“I Got You PREGNANT On PURPOSE - You're MINE Forever Now” the Mafia Boss Told his Maid

The marble floors of the Valentino estate gleamed like frozen tears under the afternoon sun, and I was on my knees scrubbing them for the third time that week. My hands were raw, red, and cracked from the industrial cleaners Mrs. Caruso insisted we use, nothing but perfection for Mr. Valentino's home. The chemical smell burned my nostrils, mixing with a faint scent of imported leather from the furniture and something Darker, more expensive that I couldn't quite name. Old money, power, danger. I was invisible here, just another set of hands to polish the pristine surface of a world

I'd never belonged to. My stomach growled. I'd skipped breakfast again to send money back to Mama in Philadelphia. The cancer treatments were draining what little savings we had left, and my two jobs barely covered her medications. The maid position at the Valentino estate Paid better than anything else I could find with my lack of education, but it meant 16-hour days and a body that achd in places I didn't know could hurt. Girl, Mrs. Caruso's sharp voice cut through my thoughts like a knife. The master's office. He spilled wine on the Persian rug. Handle it immediately.

My heart dropped into my stomach. The master's office. I'd been working here for 3 months and had successfully avoided ever being alone in a room with Dante Valentino. I'd seen him, of course. Impossible not to. He moved through the house like a dark storm, always surrounded by men in expensive suits with guns hidden beneath their jackets. I'd learned to make myself smaller, quieter, practically disappearing into the walls when he passed. But I'd noticed things. The way everyone's voice dropped to whispers when he entered a room. How even Mrs. Caruso, who ruled the household staff With

an iron fist, became differential and nervous in his presence. The late night meetings in his study where raised voices and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor made me work faster, scrub harder, pray I'd never be noticed. Now, girl, before it sets. I gathered my supplies with shaking hands, and made my way through the labyrinth of hallways. The house was a fortress disguised as a mansion. I'd counted at least 12 security cameras in the areas I was Allowed to clean, and there were always men stationed at various points, speaking in Italian, I didn't understand,

their eyes cold and assessing, the office door was slightly a jar. I knocked softly, my knuckles barely making a sound against the heavy wood. Enter. His voice was like smoke, dark, smooth, and somehow suffocating. I pushed the door open, keeping my eyes down, and immediately smelled it. The rich, Intoxicating scent of expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and that same leather smell that permeated the entire house. And wine. Red wine bleeding into the intricate patterns of what was probably a rug worth more than my entire life. I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Valentino. Mrs. Caruso

sent me to look at me when I'm speaking to you. My breath caught slowly. I raised my eyes from the stained rug to the man sitting behind the massive mahogany desk. Dante Valentino was younger than I'd expected for someone who commanded such fear. Maybe 32, 33 at most. His dark hair was perfectly styled. His jaw sharp enough to cut glass. And his eyes, God. His eyes were the color of aged whiskey, burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms marked with

ink I couldn't quite make out from this distance. He was beautiful in the way a loaded gun was beautiful, undeniably attractive and absolutely lethal. What's your name? He leaned back in his chair, those whiskey eyes studying me with an attention that made me want to bolt from the room. Arya, sir. Arya Mitchell. How long have you been working in my house? Arya Mitchell. 3 months, sir. My voice came out barely above a whisper. I clutched the cleaning supplies tighter as if they could somehow protect me. 3 months, he repeated it slowly, tasting each syllable. And

I'm only noticing you now. That's interesting. Something in his tone made my pulse quicken with a fear I couldn't name. I watched as he stood, moving around the desk with the fluid grace of a predator. He was tall, much taller than me. And as he approached, I caught the full impact of his presence. Power rolled off him in waves. This was a man who gave orders that people died Following. This was a man who owned everything he surveyed, including apparently me for the duration of my employment. The rug, sir, I should tell me, Arya, why

do you work two jobs? He stopped just a few feet away, close enough that I could see the fine lines around his eyes, the small scar near his left eyebrow. My mouth went dry. How do you? I know everything that happens in my house. Everything about everyone who enters it. He tilted his head slightly, Studying me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve. Your mother is sick. Stage three cancer. The treatments aren't covered by insurance. You're drowning in debt. Working yourself to death to save a woman who has maybe six months left to

live. Tears burned behind my eyes. Hearing it said so bluntly, so clinically made the reality of it crash over me like a wave. I need this job, Mr. Valentino. Please, I'll work harder. I won't complain about The hours. Relax. The word was a command, not a comfort. I'm not firing you. I'm simply curious. You're different from the others. quieter. You actually try to disappear. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. I find that refreshing. I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. Instead, I knelt down and began working on the

wine stain, focusing every ounce of my attention on the task. My hands trembled as I applied The solution, scrubbing in careful circles the way I'd been taught. I felt him watching me. Felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch on the back of my neck sliding down my spine. The office was too quiet. No sounds from the rest of the house penetrated here. We were alone. Truly alone. And that realization made my breath come shorter. You have delicate hands. His voice came from directly behind me now. And I nearly jumped. Too delicate for

this Kind of work. They're strong enough, sir. I kept scrubbing, kept my eyes on the rug, on the wine that was slowly lifting from the expensive fibers. Are they? I heard him move, and then he was crouching beside me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached out, and before I could pull away, his fingers caught my wrist. His touch was firm, commanding, burning against my skin. These hands tell a Story of someone who works too hard for too little. someone who's forgotten what it feels like to be taken care

of. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep me in place. Not painful, but absolutely unyielding. Mr. Valentino, please. Dante. His thumb brushed across the inside of my wrist over my racing pulse. When we're alone, you'll call me Dante. That's not appropriate. I decide what's Appropriate in my house. Piccolola, do you understand? There was steel beneath the smooth tone. A promise of consequences if I argued. I nodded, not trusting my voice. Good girl. He released my wrist, and I immediately missed the warmth of his touch. A thought that terrified me

more than anything else that had happened. Finish the rug, then come to the kitchen. I'm going to make sure you eat something before you pass out on my marble floors. I'm fine. That wasn't a request. He stood and walked back to his desk, effectively dismissing me while simultaneously making it clear I wasn't free to leave. I returned to my work with shaking hands, hyper aware of his continued presence, the way he occasionally looked up from whatever papers he was reviewing to watch me. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to be careful, to

remember what kind of man he was, what He was capable of. But there was something else, too. Something warm and dangerous unfurling in my chest. the way he'd touched me, the concern in his voice when he'd mentioned food. No one had cared about whether I ate in months. I was so tired of being invisible, of being nothing more than a ghost haunting the edges of other people's lives. And Dante Valentino had seen me, really seen me. That should have been my first warning. I finished with the rug, Gathered my supplies, and stood on legs that

felt like water. Dante was on his phone now, speaking rapid Italian that sounded like music and menace all at once. He gestured toward the door without looking at me, and I fled, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. Mrs. Caruso was waiting in the hallway, her sharp eyes assessing. What took so long? The stain was stubborn. Mr. Valentino requested you Take your lunch break now in the kitchen. Her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. Don't doawtle and don't get any ideas above your station, girl. Men like him

