she was running toward safety or into the enemy’s arms. Not knowing if Dominic was alive or dead. Not knowing if she would ever have the chance to tell him yes, to ask God to help her, to tell him she loved him. The tunnel seemed endless. But finally, Sarah saw light ahead.

She went out into the night and found herself in the woods behind the estate. In the distance, she saw flames rising from the mansion. She heard the sounds of fighting. And then she heard something else. The sound of a car engine approaching. Sarah turned to head deeper into the woods, but it was too late. The truck screeched to a halt, and men got out. Not Dominic’s men.

She knew instantly from the way they moved, from the predatory smiles on their faces. One of them stepped forward, older, with cold eyes and a smile that chilled Sarah to the bone. “The famous wet nurse,” he said in heavily accented English. “Finally, take her.” Sarah struggled, screaming Marco’s name as hands held her, but it was useless.

They were professionals, and she was just a terrified nurse trying to protect a baby. The last thing she saw before they gagged her with a cloth was the mansion burning in the distance, smoke rising like a funeral procession into the dawn sky. Then darkness claimed her, and Sarah Mitchell vanished into the night, Santoro’s air in her arms, wondering if the man she’d fallen in love with would survive long enough to find her. Sarah awoke in a room filled with money and old sins. Her head throbbed from whatever had knocked her unconscious, but her first thought was Marco. She jolted upright and found the baby sleeping peacefully in an antique crib beside the ornate bed where she’d been laid. A wave of relief washed over her. They hadn’t heard him. Finally, she awoke; the voice emerged from the shadows. The old man from the woods stepped into the light.

I’m Vittoria Moretti, and you, my dear, are worth your weight in gold. Where are we? Sarah’s voice was hoarse. My estate is about 80 kilometers from the Santoro mansion, or what’s left of it. Her smile was cruel. Don’t worry. Your beloved Dawn is alive for now. I made sure she was told where to find you. You want her to come.

The realization hit me with horror. Of course. Dominic Santoro destroyed my family 10 years ago. He killed my children. He seized my land. He left me with nothing but crumbs. And now he’s gestured to Marco. Now he cares about something. Finally, after a decade of being untouchable, he has a weakness. Two weaknesses, actually. He moved closer, and Sarah pressed herself against the headboard. You and his precious air. The sacred wet nurse and the son who bears the Santoro name. Tell me, does he love you? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t play dumb. Vtorio’s hand shot out, gripping her chin painfully. I’ve seen the reports.

The way he looks at you, the way he’s protected you. Dominic Santoro hasn’t cared about anything since his wife died. But you do. And that’s going to destroy him. He released her, smoothing down his suit. He’ll come for you tonight. I’ve made sure of it. And when he does, when he walks through those doors ready to risk everything for your safety, I’ll take it all.

His empire, his power, his life, everything. He’ll kill you, Sarah said, trying to sound brave, perhaps. But first, he’ll have to see me hurt what he loves. And it will be worth dying for. The hours that followed were torture. Sarah stayed close to Marco, feeding him when he cried, changing him with the provisions that the people of Victoriao had so lovingly provided.

They wanted the baby to be healthy, to have someone by its side when Dominic arrived. At nightfall, Victoria returned. In fact, she’s arrived earlier than expected. Your Dawn must be very motivated. He pulled her to her feet. Come, you’ll want to see this. He dragged her into a large study. Marco hugged her and positioned her near the window, from where she could see the grounds. Her heart stopped.

Dominic stood alone in the center of the courtyard, illuminated by spotlights. No bodyguards, no visible weapons, his hands raised in surrender. But even from a distance, Sarah could see the simmering violence in his posture, the barely contained fury. “Moretti,” her voice came clearly through the open window. “I’m here.”

Let them go. Victoria laughed, pushing Sarah closer to the window so Dominic could see her. The moment their eyes met in the distance, Sarah saw Dominic’s mask crack. Raw emotion flooded his face. Relief, fear, love. Your empire for…

—The woman and the child— Victoriao shouted. —Give up everything.

Territory, business, operations, everything. Introduce me to the Santoro family and I’ll let them live. Done. Dominic didn’t hesitate. I’ll sign whatever you want. Just don’t hurt them. Sarah’s eyes widened in shock. She was giving up everything. Her entire world, her power, her legacy for herself and Marco. Touching. Vtorio sneered.

