Page 123 of Savage Devotion

The east wing of the mansion stands separate from the main structure, historically reserved for visiting dignitaries and allies too important to turn away yet too dangerous to house under the same roof as the Don.

Now, it serves as sanctuary for the unlikely birth that occurred amid betrayal and bloodshed.

Teresa, Luca's housekeeper who has served the Ravelli family since before I was born, meets us in the corridor. Herweathered face softens at the sight of my bandaged shoulder and bloodstained shirt.

"The mother is resting," she informs us quietly. "The child arrived quickly, with no complications despite the circumstances."

"And Luca?" I ask, an odd tightness forming in my chest.

"He is with them both," Teresa replies, studying my face with eyes that have witnessed decades of Ravelli violence. "He hasn't left their side."

Francesca's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "Are you sure about this, Dante?"

Fuck.I'm not sure about anything anymore.

The certainties that have guided me for sixteen years—my hatred for Luca, my claim to the throne, my rejection of all Vito's values but his ruthlessness—have crumbled beneath the weight of a single moment's choice in that cathedral.

"Yes," I reply. "I'm sure."

Teresa leads us to a set of double doors, ornately carved with the Ravelli crest. She knocks softly, then pushes them open without waiting for a response.

The room beyond bathes in soft, golden light. Thick curtains filter the harsh daylight into something gentler. The massive four-poster bed dominates the space, draped in linens so white they seem to glow.

And there, amidst this unexpected sanctuary of peace, sits Luca Ravelli.

Beside him, Bianca rests against a mountain of pillows, exhaustion etched into every line of her face.

They look up at our entrance, wariness immediately replacing the brief moment of unguarded tenderness I witnessed.

Luca's muscles tense, his body instinctively shifting to shield both wife and child. His free hand moves subtly toward where I know he keeps a weapon, even now.

"Dante," he acknowledges, voice careful. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

I step into the room, conscious of staying within his sight line, making no sudden movements. The fragile peace between us feels like spun glass, ready to shatter at the slightest provocation.

"I thought... the new heir should meet both sides of the family," I reply, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "Especially since we all survived Nico's betrayal. Barely."

Luca's gaze drops to my bandaged shoulder, then back to my face.

"It's a girl," he says simply. "Elena."

The name hits me like another bullet, this time, right in the fucking heart.

Elena Ravelli.

Our mother's name, carried now by this innocent creature born amid bloodshed and betrayal.

Isn't that the perfect Ravelli beginning?

"May I?" Francesca steps forward, her diplomatic grace easing the tension in the room. "She's beautiful, Bianca."

Bianca smiles weakly, nodding her permission. "She has her father's eyes already. But her grandmother's spirit, I think."

Luca rises, cradling his daughter with surprising gentleness as he transfers her to Francesca's waiting arms. I watch, transfixed, as my queen accepts this fragile burden, her face softening with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

"Hello, little Elena," she coos, rocking the infant slightly. "Welcome to the Ravelli family."

The baby, who's impossibly small, impossibly perfect… waves one tiny fist in response, her face scrunching with what could be indignation or gas.

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