don't notice girls like you for innocent reasons. Her words followed me down the hallway like a curse. I knew she was right. I'd heard the stories about powerful men and the women who worked for them. Stories that never ended well for the women. But I needed this job, needed the money. So I'd go to the kitchen. I'd eat whatever food he'd arranged for me. And then I'd go back to being invisible. That was the plan. The kitchen was empty except for Antonio, Dante's personal driver and bodyguard, who nodded at me from his position by the

window. On the marble island sat a covered plate still warm, and a glass of fresh orange juice. I approached it carefully, as if it might bite me. Chicken Marsala, roasted vegetables, fresh bread. The smell alone Made my stomach cramp with hunger. I ate mechanically, too aware of Antonio's watchful presence. too confused by this sudden attention. Why would Dante Valentino care if his maid ate? Why would he notice me at all when he could have anyone, any woman he wanted? I was nearly finished when I heard footsteps. Dante entered the kitchen, his phone still pressed to

his ear, and my entire body went rigid. He ended the call, slipped the phone into His pocket, and leaned against the counter across from me. "Better?" I nodded, unable to form words. Good. You're going to start eating regular meals. I won't have my employees fainting from malnutrition. He crossed his arms. The movement pulling his shirt taut across his chest. From now on, you'll take your lunch here. Antonio will make sure you're fed properly. Mr. Valentino, Dante, that's really not necessary. I Know it's necessary in my own house. His tone brooked no argument. You're too thin,

too pale. You're going to make yourself sick, and then you'll be no use to anyone, least of all your mother. The mention of mama made my throat tight. I can take care of myself. Can you? He pushed off the counter and crossed to me in three long strides before I could react. His hand was beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. His touch was surprisingly gentle. But there was Possession in it, too. Ownership. When was the last time someone took care of you, Piccolola? When was the last time you let yourself be vulnerable

enough to need someone? I don't need Everyone needs someone. His thumb brushed across my lower lip and electricity shot through my entire body. The question is whether you're brave enough to accept help when it's offered. I should have pulled away, should have remembered my place, remembered the Danger. But I was so tired, so alone. And the way he was looking at me like I mattered, like I was something precious rather than disposable. It was intoxicating. Why are you being kind to me? The words escaped before I could stop them. Something flickered in his eyes. Something

dark and possessive that should have terrified me because you're mine to protect now. You just don't know it yet. Before I could process that statement, before I could ask what he Meant, his phone rang. He answered it in Italian, his expression hardening, and just like that, the moment was broken. He stepped back, already focused on whatever crisis required his attention, and I was dismissed with a gesture. I practically ran from the kitchen, my mind reeling, mind to protect. What did that mean? Men like Dante Valentino didn't protect people. They used them, discarded them, destroyed them

when they were no longer useful. But even as I Tried to convince myself of that truth, I couldn't forget the warmth of his hand on my face. The intensity in his eyes when he'd looked at me. I spent the rest of the day in a haze, jumping at shadows, expecting him to appear around every corner, but I didn't see him again. Didn't see him that evening when I finally dragged myself home to my tiny apartment or the next morning when I returned for my shift. It wasn't until 3 days later when I was cleaning one

of The guest bathrooms that Mrs. Caruso found me. Mr. Valentino wants to see you in his office. Immediately. My stomach dropped. Did I do something wrong? She just shook her head, her expression unreadable. Go. Don't keep him waiting. I made my way back through those endless hallways, my heart pounding with each step. The door to his office was closed this time. I knocked. heard his voice tell me to enter and stepped into what felt like a lion's den. Dante was Standing by the window, backlit by the late afternoon sun. He didn't turn when I entered,

just continued staring out at his perfectly manicured grounds. Close the door. I did. The soft click sounding like a death nail. Lock it. My hand froze on the door knob. Sir, lock the door. Arya. Each word was precisely enunciated, leaving no room for argument. With shaking fingers, I turned the lock. The Sound echoed in the sudden silence, and I realized with crystalline clarity that I'd just trapped myself in a room with the most dangerous man I'd ever met. Dante finally turned to face me, and the look in his eyes made my breath stop. It was

hunger, raw, barely restrained, absolutely possessive. Come here. I couldn't move. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. He crossed the distance between us in seconds. And then His hands were on my face, tilting it up to his, and his mouth was crushing down on mine in a kiss that stole what little air I had left in my lungs. I should have pushed him away, should have screamed, fought, done anything except what I actually did, which was melt into him like I'd been waiting my entire life for

this moment. His kiss was demanding, possessive, claiming me with an intensity that made my knees buckle. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me Flush against the hard plains of his body, and I gasped against his mouth. He took advantage immediately, his tongue sweeping in to taste me, to explore every corner of my mouth like he was memorizing it. I'd been kissed before. Clumsy, forgettable encounters with boys who didn't know what they were doing. This wasn't that. This was a man who knew exactly how to make a woman forget her own name. When he finally

pulled back, I was dizzy, disoriented, my lips Swollen, and my heart racing like I'd run a marathon. "That's better," he murmured, his thumb tracing my lower lip again in that gesture that was becoming familiar. "I've been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you on your knees in my hallway. This is wrong, I managed to whisper, even as my body betrayed me by leaning into his touch. You're my employer. I could lose my job. You're not going to lose anything. His voice was firm. Absolute. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm going to give

you everything you need, Piccolola. Starting with this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, pressing it into my hands. I opened it with trembling fingers and nearly dropped it when I saw what was inside. Cash. Thousands of dollars in cash. What is this? My voice came out strangled. Your mother's treatment. The experimental therapy her doctors mentioned but said was too expensive. It's arranged. She starts next week. He said it so casually, like he was discussing the weather, not fundamentally altering the trajectory of my life. Tears blurred my vision. I can't accept this.

It's too much. Yes, you can. And you will. His hands framed my face, forcing me to look at him. Do you understand what I'm offering you, Arya? I'm offering you hope, a future. All you have to do is let me take care of you. Why? The question tore from my Throat. Why would you do this for someone like me? You don't even know me. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. But I do know you. I've had you investigated since the day you walked through my doors. I know about your father abandoning your family when you

were 12. I know about the foster homes after your mother couldn't afford to keep you. I know about the scholarship you lost when she got sick and you had to drop out to take care of her. I know Everything, Piccolola. Every scar, every struggle, every moment of pain that made you into the woman standing in front of me, the invasion of my privacy should have outraged me. Instead, all I felt was a strange sense of relief. He knew the worst parts of me, the broken pieces, and he was still here, still looking at me like

I was something valuable. That's insane. I breathed. You barely know me, and you're offering to pay for my mother's treatment. What do You want in return? His smile was slow, predatory. You're intelligent enough to know that nothing in life is free, especially not from men like me. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, leaving fire in its wake. I want you, Arya, in my bed, in my life, mine in every way that matters. The room tilted. You want me to be your what? Your mistress? No. The word was sharp, definitive. A mistress is temporary, disposable. What