But I think we both know I can’t let you live, Santoro. Just rebuild. Come after me. No, you have to die. But first, you’ll see me take everything off. He pulled out a gun and pressed it against Sarah’s temple. Starting with her, everything happened in slow motion. Sarah watched Dominic move incredibly fast for someone who was supposed to be unarmed.

He reached for his ankle and pulled out a gun. In that same instant, Sarah did the only thing that came to mind. She bit down hard on Vitorio’s wrist, which made him pull the gun away from his head. The shot went wide. The glass shattered, and then the world erupted into chaos. The doors burst open, and Dominic’s men poured in. They had been there the whole time, hidden, waiting.

But Dominic was already inside, moving like death incarnate. Sarah had never seen anything so terrifying or so beautiful. Victoria grabbed her again, but Sarah was no longer a victim. She rocked Marco’s crib in her lap. Luckily, the baby was still in her arms, and the old man stumbled. It was all Dominic needed.

“You touched what’s mine!” Dominic growled, and his fist slammed into Victoria’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the room. The fight was brutal, but brief. Victoria was old, past her prime. Dominic was in his prime, fueled by fury. When it was over, Victoria was on her knees, bleeding, defeated. “Kill me,” she spat. “Let’s finish this.”

Dominic pointed his gun at the old man’s head. Sarah saw him squeeze the trigger, saw the cold determination in his eyes. This was the monster, the killer, the Dawn who had built his empire on violence. Dominic. Sarah’s voice cut through the mist. Don’t do it. He looked at her, and Sarah saw him at war with himself. She saw the darkness fighting with the man she had come to know.

He tried to kill you. Dominic growled. He laid hands on you. On my son. I know it. Sarah came closer. Marco was miraculously asleep in her arms. But if you kill him like this, in cold blood while I watch, you’ll lose yourself. And I need you. Marco needs you. Not the Dawn, not the monster. We need the man. The silence stretched on.

Then Dominic lowered his weapon. “Take him away,” he said, ordering his men. “Hand him over to the families. Let them decide his fate for violating the ancient laws by attacking a sacred woman.” As Victoria was dragged away, shouting threats, Dominic turned to Sarah. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then he closed the distance in two strides, embracing her and Marco.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered into her hair. “When I saw the safe room had been breached, when I couldn’t find you, Sarah, I thought I’d lost us both. You found us.” Sarah pulled back just enough to look him in the face. “You gave up everything to save us.” “I’d give it all a thousand times over.” She cupped his face in her trembling hands. “None of this matters without you.”

The empire, the power, the name—it all means nothing if you’re not here. Families won’t accept it, Sarah said. You can’t just stop being a sunrise. Look at me. Her eyes shone with determination. I’m done with this life, Sarah. I’m done with the violence, the death, and living in darkness. You made me want something more.

You reminded me that there is light in the world. But the Santoro family has a successor waiting. Dominic’s smile was grim. My cousin Marco—yes, I named my son after him—has been vying for the position for years. He can have it. I’m taking my son and the woman I love, and I’m leaving. The woman you love? Sarah’s heart pounded.

Did you think I’d give up my empire for just anyone? He kissed her gently. I love you, Sarah Mitchell. I loved you when you offered to nurse my son. Beloved you, when you stood in my world and refused to break. I love you now, standing here, covered in glass and dust, still protecting my son. Tears streamed down Sarah’s face.

This is crazy. Probably. I’ve known you for a week. The best week of my life. Your world almost killed us. I’m leaving it all for you. For Marco. He kissed her again, harder. Say you’ll stay, not for three days, but forever. Be my wife, Sarah. Not because of traditions or sacred ties, but because I love you and I think I hope you love me too.

Sarah gazed at this handsome, dangerous, and unattainable man. She thought of her weakness in that world. She thought of how alive she had felt in his arms. She thought of Marco sleeping peacefully against her chest. This child who had healed something broken in her heart. “I love you,” she whispered. “God, help me. I really do.” “Then say yes. Yes.” Six months later, Sarah stood in a small church in Montana, wearing a simple white dress, with Marco.

Now chubby and healthy, happily babbling in Teresa’s arms on the first bench.

