The Romano mansion was on high alert. After the recent attack, Dante doubled the guards. No one entered without being searched, no call went unanswered. Yet danger always had a way of slipping through cracks.
Elena noticed it first when she went into town with Marco and two guards to buy supplies for Arianna's art class. A man at the corner café stared too long, phone in hand, pretending to read. Another shadow lingered near the flower stand.
Her instincts prickled.
By the time they returned to the mansion, Dante was waiting at the gates, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.
"I told you not to take her into the city," he snapped at Marco.
"She insisted it was safe," Marco tried, but Dante's eyes were already burning into Elena.
"You think this is a game?" he growled, stepping closer until his presence pressed down on her. "They were watching you."
Elena's stomach dropped. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Dante hissed. "They know I've allowed you near my daughter. That makes you a target—and my weakness."
His words stung, but before Elena could reply, Arianna's little voice cut through the tension.
"Papa, don't shout at her! She didn't do anything wrong!"
Dante froze. Arianna ran forward and grabbed both their hands, forcing them to stand side by side.
"She kept me safe. She always keeps me safe."
Elena's chest ached, Arianna's faith heavier than any accusation. Dante's gaze softened only slightly, but his grip on Elena's wrist remained firm.
That night, guards discovered a note slipped under the gate. No signature, just four words scrawled in red ink:
"The nanny dies next."
Dante's fury was volcanic. He slammed his fist into the desk, whiskey spilling across papers.
"They want me to slip. To lose focus. To care about someone other than Arianna."
He turned to Elena, his eyes dark and stormy. "Tell me now—why did you come here? Was it truly for work, or are you hiding something from me?"
Her breath caught. She wanted to scream her truth—that she was just a desperate young woman needing a job, not someone tangled in Mafia wars. But the weight of his suspicion crushed her words.
Instead, she whispered, "I'm not your enemy, Dante."
Something flickered in his gaze at the way she said his name. Dangerous. Intimate. Too close.
Before either could say more, Arianna burst into the office, dragging her blanket. "Papa, Elena… sleep in my room tonight. Please. I don't want to be alone."
Dante's jaw tightened. He never slept near anyone—not even his guards. But when Arianna's tear-filled eyes met his, he nodded once.
That night, Elena sat on one side of Arianna's bed, Dante on the other. The little girl fell asleep between them, her tiny hands clutching theirs both.
In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Dante's eyes met Elena's across the bed. For once, there was no anger, no suspicion. Only silence… and something far more dangerous simmering beneath it.
The world outside was blood and bullets, betrayal and war. But in that quiet room, for the first time, Dante felt something he hadn't in years—
home.
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