I want from you is far more permanent. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, and I felt his words more than heard them. "I want you to belong to me completely. Your body, your time, your loyalty. In exchange, I'll give you everything. Your mother will have the best care money can buy. You'll never have to scrub another floor or wear yourself down to nothing trying to survive. You'll live here with me, and you'll want for nothing." My Mind was spinning. This couldn't be real. Men like Dante Valentino didn't make offers like

this to women like me. This is crazy. You could have anyone. Models, actresses, women from your world. I don't want them. His voice turned hard, possessive. I want you. I've wanted you since I saw you making yourself small in my hallways, trying so desperately to be invisible. Do you know how rare that is? Everyone wants something from me. Everyone sees the Power, the money, the fear I command, but you. He pulled back to look at me, his whiskey eyes burning. You just wanted to survive. You didn't scheme or manipulate or throw yourself at me. You

were real, and I'm going to keep you. I need time to think. No. His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me in place. Your mother starts treatment next week. That gives you until Sunday to decide. Either you accept my offer and move into the East Wing by Monday Morning, or you walk away and I never bother you again. But understand this, Arya. If you walk away, you walk away from everything. The treatment, the money, this. He kissed me again, slower this time, but no less devastating. All of it disappears. It was an

ultimatum dressed up as a choice. Accept his terms or watch my mother die knowing I could have saved her. That's not fair, I whispered against his lips. Life rarely is, Piccolola. But I'm offering You a way out. A way to save her and yourself. All you have to do is trust me. Trust him. Trust a mafia boss who dealt in violence and crime, who was offering me a golden cage in exchange for my freedom. It was insane, reckless, dangerous. But when I thought about Mama, about her wasting away in that hospital bed, about the way

she smiled even though I knew she was in agony, when I thought about having the power to save her, what choice did I really have? I need guarantees, I heard myself say. I need to know she'll be taken care of no matter what happens between us. Pride flashed in his eyes. Smart girl. Yes, I'll have my lawyers draw up a contract. Your mother's treatment will continue regardless of our arrangement. You have my word. The word of a criminal. The words escaped before I could stop them. And I immediately regretted them when I saw his expression

darken. But instead of anger, he Laughed. A low, dangerous sound that made my stomach clench. Yes, exactly that. And in my world, Arya, my word is more binding than any legal document. When I make a promise, people know I keep it. When I make a threat, they know I follow through. Remember that. He released me and moved back to his desk, pulling out his phone. Antonio will take you home. Pack whatever you want to keep. Monday morning, you move in. We'll go shopping for anything else You need. Wait, Monday? But I haven't even decided. Yes,

you have. He looked up at me and there was absolute certainty in his gaze. You decided the moment you asked for guarantees instead of telling me to go to hell. You're mine now, Piccolola. You just need the weekend to accept it. I stood there frozen as he made a call in rapid Italian. Within minutes, Antonio appeared at the door, his expression carefully neutral as Dante instructed Him to drive me home. I was ushered out in a days, my mind unable to fully process what had just happened. The ride to my apartment was silent. Antonio didn't

speak, didn't ask questions, just drove with the calm efficiency of someone who'd seen Stranger Things. When we pulled up outside my building, a run-down complex in a neighborhood Dante's car probably cost more than, I finally found my voice. Does he do this often? Make Offers like this to his employees? Antonio's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. Mr. Valentino doesn't explain his actions to me, miss. But in the 10 years I've worked for him, I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Whatever this is, it's different. Different. The word echoed

in my mind as I climbed the stairs to my third floor apartment. Different good or different bad? Different dangerous or different devastating? I spent the Weekend in a fog of indecision and denial. I visited Mama at the hospital, watched her struggle to breathe, listened to her apologize for being a burden. When I told her about the new treatment, about the anonymous donor who was covering the costs, she cried with relief. She didn't ask questions, didn't wonder who would be so generous. She just held my hand and told me she loved me, that she'd make this

second chance Count. Guilt aid at me. She didn't know the price of her miracle. didn't know I was essentially selling myself to save her. But was it really selling myself if part of me wanted this? If part of me had been thinking about Dante's kiss, his touch? The way he looked at me like I was something precious? For the past 72 hours, Sunday evening, I packed my meager belongings into two suitcases. Most of my clothes were worn, faded, not fit for the life Dante was offering. I Kept photos, a few books, my mother's jewelry, things

that mattered, things that remembered who I was before all this. I didn't sleep that night. Monday morning arrived with brutal inevitability. At exactly 8:00 a.m., there was a knock at my door. Antonio stood in the hallway, his expression carefully blank. Mr. Valentino sent me to collect you, miss. Are you ready? Was I? Could anyone ever be ready to step into a life like This? I nodded, grabbed my suitcases, and followed him down to the waiting car. The drive back to the estate felt both too long and far too short. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. My

mind kept running through every possible scenario, each one more terrifying than the last. The car pulled through the gates, past the security checkpoint, and up the long driveway. The house looked different now. Not just a workplace, but a prison. a beautiful gilded prison Where I just agreed to serve my sentence. Mrs. Caruso was waiting at the entrance, her expression sour. Mr. Valentino is in his office. He wants to see you immediately. Your belongings will be taken to the east wing. I made my way through those familiar hallways. My heart pounding so hard I thought everyone

could hear it. The office door was open this time. Dante stood by the window again, his back to me, but I Could feel his awareness of my presence. Close the door. I did, my hand trembling on the handle. Come here, Arya. I crossed the room on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. When I was close enough, he turned and the look on his face stole my breath. Hunger. Possession. Satisfaction. You came. Did you think I wouldn't? I knew you would. He reached out, his fingers trailing down my cheek to my throat, feeling

my racing pulse. Because you're smart enough to recognize opportunity when it presents itself. And because whether you want to admit it or not, you want this, too. I'm here for my mother. You're here for multiple reasons, Piccolola. Your mother is one of them. This He pulled me flush against him, his other hand sliding possessively around my waist. Is another. He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, taking his time to explore and claim. When he finally pulled back, we were Both breathing hard. The East Wing has been prepared for you. Your own suite bedroom, bathroom,

sitting room, everything you could need. But understand something, Arya, his hand tightened on my waist. Those rooms are yours for privacy, for comfort. But your nights, those belong to me. Heat flooded my face. I need time to adjust. You'll have it. I'm not a monster, despite what you might think. His thumb brushed across my lower lip. I Can be patient when properly motivated. But make no mistake, you're mine now. Every man who sees you will know it. Every woman who looks at you will understand that you're under my protection. And anyone who tries to touch

what's mine will learn very quickly why people fear the Valentino name. The possessiveness in his voice should have terrified me. Instead, it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. I should see my Room, I managed to say. Antonio will show you. Get settled. Rest. Tonight, we're having dinner together. Just us. I want to know everything about you that my investigators couldn't find. He released me, stepping back, and I immediately missed his warmth. And Arya, welcome home. home." The word echoed mockingly as Antonio led me through more hallways to the

east wing. The suite he showed me was larger than my entire apartment had been. The bedroom alone Could fit three of my old rooms. Everything was pristine, elegant, expensive, a cage lined with silk and gold. My suitcases looked pathetic sitting in the middle of all that luxury. "Mr. Valentino arranged for a stylist to come tomorrow," Antonio said from the doorway. "She'll help you with a new wardrobe. If you need anything before then, just pick up the phone. Extension one reaches the kitchen. Extension two reaches security. Extension three reaches Mr. Valentino directly. He left me alone

