Epilogue
Elena
Not long after the wedding, my due date arrived.
Three days before it, I checked into the hospital's most luxurious private room. I ate well, rested well, gathering my strength for what was coming.
Dante was more nervous than I was. During the day, he could at least sit on the sofa and handle paperwork. But at night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally, he'd just give up, sit up, turn on the bedside lamp, and stare unblinking at my belly.
"What are you doing?" I opened my eyes, unnerved by his staring.
"Watching your belly. In case the baby decides to come in the middle of the night." Dead serious.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "The doctors are watching me. Go to sleep. You have a meeting tomorrow."
"I'm not sleeping." He tucked the blanket around me. "I'm keeping watch."
I looked at the faint shadows under his eyes, my heart aching. This man who commanded New York's underworld was now like a child on his first night watch, stubbornly guarding me and our baby.
"Dante."
"Yeah?"
"Are you nervous?"
He was quiet for a moment. "A little."
"You get nervous?" I couldn't help laughing. "The mighty Don of the Moretti family, who's been through worse—you're nervous?"
"This is different." Dante took my hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. "You and the baby are everything to me. I can't help being nervous."
I looked at him, suddenly at a loss for words.
He lowered his head, pressing his face to the back of my hand. His voice was muffled. "Elena, you have to be safe."
"I will." I touched his chest, still bandaged. "We'll both be safe."
Two days before my due date, Maggie came. She brought a huge thermos of food she'd made herself and a bag of toys for the baby that covered the entire nightstand.
She showed me each one. "This is a silver spoon, silver cup, silver bowl. This is a stuffed animal, these are blocks..."
I looked at the little things covering the table and laughed. "Maggie, the baby will be too small to play with these."
Maggie waved her hand. "These are gifts from me. It's enough that they'll be there with him."
Dante stood nearby, looking at the odd assortment of toys, unusually helpless. He hesitated. "The baby supplies I had prepared... are they enough?"
Maggie glanced at him and smiled. "More than enough. Your things take up half a room. I've seen them. Very thorough."
They were both there, giving me courage and strength.
So when my water broke, I didn't panic. Not long after I pressed the call button, doctors, nurses, and the midwife all rushed to my room.
"Control your breathing. When you feel the urge, we'll start pushing—"
The midwife told me the rhythm. I followed it, breathing deeply.
Dante paced beside me, wanting to come closer, but I waved him away. "Don't—"
Childbirth was too bloody, too terrifying. I didn't want him to see it.
He looked at me through the curtain, nervous. "Elena, I won't come over. I'll just be right here."
I gripped the midwife's hand, following her commands—breathe, push. My body felt like it was tearing apart. But I couldn't think about that anymore. I only knew my child was about to be born.
"Almost there, I can see the head, one more push—"
I gasped for air, my eyes finding Dante through the curtain. He looked at me with encouragement. I bit down and pushed one last time.
"Waaaah—"
"It's a girl!"
The sweet sound of crying. My daughter was lifted up. The nurse called Dante over to cut the cord.
This Don of the mafia, who'd killed without blinking, faced me—drenched in sweat—and his hand holding the scissors trembled.
I smiled at him weakly. "Go ahead, Dante."
Snip. It was done.
The delivery room door opened. Through my blurred vision, I saw Maggie standing outside, clutching a handkerchief, eyes red. The moment she saw me, it was like all the strength drained from her body. She leaned against the wall, crying and laughing at once.
"Maggie," I called to her weakly. "I'm okay."
"Yes." Her voice shook badly. "Thank God."
The nurse let Dante hold our child. This tall, powerful man clumsily cradled the tiny, crying infant, his eyes reddening.
Dante looked at the baby, then at me. His voice was hoarse. "Thank you, Elena. You brought me an angel."
I looked at him, exhausted. "I'm so happy, Dante."
He lowered his head, kissing my forehead. "You did so well."
He placed our daughter beside me. Once the baby was close, she miraculously stopped crying. Dante looked at me in surprise. "She knows. She knows you're her mother."
I looked at the baby's wrinkled little face, then at Dante. "You're her father. We're both here with her. Maybe she feels safe."
"That's good." Dante looked at me. "A daughter. Just like you wanted."
I smiled. "Looks like she couldn't wait to meet us."
Dante looked at little Jenny. "Jenny, you'll be the most precious princess of the Moretti family. I'll do everything to protect your happiness."
His words were so solemn they made me want to cry.
