The mafia boss’s baby wouldn’t stop crying on the plane until a single mother did the unthinkable. The infant’s screams pierced through the first class cabin like shattered glass, relentless and desperate. Every passenger within earshot winced, shifted uncomfortably, or shot irritated glances toward the source of the disturbance. But none dared to complain. Not when they saw the man holding the child.

Dominic Santoro sat rigidly in his seat, his jaw clenched so tight it could crack diamonds. The customtailored black suit that normally made him look like a dark angel now seemed to constrict around him like a prison. His normally cold, calculating eyes held a flicker of something foreign. Panic. Raw, unfiltered panic.

The baby, his son, continued to wail, tiny fists flailing against Dominic’s chest. Two months old and already bearing the weight of a crown he didn’t ask for. Two months since Isabella had taken her last breath 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 low enough that other passengers couldn’t hear. We could land early. Find a No. Dominic’s voice was still wrapped in silk. We stay on schedule. But the baby didn’t care about schedules. He didn’t care that his father controlled half the East Coast’s criminal operations. That men cross streets to avoid his shadow.

That entire families had disappeared at his word. The infant only knew hunger, discomfort, and the absence of the warmth he’d known for two precious months before it was stolen away. Dominic had tried everything. Bottles prepared by the nanny who waited at their destination. Pacifiers that the child spat out with surprising force.

Rocking motions that felt awkward in his arms that were more accustomed to signing death warrants than soothing cries. Nothing worked. Three rows ahead, Sarah Mitchell heard the desperate cries and felt her body respond instinctively. Her breasts achd with sympathetic letdown, milk threatening to soak through the nursing pads she still wore, despite the fact that she closed her eyes, forcing down the wave of grief that always came with that thought. 6 months.

It had been 6 months since she’d held her own daughter. 6 months since the tiny heart had simply stopped beating in the night. No explanation, no warning. Sudden infant death syndrome, the doctors had said, as if putting a name to the nightmare made it hurt less. Sarah had been heading home from a grief counseling conference in New York, trying to put her shattered life back together.

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

“Miss, are you all right?” The flight attendant paused beside her, concerned. Sarah looked up, then back toward where the crying originated. that baby. He sounds I’m a nurse. Maybe I can help. The attendant’s expression shifted to something between relief and skepticism.

The passenger has been quite firm about not wanting assistance, but if you’d like to try, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Sarah unbuckled her seat belt before she could second guessess herself, following the attendant down the aisle. With each step, her heart pounded harder. This was insane. She was still lactating. Her body hadn’t gotten the memo 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 from a face that looked like it had been carved from marble by an angry god. sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw darkened by precisely maintained stubble, and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

He wore power like a second skin, and danger rolled off him in waves that made her survival instincts scream to turn around. But the baby in his arms looked so small, so helpless against that broad chest. The infant’s face was red from crying, tiny features scrunched in misery. Sir, the flight attendant began nervously. This passenger is a nurse.

She wondered if she might. Dominic’s gaze snapped to Sarah, and she felt the impact like a physical blow. Those eyes could strip flesh from bone, could make grown men confess sins they hadn’t even committed. For a moment, Sarah forgot how to breathe.

“A nurse,” he repeated, his voice low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. An accent lingered at the edges. Italian probably, though Americanized by years in the States. Pediatric, Sarah heard herself say, though her voice sounded far away. I I know that cry. He’s hungry. I’ve tried the bottle. Frustration cracked through Dominic’s controlled exterior. He won’t take it.

Sarah’s eyes moved from the man to the baby, and something in her chest cracked open. The infant’s cries had taken on a desperate edge, the kind that spoke of real distress. “She’d heard it too many times in the NICU, and her body responded before her brain could catch up.

” “Some babies won’t take artificial nipples,” she said softly, stepping closer despite every instinct telling her to run from this dangerous man. Especially if they were breastfed initially. Was he was his mother? Something shifted in Dominic’s expression. A flash of such raw pain that Sarah caught her breath. “She died,” he said flatly. “Eight weeks ago, giving birth to him.

” The cabin seemed to go silent around them, though the baby still cried. Sarah’s eyes burned with unshed tears. Her grief recognizing his even as her nurse’s training kicked in. “Then he’s probably refusing the bottle because he’s looking for something familiar,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. something he associates with comfort and safety.

Their eyes locked and Sarah saw the exact moment he understood what she was implying. His jaw tightened and for a second she thought he might order her away. But then the baby let out another desperate whale and something in the untouchable mafia boss crumbled.

Are you offering what I think you’re offering? His voice was dangerous testing as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Sarah swallowed hard. This was insane. This was beyond insane. 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 though she’d failed to save her own.

I’m still producing, she admitted, her cheeks flushing. I lost my daughter 6 months ago. My body hasn’t. I haven’t been able to stop it. If he needs, if you’d allow me, I could try. The silence that followed was deafening. Every passenger in first class had gone quiet, sensing they were witnessing something profound, even if they couldn’t quite understand what.

Dominic Santoro stared at this woman, this stranger who had just offered the most intimate gift one human could give another, and felt the ground shift beneath him. In his world, there were no gifts. Everything had a price. Every kindness hit a blade. But this woman’s eyes held only compassion and a grief that mirrored his own.