in my beautiful prison, and I sank onto the edge of the enormous bed, wondering what I'd just agreed to. The hours until dinner passed in a strange blur of anxiety and surreal acceptance. I explored my new suite like a prisoner examining her cell. The bathroom with its marble countertops and rain shower that could fit four people. The walk-in closet that was currently empty except For my pathetic collection of worn clothes. The sitting room with floor to-seeiling windows overlooking manicured gardens that probably cost more to maintain than most people's mortgages. At 6:00, there was a soft

knock. A young woman I didn't recognize stood in the hallway holding a garment bag and a makeup case. Miss Mitchell, I'm Sophia. Mr. Valentino asked me to help you prepare for dinner. Of course, he did because apparently I couldn't Even dress myself anymore without his intervention. But I let her in because I genuinely had nothing appropriate to wear, and because refusing felt like a battle not worth fighting on my first day. Sophia was efficient and kind, chattering about nothing important while she worked. The dress she pulled from the bag was simple but elegant, deep emerald

silk that hugged my curves and fell to just above my knees. She did my makeup with a light Hand, curled my hair into soft waves, and stood back with a satisfied smile. Beautiful. Mr. Valentino will be very pleased. I stared at my reflection and barely recognized myself. I looked like someone who belonged in this world. Like someone who could stand beside a man like Dante without looking ridiculous. The illusion was almost convincing. Sophia led me through the house to a private dining room I'd never cleaned before. Soft lighting, an intimate table set for two, and

Dante standing by the window in a black suit that probably cost more than a year of my old salary. He turned when I entered, and the raw appreciation in his eyes made my breath catch. "Belissima," he murmured, crossing to me and taking my hand. He brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. "The dress is perfect on you. It's beautiful. Thank you." The words felt strange in my Mouth. thanking him for dressing me like a doll. He pulled out my chair, waited until I was seated, then took his own seat across from me.

Within moments, staff appeared with wine and the first course. Some kind of soup that smelled incredible and probably had a name I couldn't pronounce. "Tell me about your mother," Dante said, swirling his wine glass. "What was she like before she got sick?" The question surprised me. I'd expected him to talk About his rules, his expectations, the parameters of our arrangement. Instead, he wanted to know about Mama. Strong, I said softly, my fingers tracing the stem of my own wine glass. She worked three jobs after my father left. Made sure I had everything I needed, even

when she had nothing for herself. She used to sing while she cooked old Italian songs her grandmother taught her. The apartment always smelled like garlic and tomatoes and love. Something flickered in Dante's expression. Italian. Her maiden name was Rossi. Her grandparents came over from Sicily in the 20s. I took a small sip of wine, the rich taste exploding on my tongue. She used to tell me stories about the old country, about family and loyalty and the importance of honor. Rossi, he said the name thoughtfully. from Sicily. There was a Rossi family connected to the Genevese

organization back then. They ran a neighborhood in Brooklyn. My heart stuttered. I don't know anything about that. Perhaps your mother didn't either. Or perhaps she did and chose to protect you from that knowledge. He set down his wine glass, his gaze intense. The life I lead, Arya. It's not something I chose lightly. Its legacy, blood. My grandfather built this empire. My father expanded it. and now it's mine to protect and grow. Some are born into darkness. We don't get to choose. Is That supposed to make me feel better about what you do? No. His honesty

surprised me. I'm not asking you to approve of my business. I'm telling you the reality of what you've stepped into. There are rules in my world, codes that must be followed, loyalty above everything, family above all else. You're part of that now, whether you're ready or not. The soup was cleared, replaced by what Sophia whispered was oo buco braised ve that melted on my Tongue. I'd never tasted anything so perfect in my life. Everything about this meal, this moment felt like a dream I'd fall out of at any second. What are your rules? I asked

quietly. What do you expect from me? Dante leaned back in his chair, studying me with those burning whiskey eyes. Honesty. Complete honesty at all times. If something bothers you, you tell me. If someone threatens you, you tell me immediately. You don't hide things from me, Arya. I can't protect What I don't know about. Protect me from what? His jaw tightened. From everything. There are people who would use you to get to me. Rival families, enemies I've made in business. Anyone who thinks hurting you would hurt me. And they'd be right. He reached across the table,

his fingers capturing mine. You're my weakness now, Piccolola. The moment I claimed you, the moment I brought you into my life, you became a target. That's why you'll have security Wherever you go. That's why I need to know where you are at all times. Fear crawled up my spine. I didn't think about that. About being in danger. You don't have to think about it. That's my job. His thumb stroked across my knuckles. The gesture somehow both comforting and possessive. Your job is to let me take care of you. To trust that I'll keep you safe.

to accept that your life has changed and fighting against it will only make you miserable. And if I can't accept it, if I decide this was a mistake, something dangerous flashed in his eyes. Then we have a problem because I meant what I said, Arya. You're mine now. I don't give back what belongs to me. The words should have enraged me, should have sent me running from the room. But there was something in his tone, in the fierce protectiveness underlying the possessiveness that made me stay in my seat. I'm not property, I said quietly. No,

you're not. He brought my hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to my palm that sent shivers through my entire body. You're far more valuable than property. You're mine in the way that matters, the way that makes me want to destroy anyone who looks at you wrong. the way that makes me rearrange my entire world to keep you safe and happy. I don't own you, Piccolola. I claim you. There's a difference. Dinner continued with him asking me questions about my Life, my dreams, the things I'd wanted before circumstances stole my choices. He listened with

an intensity that made me feel like every word mattered, like I was the only person in his universe that moment. It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. When the meal finally ended, he stood and offered me his hand. Walk with me. We moved through the house to a private terrace I'd never seen before. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine from The gardens below. City lights twinkled in the distance, a reminder of the world beyond these walls, the world I'd left behind. Dante stood behind me, his hands settling on my waist,

his chest warm against my back. What are you thinking? That my life was simple yesterday? Hard but simple. Now everything is complicated. Life worth living usually is. His lips brushed against my temple. But you're not alone in navigating it anymore. You have me. I turned in his Arms, looking up at his face in the moonlight. Why me, Dante? Really? There has to be more to it than just wanting someone who didn't chase you. His expression shifted, becoming almost vulnerable. My mother died when I was 15. Cancer like yours. My father remarried within a year. A

woman from another family, a strategic alliance. She was beautiful, ambitious, everything a mafia wife should be. His jaw clenched. She was also cold, Calculated. Every smile, every touch, every word was designed to manipulate and climb the social ladder. When my father died 5 years ago, she didn't even pretend to grieve. She just started plotting how to maintain her position. understanding dawned and I reminded you of your real mother. No. He cupped my face in his hands. You reminded me that real people still exist, that not everything is about power and position. When I watched you

