When the house appeared—small and perfect against the mountain backdrop—he went very still.
"You did this? In four weeks?"
"Sofia and Livia helped. But yes." I pulled into the driveway. "Welcome home, Alessio. For real this time."
We brought the babies inside. He looked at everything—the nursery painted soft yellow, our bedroom with the gray walls, and the kitchen stocked with food.
"It's perfect," he said, voice rough. "You made us a real home."
"We made ourselves a real home. This is ours. No FBI safe houses, no witness protection. Just ours."
He set the babies carefully in their bassinets, then pulled me close.
"Thank you," he murmured against my hair. "For holding everything together. For being strong when I couldn't be here."
"Thank you for coming back. For keeping your promise."
"Always,principessa. Always."
That night, after the babies were finally asleep, we collapsed on the couch together.
Exhausted. Overwhelmed. But finally, home.
"We made it," I whispered.
"We made it," he agreed, pulling me against his side.
Outside, the Montana night was peaceful. Inside, our babies slept safely.
And for the first time in over a year, I felt it completely:
Peace. Real, genuine, earned peace.
Marco was dead. Alessio was home. Our children were healthy and safe.
The nightmare was finally, truly over.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too. All three of you." His hand settled over mine. "My whole world."
We sat in comfortable silence, listening to our babies breathe, holding each other.
This. This was what we'd fought for.
Not just survival.
But life. Real life. Together.
CHAPTER 29
Alessio
The first night home, I was terrified of my own children.
Valentina handed me Ezio for the two a.m. feeding, and I held him like he might shatter.
"Support his head," she said groggily, settling back into bed with Eva. "You've got him."