“Nervous?” Dominic asked, looking devastating in his dark suit, his warm hand in hers. Terrified, Sarah admitted, but in a good way. The wedding was small. Just Teresa, Luca, and a handful of other people who had followed Dominic into his new life. Sarah’s parents were there too, cautiously accepting their daughter’s whirlwind romance with the reformed businessman who had swept her off her feet. They didn’t know the whole truth. They didn’t need to.

That part of Dominic’s life was over. The vows were simple. No mention of dawn, empires, or sacred traditions. Just two people promising to love each other no matter what. When Dominic kissed her, Sarah felt whole for the first time since losing Emma. This was her family now.

Their impossible, beautiful, and miraculous family. The reception was held at their new home, a ranch-style house on 50 acres of wilderness in Montana, far from New York and the life Dominic had left behind. As they danced under the string lights, Marco slept peacefully inside. Sarah marveled at how much he had changed. “Do you regret anything?” she asked against Dominic’s chest.

“You’re welcome,” he said, turning to look at her. “Although I should warn you, Luca got a worrying call today.” Sarah’s stomach clenched. “The families found us.” Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Nothing threatening. I just wanted to make sure we were really out.” “And are we?” “Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “I made my position clear. I’m done.”

The Santoro family now belongs to Marco. To my cousin Marco, I mean. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can consult the Family Council, which, by the way, officially authorized my retirement. Sarah understood. Because I’m sacred to them. Because you saved the Santoro family when no one else could. Because you proved that love is stronger than power.

Dominic smiled. The old families respect him. They won’t touch us. Like on the Q, headlights appeared at the end of their long driveway. Sarah tensed, but Dominic squeezed her hand to reassure her. A single car pulled up, and a well-dressed man in his sixties got out, with an authoritative air. Don Calibrazy.

Dominic greeted him with cautious respect. “This is unexpected. Relax, Santoro.” The older man smiled warmly. “I come as a friend, not a threat. The families wanted someone to deliver this officially.” He handed Dominic a sealed envelope. “Your retirement papers, signed by all five families. You’re free. Completely free.”

Dominic opened it. Sarah read over his shoulder. It was a formal document releasing Dominic from all his obligations to the Santoro family and the organization as a whole. “Thank you,” Dominic said quietly. “Don’t thank me. Thank your wife.” Don Calibrazy nodded to Sarah. “What she did for your son—that kind of love, that kind of sacrifice—reminded us all why we have these traditions. Why we protect women and children above all else.”

She earned your freedom, Santoro. Both of ours. He took off his hat and left as quickly as he’d arrived. Sarah and Dominic stood in the driveway long after the taillights disappeared, the document still clutched in their hands. It’s really over, Sarah whispered. It’s really over. Dominic tugged at her. Close. New life, new beginning. Just us and Marco. And Marco. He smiled.

And maybe someday a little brother or sister for him. Sarah placed her hand on her stomach, where her secret was still too new to be visible. Maybe sooner than you think. Dominic’s eyes widened. “You’re three weeks pregnant?” “I wanted to tell you after the wedding.” He nervously bit his lip.

Are you okay? His answer was to hug her and turn her around, laughing with pure joy. When he put her down, they were both crying tears of happiness. More than okay, Sarah. You’ve given me everything. A reason to live, a reason to love, a future worth having. You gave me that too. She kissed him gently. You and Marco, you saved me when I thought I couldn’t be saved.

They stayed in the Montana darkness, with the bright stars overhead, their past behind them and a future stretching out before them, bright and full of possibilities. Inside, Marco let out a small cry. They parted with matching smiles. Parents now, partners, lovers, friends. He is—”You’re hungry,” Sarah said. “Then let’s feed our son.”

Dominic took her hand, as he should. As they went inside, Sarah looked back at the driveway where dawn had granted them freedom. At the dark trees beyond, where nothing more dangerous than wildlife hid, at the stars that had witnessed their happy ending. Six months ago, on that plane, she had been caught in a storm.

She had found the most dangerous man in America and had raised his child. And somehow, impossibly, miraculously, she had found her home. Not in a place, but in a person. In a man who had given up an empire for love. In a baby who had needed her as much as she had needed him. In a family built not on blood or tradition, but on choice.

Sarah Mitchell had finally found where

She belonged to him and he was never going to let her go.