Work yourself to exhaustion for someone you love. When I saw you try to disappear rather than scheme for attention. I saw something authentic, something I wanted to possess before this world corrupted it. That's not romantic, Dante. That's controlling. Yes, he agreed simply. It is. I never claim to be a good man, Arya. I'm possessive, controlling, and violent when necessary. But I'm honest about what I am, and what I am is someone who Will burn the world down to keep you safe." He kissed me then, deep and claiming, his hands sliding into my hair. I melted

into him despite every warning bell ringing in my head. His kiss was drugging, addictive, making me forget why this was dangerous. When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine. "Come to bed with me." My heart stuttered, "Dante, just to sleep," he clarified, though the Hunger in his eyes suggested he wanted far more. "I want to hold you, to feel you beside me. Nothing more until you're ready. It was probably a terrible idea, but I was exhausted from the emotional whiplash of the day, and the thought of spending the night

alone in that huge empty bed in my suite felt unbearable. "Okay," I whispered. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He took my hand and led me through the house to the master suite, a space that Was somehow both masculine and elegant, dominated by a massive bed that looked like it belonged in a palace. He handed me one of his shirts to sleep in, turned his back while I changed, then pulled me into bed beside him. His arms came around me immediately, pulling my back flush against his chest. I could feel every hard plane of his body,

the steady beat of his heart, the way his breathing gradually synchronized with mine. "Sleep, Piccolola," he murmured against My hair. "You're safe here. Always safe with me. And despite everything, despite the insanity of my situation, the danger lurking at the edges of this new life, the absolute control he was exerting over my existence, I believed him. That should have been my second warning. I woke to sun streaming through unfamiliar windows and an empty bed. Panic seized me for a moment before I heard water running in the bathroom. Dante emerged moments later, wearing only a towel

Slung low on his hips. Water droplets trailing down his chest and the intricate tattoos I could now see clearly. The ink told stories, a family crest over his heart, names I didn't recognize on his ribs, religious imagery mixed with symbols that probably meant something in his world. He was beautiful and terrifying and absolutely deadly. His eyes met mine, and a slow smile curved his lips. Good morning, Bissima. How did you sleep? Better than I Expected, I admitted, sitting up and pulling the sheets higher. His shirt had ridden up during the night, exposing far too much

leg. Good. He moved to his closet, dropping the towel without shame, and I quickly looked away, heat flooding my face, his low chuckle told me he'd noticed. A stylist will be here in an hour. Antonio will stay with you the entire time. Don't leave the house without telling me first. I need to visit my mother at the hospital already arranged. You'll go this afternoon. Antonio and Marco will accompany you. He emerged fully dressed, looking every inch the powerful crime boss. The hospital has been informed that your mother is under my protection. She'll receive the best

care available. No one will bother her or you." He crossed to the bed, leaned down, and kissed me thoroughly. "I have business to attend to today, but tonight we're Having dinner with some associates. You'll meet them. Smile and let them see that you're mine. Understand? I nodded, not trusting my voice. Good girl. He traced my lips with his thumb. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Sophia will help you with everything. And Arya? His expression turned serious. Don't try to run. Don't test me. I've been patient because you're adjusting, but my patience has limits. Then he was gone,

leaving me alone in his room with the Scent of his cologne and the memory of his kiss burning on my lips. The day passed in a whirlwind of activity. The stylist, Elena, brought what seemed like an entire boutique's worth of clothes. She measured me, assessed my coloring, and filled the empty closet with outfits I'd never have chosen for myself. elegant dresses, designer jeans, silk blouses, even lingerie that made me blush just looking at it. "Mister Valentino has excellent taste," she said Approvingly as I modeled yet another dress. "He wants you to have the best of

everything." That afternoon, Antonio drove me to the hospital with Marco, another stoic bodyguard, following in a second car. The hospital staff treated me completely differently now with deference bordering on fear. They led me to a private room where mama was resting, looking better than I'd seen her in months. Arya. Her face lit up. Sweetheart, they moved me to this Beautiful room. And the doctor said I start the new treatment tomorrow. They're so optimistic. They think it might really work. I held her hand, fighting back tears. I'm so glad, Mama. Tell me about your donor. Who

is this angel who's saving my life? I couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't explain that I'd essentially sold myself to save her. So, I lied, weaving a story about a charitable foundation, an anonymous benefactor who helped families in need. She believed me because she wanted to, because accepting a miracle was easier than questioning its source. When I finally left, guilt sat heavy in my chest. But seeing the hope in her eyes made it worth it. Whatever price I had to pay, she would live. That's all that mattered. Back at the estate, Sophia helped me prepare

for dinner. The dress Elena had chosen was stunning. Black silk that clung to my curves, elegant but understated. My hair was styled in An updo, my makeup flawless. When I descended the stairs, Dante was waiting in the foyer, surrounded by his men. He looked up, and the expression on his face made my stomach flip. He dismissed the others with a gesture and crossed to me, his eyes burning. You're going to make every man in that room jealous and every woman envious. His hand settled possessively on my lower back. Perfect. The restaurant was clearly mafia owned.

No other patrons. Security everywhere. Private room in the back. Dante led me in with his hand never leaving my back, marking me as his for everyone to see. Five men sat around the table. their women beside them. All eyes turned to us as we entered, assessing, calculating. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. Gentlemen, Dante said smoothly. This is Arya, my woman. Anyone who disrespects her answers to me personally. The message was clear. The Men nodded, their expressions carefully neutral. Their women looked at me with varying degrees of curiosity and pity. They knew what

I was, what I'd become. Another possession of a powerful man, another pretty face that would eventually be replaced. But they didn't know the whole story. Didn't know about the arrangement, the contract written in desperation and sealed with a kiss. They didn't know that part of me was starting to want this, starting to crave Dante's Attention and protection in ways that terrified me. Dinner was an exercise in survival. I smiled when appropriate, spoke when spoken to, and tried to ignore the undercurrents of violence and danger threatening through every conversation. These men discussed territory and business and

problems that needed solving, euphemisms for crimes I didn't want to understand. And through it all, Dante kept me close, his hand on my thigh under the table, his touch Possessive and reassuring in equal measure. It was midnight when we finally returned to the estate. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, ready to collapse. But Dante had other plans. He led me to his room, closed the door, and pulled me into his arms. "You did perfectly tonight. I'm proud of you. The praise shouldn't have mattered, but it did. God help me. It did." He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, his

hands roaming over the silk covering my body. When he finally Pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Stay with me again tonight," he murmured against my lips. "Let me hold you. Let me take care of you." And I did. Because somewhere in the past 48 hours, I'd stopped fighting the inevitable. I was his now. For better or worse, I just didn't know yet how much worse it could get. The next 3 weeks passed in a strange rhythm of luxury and captivity. My days fell into a pattern. Breakfast with Dante when his schedule Allowed. Visits to

Mama at the hospital where her treatment was showing promising results. Afternoons exploring the estate grounds with Antonio shadowing my every move. Evenings preparing for whatever social obligation Dante had planned. And nights nights were spent in his bed wrapped in his arms, his body curved protectively around mine. We hadn't crossed that final line yet. He was keeping his word about giving me time, But the tension was building. Every kiss grew deeper, every touch more possessive. He was patient, but I could feel his control fraying at the edges. I was learning his world through observation and careful

questions. The associates who visited weren't just businessmen. They were soldiers, captains, under bosses in a structure built on violence and loyalty. The phones that rang at all hours weren't telemarketing calls. They were Emergencies requiring his immediate attention. The basement level I wasn't allowed to visit wasn't a wine celler. It was something darker that I didn't want to understand. But I was also learning him. The way he took his coffee, black, no sugar. How he ran his hand through his hair when he was frustrated. The slight softening around his eyes when he looked at me. The

nightmares that sometimes woke him at 3:00 in the morning, leaving Him tense and unreachable until I touched him, reminding him where he was. He was a monster in many ways, but he was also a man, complicated and damaged, and trying to protect something he valued in the only way he knew how, through control and possession. On a Thursday evening, exactly 23 days after I'd moved in, everything changed. I was in the library, a room I'd discovered during my explorations and had claimed as my sanctuary. Floor to ceiling books, A fireplace, comfortable chairs by the window.

