“Get out of my house. You and that filthy little brat.”

By noon, the atmosphere within the Moretti estate had shifted so drastically it felt like an entirely different world.

A black town car carried a furious, silent Isabella Romano down the winding gravel driveway, escorted by four heavily armed SUVs that would ensure she boarded her flight to Chicago without making any detours.

Meanwhile, on the third floor of the east wing—a private sanctuary reserved exclusively for the Don and his bloodline—the heavy double doors opened to reveal a suite of rooms that had remained locked for over a decade.

Rosa stood in the center of the master bedroom, completely paralyzed.

Her worn canvas shoes felt filthy against the hand-woven Persian carpets. Sunlight poured through towering arched windows, illuminating a king-sized canopy bed draped in Egyptian cotton, antique mahogany wardrobes, and an adjoining private sunroom filled with flowering jasmine.

Two maids—women Rosa had shared lukewarm coffee with in the basement kitchen only yesterday—were busily carrying in armfuls of brand-new clothing, toys, and soft blankets, their eyes respectfully averted whenever they passed Rosa.

“Alessandro, please,” Rosa pleaded, turning toward the tall man leaning against the doorframe. “This is insane. We can’t stay here. The staff… they’re looking at me like I’m an alien. I’m a maid. My place is downstairs.”

“Your place is wherever I say it is,” Alessandro replied calmly, crossing the room toward her.

He had shed his suit jacket, wearing only his white dress shirt with the top buttons undone. In his hands, he held a small porcelain bowl filled with fresh strawberries.

Sitting in the middle of the massive velvet sofa was Lily.

The little girl was still wearing her faded duck socks, but she had already abandoned her ragged stuffed rabbit, Bun, in favor of inspecting the crystal prisms hanging from a table lamp. When she saw the strawberries, her eyes lit up.

“Berries?” she asked in a tiny, hopeful chirp.

A rare, breathtaking smile broke across Alessandro’s rugged face. He walked over to the sofa, sat down beside her, and held out the bowl.

“Yes, little bird,” Alessandro murmured softly. “All the berries you want.”

Lily reached in, taking a strawberry with exquisite care, her tiny fingers making sure not to drop a single drop of juice on the velvet cushion. She took a small bite, closing her eyes in sheer delight.

Rosa watched the scene, her heart clenching with an overwhelming mixture of terror and tenderness. For three years, she had dreamed of this moment—of Lily having a father who cherished her. But watching the most feared crime boss on the Eastern Seaboard feed fruit to a toddler felt like watching a lion play with a butterfly.

“You don't understand the target you’ve painted on her back,” Rosa said quietly, walking over to stand behind the sofa. “By sending Isabella away, you’ve declared war on Chicago. Vincent Romano will not accept this humiliation. He will come for her.”

Alessandro gently wiped a smear of red juice from Lily’s chin with the corner of a linen napkin. Lily giggled, patting his rough cheek with her sticky hand. Alessandro didn't flinch. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, drinking in the innocent affection he had been starved of his entire life.

When he opened his eyes, the warmth vanished, replaced by an iron resolve.

“Let him come,” Alessandro said coldly. “My men have already fortified the perimeter. I have snipers stationed along the river bluffs, and the gates are locked down. Bruno has screened every member of the household staff personally. No one enters this estate without my direct authorization.”

He looked up at Rosa, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her knees feel weak.

“For four years, you carried the burden of protecting her alone, Rosa. You worked your fingers to the bone, cleaning up after arrogant fools just to buy her milk and warm clothes. That ends today.”

He stood up, towering over her, his hand reaching out to gently cup the side of her neck. His thumb traced her cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear she hadn't realized had fallen.

“You are under my protection now,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Both of you. No one will ever disrespect you again. No one will ever make you drop to your knees. You gave me a daughter, Rosa. And whether you believe it or not… you saved my soul the night my father died.”

Rosa’s breath hitched. “Alessandro… we live in two different worlds. You are a Don. I am nobody.”

“You are Lily’s mother,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from hers. “And to me, that makes you the most important woman alive.”

Before Rosa could process his words, a soft knock echoed at the doorway.

Mr. Bruno stood there, his elderly face unusually pale. He held a leather-bound folder against his chest.

“Forgive the intrusion, Don Alessandro,” Bruno said, bowing his head respectfully toward Rosa. “There is an urgent matter that requires your attention in the study. It’s regarding the Manhattan harbor authority… and Vincent Romano.”

Alessandro’s jaw tightened. The tender father vanished in an instant, replaced once more by the cold, calculating king of the underworld.

He turned to Lily, gently kissing the top of her dark head. “Be good for your mother, little bird. I will be back soon.”

Lily waved her strawberry at him cheerfully. “Bye-bye, tall man.”

A faint smirk touched Alessandro’s lips. “Tall man. I suppose I’ve been called worse.”