“The restroom,” he said abruptly, standing with fluid grace despite the child in his arms. “It’s more private.” Sarah’s heart hammered as she followed him toward the first class lavatory, acutely aware of the bodyguard who fell into step behind them. “This was real. This was actually happening. The bathroom was small but luxurious, as luxurious as an airplane bathroom could be.

Dominic stood in the doorway, his large frame taking up most of the space, hesitation written across features that probably hadn’t shown uncertainty in years. I’ll wait outside, he said finally, his voice rough. Unless you need, I’ll be fine, Sarah assured him, though her hands shook as she reached for the baby. What’s his name? Marco.

The word came out like a prayer and a curse. After my grandfather. Sarah took the infant carefully, cradling his small body against her chest. Marco’s cries had diminished to hiccuping whimpers as if he sensed something was about to change. She looked up at Dominic, at this dangerous, powerful man who had just entrusted her with his most precious possession, and saw vulnerability that took her breath away.

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

Her hands moved on autopilot, unbuttoning her blouse with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The nursing bra came next, and then she was positioning Marco at her breast, supporting his tiny head the way she’d supported so many infants in the niku. 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 down her face silently as she looked down 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 was still desperate to provide. “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, his bodyguard wisely maintaining distance. The silence that had replaced his son’s cries was both a relief and a torment. He’d just handed Marco to a complete stranger. He who trusted no one, who verified the background of every person who came within 10 ft of his child, had just given his son to a woman whose last name he didn’t even know.

But something about her had reached through the armor he’d built around himself. Maybe it was the grief in her eyes that matched his own. Maybe it was the desperate courage it took to offer such an intimate kindness to a stranger. Or maybe it was simply that for the first time in 8 weeks, someone had offered to help without wanting something in return.

When the bathroom door opened 15 minutes later, Sarah emerged with Marco sleeping peacefully in her arms. The infant’s face was relaxed, his tiny fist curled against her chest, completely at peace. Dominic looked at his son truly peaceful for the first time since Isabella’s death and felt something shift in his chest. Something dangerous.

Something that in his world could get people killed. “He’s asleep,” Sarah said unnecessarily, her voice soft to avoid waking the baby. “He ate well. He’ll probably sleep for a few hours now.” She moved to hand Marco back, but Dominic’s hand shot out to stop her, his fingers wrapping around 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 her arms with practiced care. His son barely stirred, too content to wake. I owe you a debt, Sarah Mitchell. You don’t owe me anything. Sarah began buttoning her blouse, suddenly aware of how intimate this situation was. I was happy to help.

In my world, everything comes with a price. Dominic’s eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. And what you just did, feeding my son, giving him peace when nothing else could, that’s not something I can simply walk away from. Something in his tone made Sarah’s heart race with more than a traction. It sounded almost like a warning. I should get back to my seat.

Wait. The word was command, not request. Dominic shifted Marco to one arm with the ease of someone who’d been doing this alone for weeks, then pulled a business card from his suit pocket. Call me when we land. I want to properly thank you. Sarah took the card reflexively, her fingers brushing his. The contact sent electricity up her arm, and from the slight widening of his eyes, he’d felt it, too.

That’s not necessary. It is to me. His voice had gone soft. Dangerous. You gave my son something precious. The least I can do is buy you dinner. Sarah knew she should say no. Everything about this man screamed danger, from the way other passengers averted their eyes when he passed to the bodyguards who shadowed his movements.

But there was something in his expression when he looked at his son. A vulnerability that called to her own broken heart. Dinner. She found herself agreeing. Just dinner. A ghost of a smile touched Dominic’s lips, transforming his face from dangerous to devastatingly handsome. Just dinner, he echoed, though something in his tone suggested he was making a promise neither of them understood yet.

Sarah returned to her seat in a days. the warmth of Marco’s small body still imprinted on her skin. She didn’t notice the way Dominic’s bodyguards were already pulling up information on her. Didn’t see the calculating look in Dominic’s eyes as he watched her walk away. In his world, in the world of the American mafia, where tradition ran deeper than blood, what had just happened wasn’t simple.

It wasn’t just a kind stranger helping a child in need. In the old ways, the ways his grandfather had taught him, the ways that still governed the ancient families, a woman who nursed a Dawn’s child became bound to that family, became bound to him. Sarah Mitchell had just fed his son. She’d given Marco the one thing Dominic couldn’t provide.

The one thing he’d been desperate for since Isabella’s death. In doing so, she’d fulfilled a role that, in the traditions of their world, made her something sacred, made her his. Dominic looked down at his peacefully sleeping son and felt the ghost of his grandfather’s words echo through his mind. When a woman feeds your child from her own body, she becomes the child’s mother.

And a Dawn’s child can have only one mother, his queen. He hadn’t believed in the old ways, not really. They were superstitions, traditions from a different era. But holding Marco truly at peace for the first time since birth, Dominic felt the weight of those ancient rules settling over him like a mantle. Sarah Mitchell didn’t know it yet. But the moment she’d offered to feed his son, she’d stepped into his world.

And in his 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 destiny neither had seen coming. Sarah Mitchell, the pediatric nurse running from her grief.

And Dominic Santoro, the mafia boss who’ just found something more precious than power. Someone who could give his son the love of a mother. But love in his world came with a price. And that price was written in tradition older than America itself. Sarah had saved his son’s life tonight. Even if she didn’t realize it, Marco had been slowly starving, refusing every bottle, growing weaker each day. The doctors had talked about feeding tubes, about hospitalization.

