Chapter 8 - The TruceThe following morning, the sun rose over Chicago, casting a golden glow across the expansive terrace of the Moretti penthouse.
Lena stood by the glass railing, sipping warm lemon water, looking out at the city where her entire life had turned upside down and right-side up within the span of a month. She was back in the penthouse—not as a neglected trophy wife, but as the absolute queen of the Moretti empire.
Behind her, the balcony door slid open. Dante stepped out carrying a plush wool blanket, wrapping it gently around her shoulders from behind, kissing the top of her head with infinite tenderness.
"You shouldn't be standing in the draft," Dante murmured, his arms circling her waist, resting his palms protectively over her slightly rounded stomach.
"I needed the fresh air," Lena smiled faintly, leaning back against his solid chest. "And besides, I'm not made of glass, Dante."
"To me, you are," he replied softly. "You and our children are everything I have left that matters."
They had spent the entire night talking—really talking—for the first time in five years. Dante explained every dark secret, every political alliance he had tried to balance, and how his obsession with protecting his empire had blinded him to the woman who made that empire worth having. He swore on his life that Sofia was entirely out of the picture—her family syndicate had been dismantled overnight, her assets seized, and she had been permanently exiled from Chicago.
Lena believed him. The raw, open vulnerability in his eyes proved that the lesson had been learned the hardest way possible.
"Victor Vance?" Lena asked quietly.
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"Sent to a maximum-security black site overseas," Dante answered coldly, his voice hardening for a split second before softening again as he looked at her. "He will never, ever threaten you or our babies again. The Moretti bloodline is secure, Lena. And so are we."
Lena turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. She looked up at him, studying the man she had loved since she was twenty-two. He wasn't perfect, and their marriage had scars that would take time to heal, but as she felt the quiet strength of his embrace, she knew their story was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.
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