I'd been reading when Dante found me, his expression strange. Come with me. There's something I need to show you. He led me through the house to his office, then to a door I'd never noticed before, hidden behind a false bookshelf. It opened to reveal stairs descending into darkness. Dante, what? Trust me. He took my hand, his grip firm, and led me down. The basement was exactly what I'd Feared, a space dedicated to business. I didn't want to know about. But he walked me past the closed doors, past the room where I could hear muffled voices,

to a smaller space at the end of the hallway. Inside was a man tied to a chair, bloodied and broken. I gasped, instinctively moving back. But Dante held me firm. Look at him, Arya. Really, look. I forced myself to focus past the blood and bruises. Recognition hit me like a physical blow. That's That's Jake from the hospital. He worked in billing. Yes. Dante's voice was cold, controlled. He's also the man who's been stealing from the charity fund that pays for your mother's treatment. The man who was planning to falsify records and claim she'd exceeded her

coverage limit. The man who would have killed her by denying her medication. Horror washed over me. "What? Tell her." Dante commanded the man. Tell Her what you were planning. Jake's voice came out broken, defeated. I needed the money. Gambling debts. I was going to cut her treatment. Make it look legitimate. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I felt sick. This man would have murdered my mother through paperwork and bureaucracy. All for money to feed his addiction. Dante's hand tightened on mine. This is my world, Arya. This is what I do. I protect what's mine and I

eliminate threats before they can cause Harm. You need to understand that. You need to see it. What are you going to do to him? My voice came out barely above a whisper. What do you want me to do to him? Dante turned me to face him, his eyes searching mine. He nearly killed your mother. He betrayed the trust of everyone in that hospital. What would justice look like for a man like this? It was a test. I knew it was a test. He was seeing if I could handle his reality. if I could accept the

violence That underscored everything he was. I don't want to watch anyone die," I said quietly. "But I don't want him near my mother ever again. I don't want him to have the power to hurt anyone else." Something like approval flickered in Dante's expression. "Wise answer, Piccolola," he turned to the men standing guard. "Make sure he's arrested by legitimate authorities. Provide them with evidence of his embezzlement. He'll spend the next decade in prison, and by The time he gets out, he'll be too old and broken to hurt anyone. He led me back upstairs, his hand never

leaving mine. In his office, he poured us both whiskey, pressing the glass into my trembling fingers. "You passed," he said softly. "That was a test. Everything is a test in this life. I needed to know if you could handle the reality of what I do. If you could see the violence and understand that sometimes it's necessary." He sat beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. You didn't flinch. Didn't demand I let him go. You saw the situation clearly and made a rational decision. I'm proud of you. Don't be. I drank the whiskey, letting it burn

away the taste of fear. I'm not proud of myself. I should have demanded you let him go. Should have been horrified. But all I could think about was Mama and how close she came to dying because of that man's greed. That's survival instinct. That's understanding that the world isn't black and white. That sometimes monsters wear respectable faces and sometimes the devil protects the people you love. He took the empty glass from my hand and set it aside. You're adapting to this life better than I expected. Is that what this is? Adaptation? I laughed bitterly. I'm

changing into someone I don't recognize. Someone who can stand in a basement with a tortured man and Calmly discuss his fate. You're becoming someone stronger, someone who can survive in my world. His hand cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. And you're mine, which means you're protected, cherished. No one will ever hurt you the way that man tried to hurt your mother. He kissed me then, and for the first time, I kissed him back with matching hunger. All the tension of the past weeks. All the fear and desire and confusion. It All poured

out in that kiss. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. And I went willingly, climbing into his lap, pressing against him. Arya. He groaned against my mouth. If you don't stop now, I won't be able to. Then don't stop. The words left my mouth before I could think better of them. I don't want you to stop. His eyes blazed. Are you sure? Because once we cross this line, there's no going back. You'll be mine in every way. I'm already yours, I Whispered and realized it was true. Somewhere between the threats and the protection,

between the fear and the desire, I'd fallen into this into him. I stopped fighting it a week ago, maybe longer. I don't know when it happened, but it did. He stood with me in his arms, carrying me through the house to his bedroom. He set me down gently, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for the zipper of my dress. I'll be gentle, he promised. I'll take Care of you. And he was. He undressed me slowly, reverently, like I was something precious. His kisses were soft, exploratory, mapping every inch of skin he revealed. When he

finally laid me back on his bed, I felt treasured rather than possessed. Making love to Dante was nothing like I'd imagined. It was intense, overwhelming, a claiming that went deeper than physical. He watched my face the entire time, Gauging my reactions, adjusting his movements to my responses when I fell apart in his arms, his name on my lips. He followed moments later, burying his face in my neck, and holding me like he'd never let go. Afterwards, wrapped in his arms with my head on his chest, I felt the magnitude of what had just happened settle

over me like a weight. No regrets, he murmured as if reading my mind. This was inevitable from the moment you walked into my life. So sure Of yourself about this? Yes. His hand stroked through my hair. You're mine now, Arya. Completely mine. And I'm never letting you go. The possessiveness should have bothered me. But lying there in the aftermath, feeling safe and cherished and wanted, I couldn't bring myself to care. I fell asleep in his arms, more content than I'd been in years. I woke to an empty bed and the sound of angry voices downstairs.

Pulling on one Of Dante's shirts, I crept to the door and listened. Italian, rapid, furious Italian punctuated by what sounded like furniture hitting walls. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I found Sophia in the hallway, her face pale. Miss Arya, you should stay in your room. What's happening? There's been an incident with one of the families. Mr. Valentino is handling it. Before I could ask more, Dante appeared at the top of the stairs, His expression thunderous. Blood spattered his shirt. Not his blood, I realized with sick certainty. His eyes found mine, and something in his expression

made my stomach drop. Arya, my office now. I followed him on shaking legs. Inside, he closed the door and turned to face me, his control visibly fraying. There's been a complication. The Baldini family has declared vendetta against me. Some business disagreement that escalated. He ran a hand through his hair. They've made threats against anyone close to me, which means you're in danger. What kind of danger? The kind that gets people killed. His hand settled on my shoulders. I'm doubling your security. You don't leave this house without at least four guards. You don't go anywhere I

haven't personally approved. And if I say run, you run. No questions. Understand? Fear crawled up my spine. Dante, I won't let them touch you. His Voice turned hard. Deadly. I'll burn their entire organization to the ground before I let them hurt you. But you need to be smart. Need to follow my rules exactly. This is insane. Maybe I should leave. Go somewhere they can't find me. No. The word was absolute final. You're safest here with me. Running would make you an easier target. Here, I can protect you. Here, you're surrounded by my men, my security,

my Power. His hands tightened on my shoulders. You're not leaving me, Arya. Not now. Not ever. The next week was a nightmare of paranoia and tension. Armed guards patrolled the grounds constantly. Every delivery was searched. I wasn't allowed outside at all. Dante barely slept, spending his nights on phone calls and in meetings, orchestrating whatever moves were necessary to end the threat. And then 8 days after the vendetta began, Dante came to find me in The library. His expression was strange. Satisfied, but also troubled. It's over. The Baldini family has agreed to terms. The vendetta is