But one act of compassion from a stranger had solved what weeks of medical intervention couldn’t. And Dominic Santoro always paid his debts. Always. The black SUV that picked up Sarah from the airport 2 days later was not what she’d expected. She’d imagined a normal restaurant, maybe something upscale given Dominic’s obvious wealth.

Instead, the driver, a mountain of a man with cold eyes and an earpiece, had escorted her into a vehicle that screamed, “Federal protection or something darker. The windows were tinted so dark she couldn’t see out, and the locks engaged with an ominous click the moment her door closed.” “Where are we going?” Sarah tried to keep her voice steady as the SUV pulled into traffic.

The Dawn’s estate miss. The driver’s eyes met hers in the rear view mirror. He thought you’d be more comfortable with a private dinner. Given the baby, the Dawn, not Dominic, not Mr. Santoro, the Dawn. Sarah’s stomach twisted as pieces began clicking into place. the bodyguards on the plane, the way passengers had given him a wide birth, the ease with which he commanded others, the casual use of the title Dawn, a title she knew from crime dramas and news reports about organized crime. Oh god, what had she gotten herself into?

The SUV wound through the streets of Newark before heading into the suburbs. Each mile taking them farther from public spaces and closer to sprawling estates hidden behind stone walls and iron gates. When they finally turned through a particular gate, this one guarded by two men with very obvious weapons.

Sarah felt her heart climb into her throat. The estate was massive, a sprawling mansion that looked like something out of the Godfather. Manicured lawns stretched in every direction, and Sarah counted at least four other security personnel patrolling the grounds before the SUV pulled up to the main entrance. Miss Mitchell. A woman in her 60s appeared at the door, her severe expression softening slightly as she looked Sarah over.

I’m Teresa, the house manager. Mr. Santoro is waiting in the nursery. If you’ll follow me. Nursery, right? because this was about Marco. Sarah clung to that thought as Teresa led her through a home that belonged in Architectural Digest. Marble floors, priceless artwork, furniture that cost more than Sarah’s yearly salary.

Everything screamed wealth and power and danger. They climbed a grand staircase to the second floor, and Sarah heard it before she saw it. Marco’s cries, not as desperate as on the plane, but still distressed. Teresa opened a door to reveal a nursery that was both opulent and surprisingly warm, decorated in soft blues and silvers with a mural of clouds covering one wall.

Dominic stood by the window, Marco wailing in his arms, his expression tight with frustration. He’d shed the suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with muscle and Sarah’s breath caught. Extensive tattoos that disappeared beneath the fabric. Not regular tattoos. These were deliberate, symbolic. She recognized a few of the images.

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

Respect maybe that she was asking directly. He gestured to Teresa, who slipped out silently, closing the door behind her. Suddenly, Sarah was alone with the most dangerous looking man she’d ever met and his crying infant. “I think you already know,” Dominic said quietly, still rocking Marco. “You’re smart. You’ve put the pieces together. You’re with the mafia.

” 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, her hand fumbling for the handle. I need to leave. Marco needs you.

Dominic’s voice stopped her, not because it was commanding, but because it was broken. Look at him, Sarah. Really, look. Against her better judgment, Sarah did. The baby in Dominic’s arms was thinner than he’d been on the plane. His cries had a weak quality to them that made her nurse’s instincts scream alarm. Dark circles shadowed his tiny eyes, and his skin had lost the healthy flush infants should have.

What happened? She was moving forward before she could stop herself. He looked fine two days ago. He won’t eat. Dominic’s jaw clenched. Not the bottle, not anything. He took one 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, his voice cracked. 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 flooding through her. She reached for Marco, and the moment the baby was in her arms, his cries diminished to whimpers. He turned his face against her chest, rooting instinctively.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so hungry, aren’t you? I’m sorry.” Dominic ran a hand through his hair, the gesture making 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 responded to you on the plane, how peaceful he was.

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

How she’d have begged, borrowed, or stolen anything that could have prevented that terrible mourning. “This is insane,” 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 down at Marco, whose whimpers had turned to hiccuping sobs as he continued to search for sustenance. “And I can help him.

I’ll pay you.” Dominic spoke quickly, urgently. “Whatever you want, a salary, a house, anything. Just help him. Please. The did it.” This man, who clearly wasn’t used to asking for anything, who probably ruled his world with absolute authority, was begging her to save his son. “Can you give us privacy?” Sarah asked quietly.

Dominic nodded and moved toward the door, but Sarah’s voice stopped him. “Wait, I need to know something first.” She met his eyes directly, refusing to look away, despite how intimidating he was. On the plane, you said I’d stepped into your world, that what I did created some kind of debt. What did you mean? A muscle in Dominic’s jaw ticked.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer, and Sarah thought he might not. Then he sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of 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. Built this family on those traditions.

One of those traditions is about children, specifically about who feeds them. I don’t understand. In the old families, blood isn’t the only thing that makes family. Milk does, too. Dominic’s eyes were intense, burning with something Sarah couldn’t name. When a woman nurses a child that isn’t biologically hers, especially the child of Adon, she becomes bound to that family, becomes sacred to them.

