We walked in comfortable silence, her hand warm in mine, our steps matched after months of morning walks together. The park was quiet, just a few joggers and dog walkers enjoying the cool morning.
I led her to the bench where I'd proposed all those months ago. Where everything had changed.
"Why are we here?" she asked, sitting down.
I remained standing, looking out at the playground where Leo had been taken. Where my world had shattered and been rebuilt stronger.
"I've been thinking," I said carefully.
"That sounds dangerous." But she smiled, taking the edge off the words.
"About the business. About what I want the next thirty years to look like." I turned to face her. "Marco can run most of the day-to-day operations. The oil business is profitable enough to be my primary focus. The other aspects… I can create more distance."
"You're talking about stepping back." Understanding dawned in her eyes. "From the family business."
"Not entirely. That's not possible—the family still expects a don, and trying to walk away completely would create a power vacuum." I sat beside her, taking her hand. "But I can delegate more. Focus on the legitimate operations. Be less… hands-on with the rest."
"Why?" she asked, though I could see she already knew.
"Because Leo will be asking questions soon. Because I want to be at his soccer games and school plays without having blood on my hands." I brought her hand to my lips. "Because I want to be the father he thinks I am, not the man I've been."
Tears gathered in her eyes. "You're already the father he needs."
"I want to be better. For him. For you." I looked at the playground, remembering the terror of that day. "I can't undo what I've done. Can't erase my past or completely leave that world. But I can choose what comes next. And I choose you. This. Us."
She leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. "What does Marco say?"
"That I've gone soft." I smiled despite myself. "He's not wrong. You and Leo have made me soft. Made me want things I never thought possible."
"Good." She lifted her head to look at me. "Soft looks good on you, Cassian Barone."
We sat there for a while, watching the empty playground, both of us remembering and choosing not to let that memory define us. The past had happened. We'd survived it. Now we could decide what came next.
That evening, after Leo was asleep and Isla was reading in bed, I found myself in Leo's doorway again. A habit I'd developed—checking on him one last time before I allowed myself to sleep.
He was sprawled across his bed, blankets kicked off, Rex clutched to his chest. Four years old now, growing so fast it terrified me. Soon, he'd be five and starting real school. The years would slip away faster than I could catch them.
I stepped into the room quietly, pulling the blanket back over him. He stirred, mumbling something about trains and cookies before settling back into sleep.
"I love you, little man," I whispered, brushing his dark curls back from his forehead. "More than you'll ever know."
He smiled in his sleep, as if he'd heard.
Back in our bedroom, Isla had set aside her book. She watched me with soft eyes as I undressed, sliding into bed beside her.
"He's perfect," I said, pulling her close. "How did we make something so perfect?"
"We got lucky." She kissed my shoulder. "Both times."
"Both times?"
She pulled back slightly, her hand coming to rest on her stomach. A small, secret smile played at her lips.
My heart stopped. "Isla. Are you—?"
"Eight weeks. I wanted to be sure before I said anything." Her smile widened at my expression. "Surprise?"
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. My hand covered hers on her stomach, our fingers interlacing over the tiny life growing there.