lifted. Relief flooded through me. Thank God. What changed? I gave them something they wanted more than my blood. He sat beside me, taking my hand. But there's something else. Something you need to know. The way he said it made my stomach clench with dread. What? You're pregnant? The world tilted. What? That's impossible. We've only been together for 3 weeks. I know exactly how long it's been. His hand settled on my stomach, possessive and gentle. I had the doctor run tests when you complained about feeling nauseous yesterday. The results came back an hour ago. I couldn't

breathe. Couldn't think. Pregnant. I was pregnant with Dante Valentino's child. This changes everything. He continued, his voice soft But absolute. You're not just mine now, Ariel. You're carrying my heir, my child. That makes you family in the truest sense. That makes you untouchable. Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully at the satisfaction in his eyes. The lack of surprise. You knew, I whispered, horror dawning. You knew this would happen. You wanted this. His expression didn't change. Yes. The first night we were together, you Didn't use protection. You never used protection. My

voice rose with each word. You got me pregnant on purpose. Yes. No shame, no apology, just calm confirmation. I told you from the beginning, Arya. You're mine. I claimed you, and I needed to make sure that claim was permanent, unbreakable. A child binds you to me in ways that nothing else could. I stood, backing away from him. Fury and betrayal roaring In my chest. You manipulated me. You used me. You took away my choice. I gave you everything you needed. He stood too, his expression hardening. Your mother is alive and thriving. You're safe, protected, provided

for. You have a home, security, a future, and now you're carrying my child. You'll be the mother of the next Valentino heir. Do you understand what that means? The power that gives you the protection. I don't want power. I wanted a choice. Tears Streamed down my face. You trapped me. You made sure I could never leave. Yes. He closed the distance between us, his hands framing my face, forcing me to look at him. Because I love you, Arya. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you trying to disappear in my hallways. And

I knew I'd do whatever it took to keep you, including this. That's not love. That's obsession, possession. In my world, they're the same thing. His thumbs brushed away my tears. I'm not going to apologize for ensuring you'd never leave, for binding you to me permanently. You're mine, Piccolola. Mine forever. And our child will cement that bond in ways that terrify you right now, but that you'll eventually understand. I hate you. The words were bitter on my tongue. No, you don't. You're angry. Yes. Betrayed. Absolutely. But you don't hate me. If you did, you wouldn't be

crying. You'd be plotting. His lips Brushed against my forehead. You'll forgive me eventually. When you hold our child in your arms, when you see how much I love both of you, when you understand that everything I've done has been to protect this family, you'll forgive me. I wanted to keep fighting. wanted to scream and rage and make him understand the magnitude of what he'd done. But what was the point? He was right about one thing. I was trapped. Pregnant with his child, living in his House, surrounded by his men. There was no escape from this

gilded cage he'd built around me. I need time. I managed to say time to process this time alone. Of course, he released me, stepping back. But understand something, Arya. Time won't change the reality. You're pregnant with my child. You're mine. Those are facts that no amount of anger will alter. He left me there in the library, and I collapsed into a chair, my hand instinctively moving to my Stomach. There was a life growing inside me. A child. Dante's child. The child I hadn't chosen, but that I already knew. With terrible certainty, I would love fiercely

because that's who I was. someone who loved deeply, who protected fiercely, who sacrificed everything for family. Dante had known that about me, had seen it and used it and made it a weapon to bind me to him forever. And God helped me. Part of me understood why. The next Two months were the hardest of my life. My body changed in ways I wasn't prepared for. The morning sickness that left me weak and shaking. The exhaustion that made simple tasks feel impossible. the emotional upheaval that had me crying over commercials and snapping at anyone who looked

at me wrong. But through it all, Dante was there, constant, patient, overwhelmingly present. He held my hair back when I was sick. He canceled meetings to sit with Me when the anxiety became too much. He had the estate chef prepare whatever strange food combinations I craved at 3:00 in the morning. He read parenting books and attended every doctor's appointment. His hand never leaving mine during the ultrasounds. And slowly, against every ounce of my better judgment, my anger began to fade into something more complicated. I couldn't forgive what he'd done. The manipulation, the calculated way he'd

Gotten me pregnant to trap me permanently. It was unforgivable. But I also couldn't deny that he'd been right about certain things. I was protected here in ways I'd never been in my life. My mother was thriving. The treatment working better than anyone had hoped. And Dante loved me with an intensity that was both terrifying and oddly comforting. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't normal, but it was real. One evening, when I was almost 4 months Along and finally starting to show, Dante found me on the terrace watching the sunset. He'd been in meetings all day. something

about territorial disputes and negotiations I didn't want to understand. He looked exhausted, the weight of his world evident in the lines around his eyes. "Can I sit with you?" he asked quietly. I nodded, and he settled beside me, his hand immediately finding mine. We sat in silence for long minutes, just Breathing together, watching the sky turn from gold to pink to deep purple. I was seven when my mother died, he said suddenly. Brain cancer. It took her fast. 6 months from diagnosis to death. My father was destroyed by it. He loved her in a way

that made him vulnerable. And that vulnerability nearly cost him everything. Other families saw his grief as weakness. They moved against him. Tried to take what was his while he was Too broken to fight back. I squeezed his hand, not speaking, just listening. He survived, but it changed him. Made him hard, cold. When he remarried, it was strategic. No love, no emotion, just power and alliance. He taught me that love was a liability, that caring about anyone made you weak. Dante's jaw clenched. I believed him for years, built walls around myself, refused to let anyone matter,

and then you walked into my house trying so hard To be invisible, and you shattered every wall I'd spent 20 years building. Dante, let me finish." His voice was rough with emotion. I knew I was falling for you. I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn't stop myself. And when I realized you might leave once your mother was stable, once you didn't need my money anymore, the thought of losing you made me desperate. Made me do something unforgivable. He turned to face me, his eyes intense. I got you pregnant on Purpose because I couldn't bear

the thought of you leaving. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was manipulative, but I also knew that I couldn't survive in a world where you weren't mine. So, I made sure you couldn't leave. And I'm not sorry for that, Arya. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for taking away your choice. But I'm not sorry for ensuring you'd stay. Tears blurred my vision. You should be sorry. You should regret it. I know a Better man would. His hand moved to my stomach, settling over the small bump. But I'm not a better man. I'm

a selfish bastard who saw something beautiful and claimed it before anyone else could. And now we're here with a child growing inside you, binding us together forever. I covered his hand with mine, feeling the flutter of movement beneath our palms. Our baby, the child we'd created, wanted or not. I should hate you, I whispered. But you don't. It wasn't a Question. No, I don't. The admission felt like defeat and liberation all at once. I'm angry. I'm hurt, but I don't hate you. I think I think I might love you, which makes me as twisted as

you are. His sharp intake of breath told me he hadn't expected that. Say it again. I love you. The words came easier the second time. I love you even though you're controlling and possessive and you manipulated me in the worst possible way. I love you even though you're a Criminal who does terrible things. I love you because you see me, really see me. And you've never asked me to be anything other than exactly who I am. He kissed me then, deep and claiming and somehow gentle all at once. When he pulled back, there were tears