In the oldest traditions, she becomes becomes what? Sarah’s heart was pounding. The child’s mother, Dominic finished. And in our world, a Dawn’s child can have only one mother, his wife. The silence that followed was deafening. Sarah stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said, trying to understand if he was saying what she thought he was saying. “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, it means something. It means you’re under my family’s protection now, whether you want it or not. It means other families will see you as connected to us. And it means, he stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. It means I can’t let you walk away. Can’t let me.

Sarah’s voice rose. You don’t own me. I’m not some some possession you can claim because of an old superstition. It’s not a superstition to the people I deal with. Dominic’s voice hardened. The moment word gets out that you nursed my son, and it will get out, Sarah. Things like this don’t stay 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 held Marco closer. Even as the baby’s whimpers intensified. I’ll help him today. Make sure he’s eating properly. And then I’ll leave. No one needs to know. Teresa already knows.

My driver knows. My security team knows. Dominic stepped closer and Sarah fought the urge to back away. And in about three hours when my underboss comes for his weekly report, he’ll know. By 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 hired nurse. It doesn’t work like that. Frustration colored his tone. The 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 even as Sarah said it, Marco let out a desperate cry, and she felt her body respond. Milk letting down despite her emotional state. The baby sensed it, too, rooting more frantically against her shirt. Dominic saw her wsece, saw the understanding in her eyes that her body was betraying her resolve. “He needs you,” he said softly. “And like it or not, you need me now, too.

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

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

No weird mafia marriage traditions, no sacred bonds, just a professional arrangement. Dominic’s expression was unreadable. One week and I wanted in writing a contract that says I’m free to leave after 7 days with no retaliation, no following me, no claiming me as some kind of property. Done. He pulled out his phone. I’ll have my lawyer draw it up within the hour.

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She turned away from him, settling into the plush rocking chair positioned near the window. Privacy, she repeated. This time, Dominic left without argument, pulling the door closed behind him. Sarah heard him post 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 shaking hands. “Let’s get you fed.” Marco latched on immediately, his desperate suckling gradually easing into the rhythmic pull of a satisfied infant. Sarah closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she rocked him. This was wrong on so many levels.

She was feeding a crime lord’s baby, sitting in a mansion bought with blood money, trapped by traditions older than America itself. But God, it felt right to have a baby in her arms again. To feel needed, to feel like maybe she could save this one, even though she’d failed to save Emma. Outside the door, Dominic leaned against the wall, listening to 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 under boss’s response because we have a situation. The baby has a wet nurse. He could practically hear Luca’s shock through the phone. In their world, everyone would know exactly what that meant.

“Yeah,” Dominic continued, his voice grim. “I know what the traditions say. That’s why we need the lawyer. I need to figure out how to protect her without He stopped, not wanting to voice what the old ways would demand. What his grandfather would have insisted upon without question.

When a woman nurses a Dawn’s child, she becomes the Dawn’s wife, not through ceremony or paperwork, but through an act older and more binding than any legal contract, through the sacred act of sustaining the family’s heir. Dominic had told Sarah he didn’t expect her to marry him and he’d meant it. He didn’t believe in forcing women into anything. Traditions be damned.

But he also knew that in the eyes of every old school family from New York to Sicily. The moment Sarah Mitchell had put Marco to her breast, she’d become the Santoro family’s queen. Whether she wanted the crown or not, and that meant Dominic had to protect her.

had to claim her publicly as under his protection before rival families decided to make their own moves. Had to make it clear that touching Sarah Mitchell was tantamount to declaring war on the Santoro family. He just had to figure out how to do that without making her hate him in the process. Inside the nursery, Sarah held Marco as he nursed, completely unaware that she’d just become the most valuable and most dangerous woman in the American underworld.

Unaware that Dominic Santoro’s rivals were already making plans, seeing opportunity in this unexpected development. Unaware that the man outside that door was already falling for her, drawn to her courage and compassion in ways that terrified him. Because in his world, love was a weakness. Love got people killed, but his son needed her.

And increasingly, Dominic was realizing he needed her, too. One week, she’d said, “Seven days to get Marco eating properly, and then she’d walk away.” Dominic stared at the closed nursery door and made a decision that would change everything. He’d give her the week, let her think she could leave, let her feel safe enough to lower her guard.

And in that time, he’d show her that despite the darkness of his world, despite the blood on his hands, he could be what she and Marco needed. Because one week wasn’t going to be enough. not nearly enough for any of them. 4 days into Sarah’s one week, the mansion had become a strange kind of home.

She’d been given a bedroom suite adjacent to the nursery for convenience, Teresa had explained, though Sarah suspected it was more about keeping her close and secure. The rooms were beautiful, decorated in soft creams and golds, with a bathroom that had a tub large enough to swim in. Everything screamed luxury and comfort and captivity.

Sarah spent most of her time in the nursery with Marco, feeding him every 3 hours, learning his rhythms, watching him slowly regain the healthy flush that babies should have. Dominic was there for almost every feeding, sitting in the corner chair like a silent guardian, watching his son nurse with an expression that twisted Sarah’s heart.

He never pressured her, never crossed lines, but his presence was constant and increasingly magnetic. He’s gaining weight, Sarah said on the fourth evening. Marco sleeping peacefully in her arms after his feeding. Another few days and he’ll be strong enough to try transitioning to expressed milk and bottles. Good. But Dominic’s tone didn’t sound pleased. He looked tense, wound tight. his jaw locked in that way.

