The thought catches in my chest because, despite never being certain I wanted children, I want that image so fucking bad it makes my heart ache.
Part of what scared me about having kids was the idea of doing it alone, like so many women do, even the married ones. Absent fathers who would rather work late than attend their kid’s soccer game or help their wife with the bedtime routine. But I don’t need to have a crystal ball to know that’s not how Rowan and Asher would be. They’d be on the sidelines of every game, in the stands of every dance recital, and home at every opportunity to read our kids a book before bed.
“You okay, Little Doe?” Asher asks, worry etched into his words.
I nod, biting down on my bottom lip to ward away the tears that threaten to fall. Tears of desperation for a fantasy I’ve wanted for only a few minutes.
A life that seemed so unattainable is so close I can almost reach for it, if only we could escape the threat my family poses.
“What’s wrong?” His brows dip, the concern shining in his eyes making it impossible to stop a single tear from slipping down my cheek.
“Nothing,” I whisper. “I’m just so happy.”
Rowan appears beside his son, a concerned frown tugging at his handsome features. “Why are you crying if you’re happy?”
I half laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Because I’m so scared of losing this before I can really have it.”
“Oh, Hannah,” Asher murmurs. He steps closer and wraps me up in his arms, enveloping me in his warmth.
“You’re not going to lose us, Little One,” Rowan promises, brushing away the stray tears that fall against my cheek.
“You don’t know that,” I choke. “What if Granddad doesn’t stop? What if he never leaves me alone? What if he hurts one of you?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Rowan says firmly. He cups my cheek in his palm and holds me in place so I have no option but to look up at him. “This thing with your grandfather won’t lastforever. We won’t let it, and in the meantime, nothing is going to happen to any of us. We will keep you and each other safe.”
Asher whispers his agreement against my hair, and although my anxiety is desperate to list all the reasons that may not be possible, I know it’s pointless.
“I know this is scary, Hannah. We’re scared too. Scared that after all these years of planning and scheming, we finally have you and could lose you so easily. But we’re going to do everything in our power to stop that from happening, which means worrying is pointless.” Rowan’s steady reassurance allows some of the tension to bleed from my shoulders, earning me a hum of approval from Asher. There’s something about knowing they’re afraid as well that helps settle some of my anxiety.
I’m not overreacting as I’ve been accused of by my family over and over, because they feel it too, and that’s validating as hell.
“Now, we’re going to have some pancakes for breakfast, and then Camilla and Crew are coming over.”
“As in Crew Black and Camilla De Marco?” I ask incredulously.
He nods, as if it’s no big deal that a Mafia queen and one of the most feared men in the city are about to walk through the door.
I’ve seen them around the club a few times, but we’ve never interacted. Up until this moment, I assumed that’s how things would continue.
Apparently, I was wrong.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
HANNAH
If there’s one thing my upbringing prepared me for, it was meeting new people.
I’m an anxious girl in almost every single aspect of my life, but meeting new people isn’t one of them. After years of being paraded in front of every business contact my grandfather saw fit, and being the sweet little princess my mother dressed me up as for every high society event she could find, I’m never nervous to meet someone new.
Up until now.
The doorbell rang a few minutes ago, and Rowan got up to meet Camilla and Crew while Asher and I remained on the couch.
He squeezes my hand, giving silent reassurance as Rowan walks into the room with two people on his tail.
Crew, I recognize immediately. It’s hard not to at six feet something with perfectly styled copper hair, but it’s his two different colored eyes that make him one of the most recognizable men in the city.
Camilla laughs at something he says, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. She’s much shorter than he is, coming to below his shoulder, and wears a set not dissimilar to my own,just in dark gray. The hand not clutched in her husband’s rests on her swollen stomach, and I don’t miss the hint of jealousy that makes itself known.
