“No. Finish Christmas with your wife. We move on the twenty-sixth.”
He pauses. “Romeo Romero asCapoin Chicago?”
I shrug, jaw tight. “The line of succession, father dies, son takes over.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The line goes dead.
Enzo stands by the door, tense but calm. “Did the Don need anything from me?”
I study him, then shake my head. “Go home. Be with your family.”
“But—”
“Nothing will happen tonight,” I say, quieter now. “We’ve got eyes on every corner. If I need you, I’ll call.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Merry Christmas, Santo.”
“Merry Christmas,” I answer, already drifting back into my own mind.
Once the house is empty, I lock it down, security feeds, alarms, panic buttons. I check everything twice. The war in Chicago shouldn’t reach us. But I won’t bet on shouldn’t.
Not with my pregnant wife asleep upstairs.
My pregnant wife.
The thought still knocks the breath from my lungs. After everything, after all the blood and pain; the universe has given me this gift. This miracle. And I will kill any man who threatens it.
I climb the stairs quietly, pausing at the threshold of our bedroom. Vasilisa is still asleep, curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. She looks so young like this, impossibly vulnerable. My heart clenches painfully in my chest.
Moving carefully, I slip into bed beside her, pulling her gently against me. She murmurs something unintelligible and nestles closer, her body automatically seeking mine even in sleep.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. “Both of you. Always.”
I don’t sleep. I hold her, watching the moonlight shift across our ceiling, my mind cycling through threats and safeguards until dawn breaks.
Tomorrow I propose to my wife.
Tomorrow,I give her the moment she deserved.
And not even war will stop me.
Chapter 9
In His Arms
Ijolt awake.
“The decorations!”
My heart races as I scramble upright, sheets tangling around my legs.
Santo’s hand curls around my waist and he pulls me back down.
“You’re okay Dea,” he murmurs.
“But my garland—”