She was starting to recognize meant he was holding something back. What’s wrong? We need to talk. He stood, moving to close the nursery door more firmly. About the situation. Sarah’s stomach dropped. What situation? Word got out. He ran a hand through his hair, messing the perfectly styled black strands.

About you? About what you’re doing for Marco? Three families have already reached out, making inquiries. Inquiries? Polite ways of asking if I’ve claimed you formally. His eyes met hers. Dark and intense. If you’re under my protection as just an employee or as something more. And what did you tell them? That you’re mine. The words came out rough, possessive.

That anyone who touches you answers to me. Sarah should have been angry. should have railed against being called his, but something about the fierce protectiveness in his voice made her feel safe instead of 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 made noises about wanting to meet the woman nursing the Santoro air. Why would they want to meet me? Because you’re valuable. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she could see the flex of gold in his dark eyes.

In the old ways, the woman who nurses Adon’s child holds almost as much power as the Dawn himself. She’s sacred, protected, and he hesitated. And what? And 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 insane.

This is my world. Dominic’s voice softened. I’m sorry you got pulled into it. But Sarah, he paused, seeming to wrestle with something. I’m not sorry you’re here. The confession hung in the air between them, charged and dangerous. Sarah’s breath caught as she watched emotions flicker across his usually controlled face.

Vulnerability want something that looked dangerously like affection. Dominic, let me finish. He cut her off gently. these past four days watching you with my son, seeing him peaceful and healthy because of you. Sarah, you gave us both something I thought was lost forever. A chance at normal at family. I’m not your family. I’m just helping. You are family.

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

Sarah knew she should pull away, should remind him about their agreement, about the three days she had left before leaving. Should definitely not be leaning into his touch like a flower towards sunlight. This can’t happen,” she whispered. But her body betrayed her words, swaying closer to him.

“Why not?” His thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Sarah felt the calluses there. Evidence that this man wasn’t just a suitwearing 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.” Her voice broke.

I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t watch someone else die. Understanding flooded Dominic’s expression. Emma. Sarah flinched. How do you know about I had you investigated? He said it without apology. The moment you offered to feed Marco on that plane, I had my people pull everything about you.

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

Then you understand why this can’t be more than a temporary arrangement, she said softly. Why I can’t get attached to Marco or to she stopped unable to finish or to me. Dominic’s jaw clenched Sarah I know loss. I watched Isabella die bringing our son into the world. Watched her bleed out while doctors tried everything to save her.

I held her hand as the light left her eyes, knowing that I was losing my wife and my son was losing his mother before he’d even taken his first breath. Tears streamed down Sarah’s face. I’m so sorry. Don’t be sorry. Just don’t write us off because you’re scared. He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers.

These past few days, I’ve watched you be so brave. Brave enough to feed a stranger’s child. Brave enough to walk 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 was kissing her. It was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that asked permission rather than demanding surrender. Sarah froze for half a heartbeat. Marco still sleeping in her arms. Every rational thought screaming that this was wrong. But then Dominic’s hand slid into her hair and she melted into the kiss like she was coming home.

He tasted like whiskey and danger and something uniquely him that made her head spin. His other hand came up to cradle her face, holding her like she was precious, like she was sacred. The kiss deepened and Sarah felt 16 years of walls crumbling around her heart. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Dominic rested his forehead against hers. Stay, he whispered. Not for 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 misreading things, you need us, too. Sarah looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, then back up 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. “So am I.” Dominic kissed her forehead, soft and reverent. “But I’m more scared of letting you walk away.” Before Sarah could respond, Marco stirred, letting out a small whimper. She automatically began rocking him, maternal instincts kicking in.

Dominic watched them, and the expression on his face stole Sarah’s breath. possessive and protective and full of so much longing it hurt. “Let me put him down,” she said softly. Together, they moved to the crib, a massive thing of carved wood and soft linens that probably cost more than Sarah’s car.

She laid Marco down gently, and Dominic immediately adjusted the blanket, checked the baby monitor, performed all the little rituals of a father who’d been doing this alone for two months. When he straightened, Sarah was right there. And suddenly, the air between them was charged again. The nursery lights were dimmed.

Marco’s soft breathing the only sound. They were alone in this bubble of domesticity. And Sarah felt the last of her resistance crumbling. I should go to my room, she said, but didn’t move. You should, Dominic agreed, also not moving. We need boundaries. We do. This is happening too fast. It is.

But when his hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer, 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 equal fervor. They stumbled away from the crib, mindful of the sleeping baby, until Sarah’s back hit the wall, and Dominic was pressing against her, all hard muscle and controlled power.

Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her lips. “I should, but will you?” Sarah looked up 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.” The word was barely out before his mouth was on hers again, and Sarah forgot all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

forgot about his criminal empire, about the danger, about the fact that she’d known him less than a week. All she could feel was his warmth, his strength, the way he held her like she was 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.” 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 meet 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, it’s worth the risk.

And if I still want to leave? Pain flickered across his features, but he nodded. Then I’ll let you go. I’ll make sure you’re protected. Set up somewhere safe where the other families can’t touch you, but I’ll let you go. Sarah searched his face, looking for lies, for manipulation, for any sign that this was a trap.

