เข้าสู่ระบบWhen she looked at the stick, two pink lines stared back at her.Positive.Elena sank onto the closed toilet seat, test clutched in her hand. A baby. She was going to have a baby.Dante's baby.She should feel scared. Overwhelmed. This was terrible timing—her divorce wasn't final, Marcus was stalking her, her whole life was in chaos.But instead, Elena felt...happy. Light. Like something that had been missing finally clicked into place.She wanted this baby. Desperately.When she walked back into the exam room, Dante read the answer on her face before she said anything."Pregnant," Elena whispered, holding up the test.For a moment, Dante didn't react. Then his face transformed—shock, joy, wonder, and something fiercer. Something protective and possessive and almost frightening in its intensity."Mine," he said hoarsely. "A baby. Our baby.""Is this—are you okay with this?" Elena asked nervously. "I know it's fast and complicated and—"Dante crossed to her in two strides and swept her
The guard grabbed Marcus's arm. "Time to go, sir."Marcus jerked away. "Get your hands off me. I'm not done—"Three more guards appeared. They surrounded Marcus, their intent clear."Last chance," Alessandro said. "Leave on your own, or leave bleeding. Your choice."Marcus looked up at the balcony again. Elena was gone. The curtains fluttered where she'd been standing.Something broke inside him. Some last vestige of hope or pride or sanity."This isn't over," Marcus said to Alessandro. "She's still my wife. We're not divorced yet. I have legal rights—""Your legal rights mean nothing here. This is Italy. My country. My territory. My rules." Alessandro smiled, but it was the smile of a shark. "And here, my rule is simple: Stay away from my sister. Or face consequences you can't even imagine."The guards mo
Marcus Thorne stepped off the plane in Rome feeling like a man with nothing left to lose. The fourteen-hour flight had given him too much time to think, to plan, to imagine all the ways he'd make Elena see reason.She was confused. That was the only explanation. She'd been manipulated by Dante Accardi, turned against Marcus by slick words and false promises. Once Marcus got her away from that Italian gangster, she'd remember who she really belonged to.At least, that's what Marcus told himself.The private investigator Marcus hired was waiting at baggage claim. His name was Frank Mitchell, and he looked exactly like what he was—an ex-cop who'd turned to private work after too many complaints about his methods."Mr. Thorne." Frank shook his hand. "Got the rental car ready. But before we head to Sicily, there's something you need to see.""What?"Frank pu
They gathered in Dante's study—Elena, Dante, Alessandro, and Marco, Dante's cousin and second-in-command. Maps and documents covered the large mahogany desk."Marcus lands in Rome tomorrow," Alessandro said, pointing to a flight manifest. "From there, he's planning to rent a car and drive here. He's not being subtle—made the reservation under his own name.""He wants us to know he's coming," Dante observed. "Trying to intimidate us.""Won't work. But it does tell us he's desperate. Desperate men make mistakes." Alessandro pulled up another document. "He's also been meeting with FBI Agent Sarah Chen. The same agent who's been trying to build a case against our family for three years. Marcus is feeding her information. Trying to trade dirt on us for—what? Immunity? Help getting you back?""Can he actually hurt us with what he knows?" Elena asked."No," Dante said
Elena woke to an empty bed and cold sheets. For a moment, panic seized her—had last night been a dream? Had Dante left?Then she saw the note on the pillow, written in strong, slanted handwriting:*Emergency call from Alessandro. Had to step out. Be back before breakfast. Don't miss me too much. - D*Elena smiled despite her disappointment. She stretched, feeling deliciously sore in places she'd forgotten could feel. Last night had been incredible. Dante had been incredible.She got up and wrapped herself in a silk robe from the closet, then walked to the windows. The sun was just rising over the Mediterranean, turning the water pink and gold. It was beautiful. Peaceful.Too peaceful.Elena's instincts prickled. She'd grown up around danger, learned to read situations and people. Something felt off.Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up and saw three missed calls from Victoria and a text message:*Call me immediately. It's about Marcus. - V*Elena's stomach dropped. She
Elena thought about it carefully. "With Marcus, I was pretending. Playing a role. Being someone I thought I should be. But with you—I can be myself. Elena Accardi. Artist and mafia princess. Both sides, no hiding. So yes. I can accept your world because it's also mine."Dante's expression softened. "You're remarkable. You know that?""You might have mentioned it once or twice."They reached the villa as Rosa was setting lunch on the terrace. The meal was elaborate—pasta with fresh seafood, grilled vegetables from the garden, salad with lemon and olive oil, bread still warm from the oven.Elena ate hungrily, the morning walk having worked up her appetite. Dante watched her with obvious satisfaction."What?" Elena asked around a mouthful of pasta."Nothing. Just happy you're eating. Rosa's right—you are too thin. Marcus clearly didn't feed you properly.""Marcus barely acknowledged I existed. Food was the least of my concerns."Dante's jaw tightened. "I'm going to make sure you never fe
Dante set down his glass and took hers, placing it on a nearby table. Then he took both her hands in his, his touch warm and solid.“Elena,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do anything. We can sit on that couch, talk until morning, and I’ll call you a car home. No expectations. No judgment.” He
Elena’s throat tightened. “How did you—”“Because men are idiots. Especially when they’re intimidated by a woman’s talent.” His voice turned hard. “And any man who would try to diminish you like that doesn’t deserve you.”The certainty in his voice made Elena’s eyes sting. When was the last time so
Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. Dante's words hung in the air between them—eleven years of hidden feelings, a lifetime of watching from the shadows."That night at the masquerade," Elena whispered. "You knew who I was from the beginning.""From the moment I saw you." Dante's thumb traced c
The hotel suite was bigger than most apartments. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Central Park, furniture that cost more than cars, and enough security outside the door to protect a small country.Elena felt like a prisoner. A very pampered, very well-guarded prisoner."You need to eat more," he







