Page 446 of Rosetti Family New York
"That you'd probably revolutionize their entire approach and make them twice as much money." His smile is proud, possessive. "Was I right?"
"Maybe." I trace the collar of his shirt, thinking about donor cultivation and strategic partnerships. "I do have some ideas."
"I'm sure you do." He kisses my jaw, working toward my ear. "Speaking of the future."
"Yes?"
"Do you think our daughter will have your temper or mine?"
The words stop my heart for a moment. Our daughter. Not hypothetical children or someday babies, but a specific, imagined future where we build something together.
"God help us if she has both," I say softly.
His laugh is rough against my neck. "She'll be perfect. Brilliant and deadly and absolutely spoiled."
"By her father, you mean."
"By everyone." He pulls back to meet my eyes, and the intensity in his expression makes my breath catch. "I can see her, Isabella. Dark hair, your eyes, causing trouble from the moment she can walk."
The image is so vivid it makes my chest ache with longing. A little girl with Matteo's mischievous smile and my stubborn streak, growing up safe and loved in a world that will bend around her the way it bends around all Rosetti children.
"Someday," I say, the word a promise.
"Someday soon," he agrees, hands sliding down to rest on my stomach. "When you're ready."
The casual assumption that our someday is inevitable makes warmth spread through me. Not pressure or demand, just quiet certainty that we're building toward something permanent. Something beautiful.
"I love you," I whisper against his lips.
"I love you too." He kisses me deeper, hands tangling in my hair. "More than I thought possible. More than I knew how to want."
The admission breaks something open in my chest. This man who spent twenty-nine years avoiding emotional attachment, who kidnapped me to use as leverage and ended up falling so hard he rebuilt his entire world around keeping me.
Who looks at me like I'm the answer to every question he never knew how to ask.
"Take me home," I say against his mouth.
"We are home."
And he's right. Not the mansion, not any specific building, but this. Us. The life we've built from kidnapping and fear and desperate want. The family that claimed me, the man who chose me, the future we're writing together one careful day at a time.
31
Epilogue: Carmela
The late afternoon sun catches the crystal champagne flutes scattered across the terrace, casting rainbows against the mansion's stone facade. Months after Matteo's proposal, and the celebration feels endless—toasts and laughter echoing off marble walls that have seen too much violence and not enough joy.
I adjust my oversized sunglasses and smooth down my cream silk blouse, the one that makes me look effortlessly put-together even when my world is about to shift completely. In two hours, I'll be on a private jet to Chicago. Away from this life. Away from the constant weight of being a Rosetti princess who needs protecting.
"You're really doing this." Matteo appears beside me, his auburn hair catching the golden light. Even relaxed and happy, there's worry in his amber eyes. "Running away to play normal."
"I'm not running." I lift my chin, the gesture automatic after twenty-three years of being the baby sister who refuses to break. "I'm taking a sabbatical. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Isabella joins us, her emerald engagement ring catching the light as she slides her arm through Matteo's. Engagement suits her—she's softer now, more grounded. Less like a beautiful statue and more like a woman who's learned to live instead of just survive. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're tired of the chaos."
She's not wrong. I'm exhausted by the violence, the way every conversation carries the potential for bloodshed, the constant calculation of who can be trusted and who might put a bullet in your back. After watching Matteo kidnap the woman he loved, seeing Emilio nearly destroy himself chasing ghosts, witnessing Dom carry the weight of an empire on his shoulders—I need to remember who I am when I'm not performing the role of Rosetti princess.
"Maybe I am," I admit, surprising myself with the honesty. "Maybe I want to wake up in the morning without checking for snipers. Maybe I want to have coffee with someone who doesn't carry three different weapons to breakfast."