But all she saw was honesty and a vulnerability that this powerful man probably showed to no one else. Okay, she whispered. 3 days. Something fierce and possessive flashed in Dominic’s eyes. Three days, he repeated. Then he kissed her once more, soft and reverent, before forcing himself to step back. Get some rest. Marco will be hungry in a few hours.

Sarah nodded, her lips still tingling from his kisses and slipped out of the nursery. Her legs felt shaky as she walked the short distance to her room, her mind spinning with everything that had just happened. She’d kissed him. She’d agreed to let him try to convince her to stay.

She was falling for a man who probably had more blood on his hands than she wanted 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 to her racing heart. 3 days. In 3 days, she’d either be walking away from the first man who’d made her feel alive since losing Emma, or she’d be stepping fully into a world that terrified her. She didn’t know which option scared her more.

Down the hall, Dominic stood in the nursery, watching his son sleep peacefully. For the first time since Isabella’s death, he felt something other than guilt and grief. He felt hope. He felt the stirrings of something that might be happiness. Sarah Mitchell had walked into their lives like an angel, offering salvation when he’d been drowning.

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

He saw the woman who could stand beside him, 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’d failed to save her daughter, as someone too broken to take on something as big as loving them. Dominic pulled out his phone and sent a text to Luca. Cancel all meetings for the next 3 days.

I’m not to be disturbed unless the city is burning. 3 days to convince Sarah Mitchell that despite the darkness, despite the danger, despite every rational reason she had to run, she belonged here with them in this strange fractured family that was somehow becoming whole again. 3 days to make her fall in love with them.

Dominic Santoro had built an empire through force of will and ruthless determination. Surely he could win one woman’s heart in three days. As Marco let out a soft sigh in his sleep, Dominic made a silent vow. He would give Sarah every reason to stay and no reason 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 chose to leave after that, then he’d have to let her go, even if it destroyed him. But first, first he’d fight like hell to make her want to stay. The game was on, and Dominic Santoro never lost. Not when it mattered this much. Sarah woke to chaos.

The explosion shattered the pre-dawn silence, rattling windows throughout the mansion. She bolted upright, heart hammering, and her first thought was, “Marco.” She ran barefoot across the hall into the nursery, finding Dominic already there, his son clutched protectively against his chest. “What’s happening?” Sarah’s voice trembled. They made their move. Dominic’s face was carved from stone.

All vulnerability from their kiss the night before, replaced by the cold dawn she’d glimpsed on the plane. “The Morettes! They just bombed my warehouse on the docks. Before Sarah could respond, Luca burst through the door, blood streaking his temple. Boss, it’s a distraction. They hit three locations simultaneously, and they left a message. He glanced at Sarah, hesitation clear. Say it, Dominic commanded.

They want the woman. They said if you don’t hand over the Santoro’s wet nurse by midnight, they’ll level every property you own. The room spun around Sarah. This was her fault. Her presence had painted a target on this family. Give me to them. The words tumbled out before she could stop them. If it stops the war, no.

Dominic’s voice was absolute, brooking no argument. He handed Marco to Teresa, who had appeared silently in the doorway. Take him to the safe room now. Then he was in front of Sarah, his hands gripping her shoulders with barely controlled intensity. Listen to me very carefully. You are under my protection. That means I would burn this entire city to the ground before I let anyone take you.

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

“They’ll fail, but Sarah,” his expression softened fractionally. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” She should say, “No, should demand he let her leave. End this before more people died.” But looking into his eyes, seeing the fierce protectiveness there, she found herself nodding. Good. He pulled her close, pressing a hard 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 come back. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. I promise you, Sarah Mitchell, I will come back. We have 3 days left. Remember, I’m not done convincing you to stay.” Then he was gone, barking orders into his phone as he stroed from the nursery.

Sarah stood frozen until Luca touched her arm gently. “Miss Mitchell, we need to move.” The safe room was deep in the mansion’s basement, accessed through a hidden door in the wine celler. It was surprisingly comfortable. A full apartment with bedrooms, kitchen, and enough supplies to last weeks. Teresa was already there with Marco. The baby miraculously still sleeping through the chaos.

How long will we be here? Sarah asked as Luca secured the heavy door. However long it takes, Teresa’s face was grim. The dawn won’t rest until every threat is eliminated. Hours crawled by. Sarah fed Marco when he woke, her body going through the familiar motions while her mind screamed with worry. What was happening up there? Was Dominic safe? How many people were dying because of her? When Marco finally went back to sleep in the portable crib, Sarah found herself pacing like a caged animal.

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

30 years in this life. It took him in the end. A rivals bullet meant for the old Dawn. But those 30 years, they were full of love, loyalty, and family. Yes, there was darkness. There’s always darkness in this world. But there was light, too. Does the light make up for the darkness? That’s for you to decide, Miss Mitchell.

Teresa stood, moving toward the small kitchen. But I’ll tell you this. I’ve worked for the Santoro family for 40 years. I’ve seen three dons, and I’ve never seen one look at a woman the way Dominic looks at you, like you’re his salvation. Sarah was still processing those words when the lights flickered.

Once, twice, then the backup generator kicked in, bathing everything in emergency lighting. What does that mean? Sarah’s voice rose with panic. Teresa’s face had gone pale. It means someone cut the main power. It means they’re here. The sound of gunfire erupted from somewhere above them, muffled but unmistakable.

