At 9:17 P.M., I was the only waitress brave enough to approach table four, where Boston’s most feared mafia boss was slowly dying in front of everyone.

In the early spring of the following year, the snow melted away, revealing blooming daffodils along the stone pathways of the estate.

I stood in our private master bathroom, staring down at the little white stick resting on the marble counter.

Two pink lines.

Clear. Unmistakable. Beautiful.

My hands flew to my mouth as tears spilled down my cheeks. A wave of overwhelming, breathtaking gratitude washed over me.

Nine months ago, I had eighty-three dollars, an eviction notice, and a broken heart.

Today, I had a family.

I took the test, wrapped it in a small velvet jewelry box, and walked down the grand staircase into Dominic’s study.

Dominic was sitting at his desk, going over shipping manifests with Marco. When he saw me enter, he immediately paused, sensing the shift in my energy.

"Marco, give us a moment," Dominic said softly.

Marco nodded with a respectful grin and slipped out, closing the heavy doors behind him.

Dominic stood up, his brow furrowing with gentle concern as he noticed my tear-streaked cheeks. "Chloe? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

I couldn't speak. I simply walked across the room, took his massive, scarred hand, and placed the small velvet box into his palm.

"Open it," I whispered.

Dominic opened the box.

He stared at the two pink lines for three silent, unmoving seconds.

The man who had ruled an empire with cold steel, the man who had faced down federal indictments, rival syndicates, and assassins without blinking, suddenly went completely pale. His hands—hands that had never wavered—began to tremble.

He looked up at me, his storm-grey eyes wide with complete, unadulterated awe.

"Chloe?" his voice cracked, a sound so vulnerable it broke my heart. "Is this... are we...?"

"You're going to be a father, Dominic," I laughed through my tears.

With a choked, ragged sound, Dominic pulled me into his arms, lifting me completely off the ground and burying his face in my neck. He held me so tightly, his body shaking with silent, joyful sobs.

He kissed my cheeks, my forehead, my mouth, and then dropped to his knees on the Persian rug, pressing his cheek gently against my flat stomach.

"I swear to you," Dominic whispered against my skin, his voice thick with a father’s sacred vow, "this child will never know the sound of gunfire. They will never know fear. They will only know love, honor, and peace."