Dinner was beautiful chaos—spaghetti everywhere except possibly in their mouths, marinara sauce on Eva's forehead, Ezio wearing more parmesan than he'd eaten.
"We're never eating red sauce again," I declared, surveying the damage.
"Yes, we are. Sunday. I'm making Nonna's gravy." Alessio grinned at my expression. "Six-hour simmer, the whole ritual. Our kids should know where they come from—the good parts."
My heart squeezed. "Really?"
"Really. It's time they learned about Sunday dinners. Family traditions worth keeping."
"The good parts without the violence," I said quietly.
"Exactly."
Bath time became a water war. Alessio ended up soaked. I took photos for blackmail purposes.
Bedtime stories took forever because they wanted "one more, Daddy, please just one more," and Alessio was completely incapable of saying no to those faces.
Finally, they slept. Eva was surrounded by seventeen stuffed animals arranged exactly how she liked them. Ezio clutched his favorite toy truck, already dreaming.
We stood in their doorway for a long moment, watching them breathe, before Alessio took my hand and led me to the living room.
We collapsed on the couch together, exhausted and happy.
"Remember when we thought life would get easier once they got older?" I laughed.
"They just get faster and louder." He pulled me against his side, his hand settling on my hip. "But I wouldn't change a single thing."
Quiet settled over us—the peaceful kind that used to feel impossible.
"Are you happy?" I asked softly. "Really, truly happy? You gave up so much for this life."
He turned my face toward his, those dark eyes holding mine. "Every single day. This—you, them, our boring beautiful life—this is everything I was fighting for even when I didn't know I was fighting for it."
I kissed him, and familiar heat sparked between us.
"The twins are asleep," I murmured against his lips. "We have at least two hours before someone needs something."
"Two whole hours? What should we do with all that time?"
"I have some ideas." I stood and pulled him up. "Bedroom. Now. Before they wake up."
He swept me into his arms and carried me down the hallway. "I love your ideas, Mrs. Valestri."
"Good. Because I have a lot of them."
Our bedroom was simple—soft gray walls, white linens, mountains visible through the window. Nothing like the penthouse fortress or the safe houses we'd hidden in.
Just ours. Safe. Home.
Alessio set me down gently, and I immediately reached for his shirt buttons.
"Someone's eager," he said, voice rough with want.
"It's been three weeks since we've had real time alone. Not stolen moments between feedings." I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. "I miss my husband."
"Your husband misses you, too." He caught my hands and brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Every day I look at you and can't believe you're mine."
"Still? After two years of marriage and twin toddlers?"