Sarah ran to Marco’s crib, scooping him up protectively. The baby woke with a startled cry, sensing the tension. Then the lights went out completely. In the darkness, Sarah heard Teresa move closer. Heard the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. “Stay behind me,” the older woman commanded. All grandmotherly warmth replaced by cold efficiency.

“More gunfire!” shouting, the sounds of combat filtering down through the reinforced walls. Sarah clutched Marco tighter, tears streaming down her face as she whispered nonsense reassurances to the crying infant. “This was her fault. All of it. If she just walked away on that plane, the door to the safe room shook with impact. Once, twice. Someone was trying to break through. Teresa, Sarah’s voice cracked.

They can’t get through that door, Teresa assured her. But Sarah heard the uncertainty beneath the confidence. It’s reinforced steel. It would take an explosion rocked the room. smaller than the warehouse blast, but devastating in the confined space. Sarah’s ears rang as smoke poured through a crack that had appeared in the supposedly impenetrable door.

“Run!” Teresa shoved Sarah toward the back of the safe room. “There’s an emergency exit behind the bookshelf. Take Marco and run.” “What about you? I’ll slow them down.” Teresa raised her gun, her expression resolute. “Go, Miss Mitchell. The Dawn is counting on you to keep his son safe. Sarah ran, Marco screaming in her arms, fumbling for the hidden latch Teresa had shown her during the safety briefing.

The bookshelf swung open, revealing a narrow tunnel barely lit by batterypowered emergency lights. Behind her, she heard the safe room door finally give way. Heard Teresa’s gunfire once, twice, three times. Heard a man’s voice shout in Italian.

Then 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 arms of the enemy. Not knowing if Dominic was alive or dead. Not knowing if she’d ever get the chance to tell him that yes, God help her, she did love him. The tunnel seemed endless. But finally, Sarah saw light ahead.

She burst out into the night air, finding herself in the woods behind the estate. In the distance, she could see flames rising from the mansion. Could hear the sounds of combat. And then she heard something else. A car engine getting closer. Sarah turned to run deeper into the woods, but it was too late. The SUV screeched to a stop, and men poured out. Not Dominic’s men.

She knew that 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 made Sarah’s blood freeze. “The famous wet nurse,” he said in heavily accented English. “Finally, take her.” Sarah fought, screaming Marco’s name as hands grabbed 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 forced a cloth over her mouth was the mansion burning in the distance, smoke rising like a funeral p into the dawn sky. Then darkness claimed her and Sarah Mitchell disappeared into the night with the Santoro air in her arms, wondering if the man she’d fallen for would even survive long enough to search for her. Sarah woke in a room that rire of old money and older sins. Her head pounded from whatever they’d

used to knock her out, but her first thought was Marco. She bolted upright to find the baby sleeping peacefully in an antique bassinet beside the ornate bed where she’d been placed. Relief flooded through her. They hadn’t heard him. Awake finally, the voice came from the shadows. The older man from the woods stepped into the light.

I am Victoriao Moretti, and you, my dear, are worth your weight in gold. Where are we? Sarah’s voice was hoaro. My estate about 50 mi from the Santoro mansion or what’s left of it. His smile was cruel. Don’t worry. Your beloved Dawn is alive for now. I made sure word reached him about where to find you. You want him to come.

Understanding dawned with horror. Of course. Dominic Santoro destroyed my family 10 years ago. Killed my sons. Took my territory. left me with nothing but scraps. And now he 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 back 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 stupid. 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 he cares about you. And that that is going to destroy him. He released her, smoothing his suit. He’ll come for you tonight. I’ve made sure of it. And when he does, when he walks through those doors willing to trade 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 watch me hurt what he loves. And that will be worth dying for. The hours that followed were torture. Sarah stayed close to Marco, feeding him when he cried. changing him with supplies Victoriao’s people had thoughtfully provided.

They wanted the baby healthy, wanted him as leverage when Dominic arrived. As dusk fell, Victoriao returned. He’s here earlier than expected, actually. Your Dawn must be quite motivated. He hauled Sarah to her feet. Come, you’ll want to see this. He dragged her to a large study. Marco clutched in her arms and positioned her near the window where she could see the grounds below. Her heart stopped.

Dominic stood alone in the center of the courtyard, illuminated by flood lights. No bodyguards, no weapons visible, his hands raised in surrender. But even from this distance, Sarah could see the coiled violence in his stance, the barely leashed fury in his posture. Moretti, his voice carried 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 across the distance, Sarah saw Dominic’s mask crack. Raw emotion flooded his face. Relief, fear, love. Your empire for the woman and child, Victoriao called down. Sign over everything.

Territory, businesses, operations, all of it. Make me dawn of 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 with shock. He was giving up everything. His entire world, his power, his legacy for her and Marco. Touching. Vtorio sneered.

But I think we both know I can’t let you live, Santoro. You just rebuild. Come after me. No, you have to die. But first, you’ll watch me take everything. He pulled a gun, pressing it to Sarah’s temple. Starting with her, everything happened in slow motion. Sarah saw Dominic move impossibly fast for someone who was supposed to be unarmed.

