Chapter 7 - The Fragile Truce
The private nursery on the third floor of the Beacon Hill estate was a stunning, sunlit room decorated in soft grays and muted blues, complete with a massive crib, rocking chairs, and shelves stacked with high-end toys.
When we walked in, a middle-aged nanny was gently pacing the floor with baby Leo in her arms. The moment the infant caught sight of Dante—and then me—over the nanny’s shoulder, his little face lit up with an unmistakable expression of joy.
"Ah-ba!" Leo squealed, kicking his chubby legs frantically.
The nanny hurried over and transferred the baby directly into Dante’s arms. Dante handled the nine-month-old with surprising ease, supporting his back and neck with natural proficiency, though his muscular frame made the baby look impossibly tiny.
Dante turned and held Leo out toward me. "Here. Take him."
I hesitated, my hands hovering in the air. "I... I don't know how to hold babies. What if I drop him?"
"You won't drop him," Dante said softly, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer, guiding my hands into position. "Support his neck like this... there. Now pull him close."
The moment Leo’s small, warm body was settled against my chest, he let out a happy gurgle, grabbing a fistful of my cashmere sweater and burying his face against my collarbone. A warm, melting sensation bloomed in the center of my chest, instantly dissolving a fraction of the cold panic that had gripped me all morning.
Dante watched us, standing close enough that I could smell the faint scent of sandalwood, expensive cologne, and rain lingering on his skin.
"He likes you," Dante murmured. "He hasn't latched onto anyone like this since his parents were taken."
"How do you live like this?" I asked quietly, staring down at the innocent baby while the grim reality of the mafia war loomed just beyond the fortress walls. "Knowing that at any second, someone could breach these gates? How can you raise a child in the middle of a blood feud?"
Dante’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "You don't choose the war, Alina. The war chooses you the moment you carry the name Rosselli. My father taught me that. And I taught my brother." He paused, his hazel-gold eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, burning intensity. "Which is why Moretti is going to learn a very expensive lesson today. I sent a message to his shipping yards this morning."
"What kind of message?" I whispered.
"The kind that burns down his primary source of revenue," Dante replied smoothly, showing no remorse whatsoever. "By tonight, Vincent Moretti will be too busy putting out financial fires to worry about hunting ghosts."
Suddenly, the encrypted intercom on the wall beside the door chimed sharply.
Salvatore’s voice crackled through the speaker, crisp and urgent. "Boss. We have an incoming breach alert on the eastern perimeter. A van bypassed the outer checkpoint. They’re moving fast."
Dante went completely rigid. The relaxed posture vanished in a microsecond, replaced by pure, lethal predator mode.
Before I could even draw a breath, Dante reached out and snatched Leo from my arms, handing the baby to the wide-eyed nanny.
"Take him to the underground panic room immediately," Dante ordered, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Do not come out until I give the biometric clearance."
"Dante—" I started, grabbing his arm.
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"Stay behind me, Alina," Dante commanded, his hand darting inside his tailored vest to pull out a heavy, matte-black Glock with terrifying speed.
The sound of shattering glass echoed from the floor below, followed by the sharp, concussive crack of gunfire ripping through the pristine silence of the Beacon Hill mansion.
