Page 117 of The Wrong Mafia Bride
"Patrick is dead," Dante says into my hair. "Callahan has control of the Irish. Erin is safe. The threat is over."
"The threat is over," I repeat, testing the words. They feel too good to be true, like something that will be snatched away if I believe it too completely.
"You can breathe now," Dante murmurs. "You can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. It is done, Flower. You are safe. Erin is safe. Our baby is safe."
Our baby. The words make my throat tight.
"I was so scared," I admit. "When I woke up and you were gone, and the guards told me you went after Patrick—I was terrified something would happen to you. That I would lose you the same way Erin lost Dolan."
"You will not lose me," Dante says fiercely, pulling back to look at me. "I’m not going anywhere. None of us are. We are in this together, remember? All of us. Forever."
"Forever," I echo, and this time I let myself believe it.
He kisses me then—soft and sweet and full of promise. When we break apart, I am crying, but these are good tears. Relief tears. Happy tears.
"Come on," Dante says, taking my hand. "Let us get you back to bed. You are supposed to be resting, remember?"
"I want to check on Erin first."
"Gabriel has her. She is in good hands."
"Dante—"
"Rosalina." He stops, turns to face me fully, his hands cupping my face. "She is safe. She is here. And she will still be here in the morning. Right now, I need you to take care of yourself and our baby. Let Gabriel take care of Erin. That is what he is good at."
He is right. I know he is right. But it is so hard to let go, to stop being Erin's protector even for a few hours.
"She is not your responsibility anymore," Dante says gently, reading my mind. "She is her own person, capable of making her own choices. And right now, she needs rest and medical attention, both of which Gabriel is ensuring she gets. What she does not need is you collapsing from exhaustion because you would not take care of yourself."
"When did you get so wise?" I ask.
"I have always been wise. You were just too stubborn to notice."
I laugh despite everything, and it feels good. Normal. Like maybe things really will be okay.
Dante leads me upstairs, and I don’t protest when he tucks me back into bed. The doctor comes to check on me—pronounces me and the baby healthy despite the stress—and then finally, blessedly, I am alone with Dante in my doorless bedroom.
"Get some real sleep," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I will be right down the hall if you need anything."
"Stay," I say, catching his hand. "Please. I don’t want to be alone tonight."
He does not hesitate. Just kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed beside me, pulling me back against his chest. His hand settles over my stomach, protective and possessive, and I cover it with my own.
"We did it," I whisper into the darkness. "We got her back."
"We did," Dante agrees. "And now we get to focus on the future. On this baby. On our family."
Our family. The words settle over me like a benediction.
I close my eyes and, for the first time in days, I sleep without nightmares.
26
DANTE
The call comesthree days after Patrick's death.
I am in the kitchen making breakfast when the phone rings. The noise that has been building since Luca put a bullet in Patrick Murphy and called me from the docks to tell me it was done.". Since I chose my wife over my father's authority. Since I realized I have been walking toward this confrontation my entire life.