His hand went to his ankle, came up with a weapon. At the same moment, Sarah did the only thing she could think of. She bit down hard on Vtorio’s wrist, making him jerk the gun away from her head. The shot went wide. Glass shattered and then the world exploded into chaos. Doors burst open and Dominic’s men poured in. They’d been there all along, hidden, waiting.

But Dominic himself was already inside, moving like death incarnate. Sarah had never seen anything so terrifying or so beautiful. Victoria grabbed for her again, but Sarah was done being a victim. She swung Marco’s bassinet at his knee. Thankfully, the baby was still in her arms, and the old man stumbled. It was all the opening Dominic needed.

“You touched what’s mine!” Dominic snarled, and his fist connected with Vtorio’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the room. “The fight was brutal, but brief. Victoria was old, past his prime. Dominic was in his prime and fueled by fury. When it was over, Victoria was on his knees, bleeding, defeated. Kill me, he spat. End it.

Dominic leveled his gun at the old man’s head. Sarah saw his finger tighten on the trigger, saw the cold calculation in his eyes. This was the monster, the killer, the Dawn who’d built his empire on violence. Dominic. Sarah’s voice cut through the haze. Don’t. He looked at her and Sarah saw him waring with himself. Saw the darkness battling with the man she’d come to know.

He tried to kill you. Dominic growled. He put his hands on you. On my son. I know. Sarah walked closer. Marco sleeping miraculously 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.

Then Dominic lowered his gun. Take him, he ordered his men. Turn him over to the families. Let them decide his fate for breaking the old laws by targeting a sacred woman. As Victoria was dragged away, screaming threats. Dominic turned to Sarah. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then he crossed the distance in two strides, pulling her and Marco into his arms.

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

The empire, the power, the name, it all means nothing if you’re not here. The families won’t accept that, Sarah said. You can’t just walk away from being a dawn. Watch me. His eyes blazed with determination. I’m done with this life, Sarah. I’m done with violence and death and living in darkness. You made me want something more.

Made me remember there’s 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 angling for the position for years. He can have it. I’m taking my son and the woman I love, and I’m walking away. The woman you love? Sarah’s heart hammered.

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

This is crazy. Probably. I’ve known you a week. Best week of my life. Your world almost got us killed. I’m leaving that world for you. For Marco. He kissed her again deeper. Say you’ll stay not for 3 days, forever. Be my wife, Sarah. Not because of traditions or sacred bonds, but because I love you and I think I hope you might love me, too.

Sarah looked at this beautiful, dangerous, impossible man. Thought about her weak in his world. Thought about how alive she’d felt in his arms. Thought about Marco sleeping peacefully against her chest. this childh who’d healed something broken in her heart. “I do love you,” she whispered. “God help me. I do.” “Then say yes. Yes.” 6 months later, Sarah stood in a small church in Montana, wearing a simple white dress with Marco, now chubby and healthy, babbling happily in Teresa’s arms in the front pew.

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

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

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

“Not one,” he pulled back to look at her. “Though I should warn you, Luca got a concerning call today. Sarah’s stomach dropped. The families found us. Dominic’s jaw tightened. Nothing threatening. Just checking in, making sure we’re really out. And are we? We are. He kissed her forehead. I made my position clear. I’m done.

The Santoro family belongs to Marco now. My cousin Marco, I mean. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with the Council of Families, who by the way officially sanctioned my retirement. Because of me, Sarah understood. Because I’m sacred to them. Because you saved the Santoro air when no one else could. Because you proved that love is stronger than power.

Dominic smiled. The old families respect that. They won’t touch us. As if on Q, headlights appeared at the end of their long driveway. Sarah tensed, but Dominic squeezed her hand reassuringly. A single car pulled up and a man in his 60s stepped out, well-dressed, carrying himself with authority. Don Calibrazy.

Dominic greeted him with careful 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 an envelope sealed with wax. Your retirement papers signed by all five families. You’re free. Truly free.

Dominic opened it. Sarah reading over his shoulder. It was a formal document releasing Dominic from all obligations to the Santoro family and the wider organization. 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, it reminded us all why we have these traditions. Why we protect women and children above all else.

She earned your freedom, Santoro. Both of yours. He tipped his hat and left as quickly as he’d arrived. Sarah and Dominic stood in the driveway long after the tail lights disappeared, the document still clutched in his hand. It’s really over, Sarah whispered. It’s really over. Dominic pulled 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’s hand went to her stomach where their secret was still too new to be visible. Maybe sooner than you think. Dominic’s eyes widened. Are you 3 weeks along. I wanted to tell you after the wedding. She bit her lip nervously.

Is that okay? His answer was to sweep her into his arms and spin her around, laughing with pure joy. When he set her down, both of them were crying happy tears. 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 softly. You and Marco, you saved me when I thought I couldn’t be saved.

They stood in the Montana darkness, the stars brilliant overhead, with their past behind them and their future stretching ahead bright and full of possibility. Inside, Marco let out a small cry. They broke apart with matching smiles. Parents now, partners, lovers, friends. He’s hungry, Sarah said. Then let’s go feed our son.

Dominic took her hand together, the way it should be. As they walked inside, Sarah looked back once at the driveway where the dawn had delivered their freedom. At the dark trees beyond that hid nothing more dangerous than wildlife, at the stars that witnessed their happy ending. She’d walked into a storm 6 months ago on that airplane.

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

Sarah Mitchell had finally found where she belonged, and she was never letting go.