Since the day we met, we'd been through so much. And here, finally, we had the fruit of our love. Jenny's existence was proof that Dante and I loved each other. Proof that our marriage was anything but a mistake.
Sunlight streamed through the window.
Dante cooed softly at little Jenny, poking her cheek with his finger, his face unusually tender.
I reached out to him. Dante immediately took my hand. "I'm here, Elena."
I nodded. I knew he was here. And I knew he always would be.
After delivery, I came home from the hospital. Dante had converted the biggest guest room into a nursery, the walls painted pale blue, clouds and stars on the ceiling.
Jenny was curious about this new world. She lay in her cradle, eyes wide, staring at the stars overhead, occasionally making soft little sounds.
Dante stood by the cradle, studying her for a while before carefully reaching in to pick her up.
"Your hands are too big." I lay in bed, watching his awkward movements. "Support her head. Other hand under her bottom."
"I know." He said it, but his movements were stiff as wood.
Jenny squirmed in his arms. He immediately froze, barely breathing, looking at the little creature with something like reverence.
"She... seems heavier than yesterday." He whispered.
"Not that fast." I laughed at him. "You're just too tense. Your arms got stiff."
He carried Jenny to my bedside and sat on the edge, cradling her. Little Jenny yawned, nuzzled into his arms, and fell back asleep.
Dante looked down at her for a long time.
"I never thought," he said quietly, "I'd have a day like this."
"What day?"
"Holding my own child. Sitting beside my wife's bed." He paused. "I thought I'd end up like Salvador. Living alone in the manor. No one beside me."
"But you're not."
"No." He looked at me, his eyes full of light. "I'm not."
The days after Jenny was born were the most chaotic and the most grounded of my life.
She had no sense of day or night. She cried when she wanted, woke when she wanted. When she cried in the middle of the night, I'd wake no matter how deeply I slept, fumbling in the dark to make her a bottle. And Dante—this Don who ruled New York's underworld—usually woke even faster.
Lucia taught him how to make bottles. The first time, he studied the water temperature for ages, burned his hand shaking it off, but still frowned until he got it just right before handing it to red-faced, crying Jenny.
"Dada." When Jenny got a little older and could speak, that was the first word she said.
Dante was in his study handling paperwork that day. When he heard it, his pen dropped onto the desk. He froze for several seconds before jumping up and rushing over. "What did she just say? Say it again."
"Dada." Little Jenny sat in my lap, holding her bottle, mumbling the word again, serious and clear.
Dante stood there, looking at me, then at his daughter. After a long moment, his voice came out rough. "Again."
"Dada."
That afternoon, Jenny said "Dada" many times. Dante answered every time, his voice trembling by the end.
On Jenny's one-year celebration, Dante threw a small party at the manor. Only close people came—Maggie, Lucia, Alfredo, Marco, and Luca.
Luca brought a pure silver rattle, finely crafted, catching the light in tiny glints. He played with Jenny in her cradle. She stared at him with round eyes, then suddenly grinned her toothless smile.
Luca paused, then laughed. "This little one's going to be a beauty when she grows up. Even more charming than her mother."
Dante snorted nearby. "That's my daughter."
"I'm not trying to steal her." Luca was exasperated. "I'm just playing with her."
"Don't." Dante walked over and lifted Jenny from the cradle. She immediately snuggled into his arms, clearly used to the position.
Luca shook his head. "Fine. Girl dad."
Lucia came from the kitchen carrying a fruit platter. Seeing Dante holding Jenny, she smiled. "I've been in this manor for decades. Never saw Dante like this. When he was little, Salvador was so strict with him. Barely held him at all."
Dante didn't respond. He just looked down at Jenny, his voice soft. "I'm not like him."
Lucia nodded. "No. You're not. You're a good father."
After the party ended and the guests left, I sat on the living room sofa holding Jenny. Dante sat beside me, reaching out to touch Jenny's cheek.
The room grew quiet. Only the crackling of the fireplace. Jenny slept in my arms, little fists curled by her face, breathing steady.
I looked at my daughter and suddenly remembered something. "Dante."
"Yeah?"
"What was Salvador like with you?"
Dante paused, silent for a moment. "He was strict. When I was little, he taught me to shoot. If I missed, I got punished. When other kids played, I practiced shooting, studied ledgers, learned how to survive in this manor."
"He never held you?"
"Never." Dante's voice was flat. "He'd just stand far away and watch me. Then he'd say, 'Dante, you need to become someone worthy of the Moretti name.'"
My chest tightened hearing this.
I pulled Jenny closer. "But now you can hold your daughter."