in his eyes. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life," he said roughly. "More than power, more than family legacy, more than my own survival. You and our child. You're Everything now. And I will destroy anyone who tries to take you from me." I know. And I did. I understood him now in ways I hadn't before. understood that his love was possessive because he'd lost everyone he'd ever cared about, that his need to control came from a deep terror of being vulnerable, that his manipulation was wrong, but born from desperation rather

than cruelty. It didn't excuse what he'd done, but it helped me understand it. I need you to Promise me something, I said quietly. Anything. No more manipulation. No more taking away my choices. If we're going to do this, raise a child together, build a life, I need to know you'll be honest with me, even when the truth is ugly. He was quiet for a long moment. I can promise I'll try, but I can't promise I won't be overprotective. Can't promise I won't make decisions I think are best for you and our child without consulting you

first. It's who I Am, Arya. Control is how I keep the people I love safe. Then I'll promise to call you out when you go too far. to fight back when you need fighting. To remind you that I'm your partner, not your possession. I met his eyes steadily because that's who I am. Someone who doesn't back down even when it's terrifying. A slow smile curved his lips. We're going to fight constantly. Probably. It's going to be messy and complicated. Almost certainly, but it's going to be real. He pulled me close, his hand protective over our

child. No games, no pretending, just us figuring this out together. Together. I agreed. The months that followed were indeed messy and complicated. We fought about everything. His overprotectiveness, my stubborn independence, how to prepare for the baby, what kind of life we wanted for our child. But we also laughed together, planned together, fell deeper in love in The spaces between the arguments. Mama's health continued to improve. By my sixth month of pregnancy, she was in remission, strong enough to visit the estate and meet the man who'd saved her life. She took one look at Dante, saw

the way he touched me, the possessive gentleness in his eyes, and she understood immediately what our arrangement had been. "You did this for me," she said quietly when we were alone. "Gave yourself to him to save me. It's more complicated than that now," I admitted. "I love him, Mama. Even knowing what he is, what he's done, I love him. She took my hand, her eyes sad, but understanding. Love isn't always clean and simple, sweetheart. Sometimes it's messy and complicated and comes from the most unexpected places. The question isn't whether this is the right love or

the wrong love. The question is whether it makes you happy. It does, I realized in Strange twisted ways. It makes me incredibly happy. then that's all that matters. My water broke on a Tuesday evening while Dante was in a meeting with his under bosses. I'd been reading in bed when the first contraction hit, sharp and unmistakable. Sophia called Dante immediately, and within minutes, the house erupted into organized chaos. Dante burst into the bedroom, his face pale. Is it time? Are you okay? Should I call the doctor again? Do we need Dante? I grabbed his hand,

squeezing hard. Breathe. We have time. just stay with me. He did. Through 14 hours of labor, he never left my side. He held my hand when the contractions became unbearable. He whispered encouragement in Italian when I was too exhausted to push. He cried when our daughter finally entered the world. Tiny and perfect and screaming with indignation. She's beautiful, he breathed, watching as the Nurses cleaned her. She's perfect, Arya. She's ours. I finished my voice. She's ours. They placed her in my arms moments later, and I fell completely in love. She had Dante's dark hair in

my nose, and when she opened her eyes, they were the exact shade of whiskey that haunted my dreams. "Isabella," Dante said softly, his finger stroking her tiny cheek. "Her name is Isabella Marie, after both our mothers." I looked at him, surprised. "You want to name her After my mother? She saved your life by bringing you into this world. It's only right we honor her. His expression was tender in a way I'd rarely seen. Besides, family is everything. And your mother is family now. Isabella Marie Valentino, our daughter. The physical proof of the complicated, messy, absolutely

real love between a mafia boss and the maid who'd stolen his heart. The weeks after her birth were Exhausting and perfect. Dante was surprisingly hands-on for someone who'd grown up in his world. He changed diapers, did 3:00 a.m. feedings, rocked Isabella to sleep while singing Italian lullabies his mother had sung to him. He was gentle with her in ways he'd never been gentle with anything else in his life. And he was even more possessive of both of us. Security doubled. I wasn't allowed to leave the grounds without an entire team of guards. Anyone who wanted

To see Isabella had to be cleared through multiple levels of approval. It was suffocating and overwhelming and exactly what I'd expected. But it was also love, twisted, controlling. Absolutely consuming love. One night when Isabella was 6 weeks old and finally sleeping through the night, I found Dante standing by her crib just watching her sleep. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated his face, highlighting the softness There, the vulnerability he only showed in moments like this. "What are you thinking?" I asked softly from the doorway. He didn't turn. Just kept watching our daughter. That I'd burn

the entire world down to keep her safe. That anyone who ever tries to hurt her will learn exactly what happens when you threaten what belongs to Dante Valentino. She's not property, Dante. Neither am I. No. He finally looked at me, and the love in His eyes stole my breath. You're not property. You're my heart, my soul, my reason for breathing. You're the woman who taught me that love doesn't have to be weakness. That protecting the people you care about can make you stronger rather than vulnerable. He crossed to me, pulling me into his arms. I

got you pregnant on purpose because I was terrified of losing you. And I'd do it again, Arya. I'd do anything to ensure you and Isabella stay by my side forever. I know. I should have been angry. Should have hated his continued lack of remorse. But I understood him now in ways I hadn't before. And I'd fight you every step of the way while simultaneously staying exactly where I am. Because as twisted as this is, as complicated and messy and wrong, it's ours. This life, this love, this family we've built from desperation and obsession and something

that somehow Became real. "You're mine," he murmured against my hair. "And you're mine," I replied. "Forever. forever," he agreed. Two years later, Isabella took her first steps in the gardens while Dante and I watched, both of us anxious and proud in equal measure. Mama was there, too, healthy and vibrant, laughing as Isabella stumbled and got back up with determination that reminded me of her father. "She has your stubbornness," Dante observed. "And your arrogance," I countered. He grinned, pulling me close. She's going to be unstoppable. I looked around at the life I'd built. This strange, complicated,

unconventional life that had started with desperation and manipulation, but had somehow transformed into something that felt like home. The estate that had once felt like a prison now felt like a sanctuary. The man who' trapped me had Become my partner. The future I'd thought was stolen had bloomed into something I never could have imagined. Was it perfect? No. Did we still fight about his controlling nature and my stubborn independence constantly? Were there moments when I looked at how this all began and felt the echo of that initial betrayal sometimes? But as I watched Dante scoop

Isabella into his arms, saw the pure love and joy on his face. Felt the Warmth of family surrounding us. I knew I wouldn't change it. Not the manipulation that brought us together. Not the pregnancy that trapped me. Not even the fear and anger I'd felt in those early months. Because all of it had led to this. To Isabella's laughter ringing through the gardens, to Mama's remission and happiness, to a love that was messy and complicated and absolutely real. Dante had told me once that he'd gotten Me pregnant on purpose, that I was his forever. At

the time, it had felt like a curse, a trap I'd never escape. Now with his arm around my waist and our daughter in his arms and our whole messy beautiful life stretching out before us, it felt like the most twisted kind of blessing. I was his, he was mine.