I pass two of my men stationed at the stairwell exit, nodding as I continue down the corridor. Ahead, Dario, Dante, and Jimmy stand in a tight circle, speaking in hushed tones near the elevator. They turn as I approach.
“How are Elle and my new nephew?” Dante asks. They’d been allowed into the room earlier, and it still amazes me how a baby can soften even the hardest men.
“Both are sleeping now,” I answered. My voice hardens. “Tell me.”
The three exchange uneasy glances, as if debating who should deliver bad news on a day meant for joy.
Dario clears his throat. “There was a man trying to get onto this floor from the staircase earlier. He claimed he’d gotten off on the wrong floor, and said his wife was a patient here. The guards let him go, thinking he was innocent.” His hesitation is obvious. He looks to my brother.
Dante picks up where Dario falters. “We checked the hospital footage. When he came in, he went straight for the stairs, bypassing the elevators. After our men confronted him, he didn’t look for his wife—he left the hospital without visiting anyone. That made us suspicious. We got a clear look at his face. He’s Rafael Sanchez, a soldier in the Mexican cartel.”
My stomach twists. “Fucking hell. We have no business with the cartel. Why was he here?”
Dante’s eyes glint, a look I’ve seen too often lately. “The fuck if I know, Dom. But we’ll find out.”
“They’ve only started nosing around after your injuries, Dante.” I raise a brow, holding his gaze. “Is there anything I should know?”
His reply is quick, too quick. “No. Nothing.”
“We have a team that is looking for him, Boss.” Jimmy spoke up for the first time. His words still echo in my mind, when I leave the men behind and return to Elle’s hospital room. She’s awake now, her eyes soft as I slip quietly inside.
“Did I wake you, Angel?” I whisper, lowering myself beside her, careful not to disturb our son. She curls into me, her head resting on my shoulder, her arm draped across my chest. Together, we watch Luca sleep.
“What do you think—do you like the name Luca? Luca Vitelli.”
Elle traces slow circles on my chest with her finger, silent for a moment. Just when I think she won’t answer, she lifts her head, her expression unreadable. Then her lips curve into a smile. “Luca Vitelli. I love it, Dominic. What does it mean?”
I cup her face gently. “It means ‘light.’ You are my Angel, the one who brought light back into my life. When I opened my eyes all those months ago, I thought I was dead. Then I saw you—your hair catching the light, your presence pulling me out ofthe darkness. And now you’ve given me a son who carries that same light. Just like his mother.”
Chapter 54
~Elle~
Six weeks later.
Awareness creeps in like a thief in the night. For a moment, I’m disoriented. My eyes snap open to the ceiling above our bed, sunlight spilling across it. I sit up quickly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, fingers tugging through hair tangled like a bird’s nest.
Shit. The last thing I remember was putting Luca down in his cot before bed. Nothing after. This is the first night I’ve slept straight through since giving birth six weeks ago.
Luca wakes every three hours like clockwork, demanding to be fed. Dominic insists on being up with me each time, keeping vigil while I nurse our son. For the first month, I breastfed exclusively. Only recently did we introduce bottles, which allowed Dominic to help with the feedings.
He’s endured every sleepless night by my side. And yet, come morning, he slips into his suit looking as handsome and composed as ever. Rested. Untouched by exhaustion. It’s maddening. No one would guess he’s been awake most of the night. I don’t know how he does it. Meanwhile, sleep deprivation leaves me haggard.
I told him this one morning, half-joking, half-defeated. He only shook his head, eyes steady on mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re still the most beautiful woman I know.”
The bedside clock reads six-thirty. Dominic’s pillow still bears the imprint of his head, but he isn’t beside me. He must be up with Luca.
I slip from the bed and make my way to the nursery. At the doorway, I pause. Dominic’s voice drifts through the room, low and soothing, mingling with Luca’s soft coos. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were carrying on a conversation.
My husband sits in the rocking chair, his back to me. Shirtless, navy pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips, bare feet resting on the patterned rug. Luca is cradled securely in his father’s arms, tiny limbs moving with excitement, reflected in the mirror across from them.
“Do you want to hear a story, son?” Dominic asks, pausing as though waiting for an answer. Luca gurgles in reply, and Dominic smiles.
“Okay then. Let me tell you about the day your daddy met an angel. Months ago, before you were even a thought, your daddy was hurt. Uncle Dante brought an angel to save me. She wove her magic and made me better. And when I finally opened my eyes, she was there, leaning over me. The light caught her hair, and I swore I saw a halo above her head. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. She was beautiful. My Angel brought me back to life—and now she’s given me the most precious gift in the world. Because of her, I’ve known heaven on earth.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror above the white vanity, Dominic’s gaze locking with mine. The emotion in his eyes mirrors my own. I swipe at the tears slipping free. My God, I love this man.
The room is hushed now. Luca’s coos have faded; he’s lulled to sleep by the sound of his father’s voice. Without a word, Dominic rises from the chair, Luca cradled gently against his bare chest. He brushes past me, moving with quiet purpose, and lays our son in his crib.
