My ex grabbed my throat in a café over my pregnancy, completely unaware my new mafia husband was standing right behind him.

Forty-eight hours later, the storm had completely passed, leaving behind a crisp, sunny autumn weekend. Charles Vance called promptly at ten on Saturday morning: the emergency petition had been withdrawn with prejudice, sealed by order of the presiding judge, and Harrison Sterling had officially dropped Ethan as a client, citing conflict of interest.

Ethan had been neutralized legally. The Corban syndicate had retreated behind their borders, licking their wounds after surrendering their terminal shares. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the suffocating cloud over our home seemed to disperse.

Dominic spent the entire Sunday afternoon upstairs in the south wing, in the room we had chosen for the nursery. The room was bathed in golden afternoon sunlight. Cans of soft sage-green paint were stacked against the wall, and parts of a hand-carved mahogany crib lay spread across a drop cloth.

I walked in carrying two mugs of warm cider, smiling at the sight. Dominic was on his knees on the hardwood floor, stripped down to a henley shirt with sleeves rolled up, a hex wrench in his hand, struggling with the instructions for assembling the crib.

"The most dangerous man in Baltimore, defeated by a flat-pack crib," I teased, walking over and handing him a mug.

Dominic looked up, a rare, genuine smile softening the fierce angles of his face. He took the mug, setting it down before reaching up and wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me down onto his lap on the floor.

"These instructions were written by someone who harbors a deep hatred for humanity," he grumbled playfully, burying his face against my neck. "I could dismantle a Barrett .50 sniper rifle blindfolded in sixty seconds, but this rocking mechanism defies all logic."

I laughed, the sound bubbling up freely from a place inside me that hadn't felt joy in years. I leaned into him, resting my head against his broad shoulder, savoring the solid, protective presence that had become my whole world.

"Thank you, Dominic," I said softly, tracing the line of his jaw. "For protecting us. For making Ethan go away."

"You never have to thank me for doing what is natural, Clara," he replied, turning to kiss the corner of my mouth with infinite sweetness. "You gave me a reason to build something that lasts longer than empire and territory. You gave me a future."

He placed his hand over the gentle curve of my stomach. As if on cue, a solid, rolling kick answered his touch, stronger than the last time.

Dominic’s breath hitched again, his eyes darkening with wonder. He leaned down and pressed a long, reverent kiss against my belly, right through the soft cotton of my dress.

"Tomorrow is your twenty-four-week scan," he murmured, his voice husky. "We find out if we're painting this room sage green or soft rose."

"You promised you'd let me pick the color regardless of the gender," I laughed.

"I did," he conceded, looking up into my eyes with an adoration that made my heart ache with pure happiness. "Whatever you want, Clara. Everything you want, forever."