Chapter 3
For the first time in his adult life, Dante Moretti felt genuine terror.
Not fear for himself.
He had faced armed rivals, assassination attempts, betrayal, and the possibility of death.
None of it had ever shaken him the way Clara’s discovery did.
He stood in the library, staring at the surveillance invoices that proved Salvatore had known about the pregnancy for months.
Across the room, Clara sat with both hands resting on her belly.
She was pale.
But she wasn’t crying.
That frightened Dante almost as much as the documents.
“Clara.”
She looked up.
“I’m thinking.”
“You need to rest.”
“I need to know what Julian gave him.”
Dante approached.
“Let my people handle it.”
“No.”
He stopped.
Her voice was quiet but firm.
“Julian knows how I work. He knows the systems I used when I disappeared. He knows what frightens me.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“And I know how he thinks.”
She stood slowly.
“Please don’t turn me into a prisoner in my own home.”
Dante stared at her.
“I am trying to protect you.”
“I know.”
“Someone wants to take our child.”
“I know that too.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“But if you shut me away and refuse to let me help, you’ll be giving them exactly what they want.”
The words struck him harder than he expected.
For months, he had surrounded Clara with guards, reinforced doors, armored cars, and security protocols.
He had convinced himself that protection meant eliminating every possible risk.
Now he saw the cost.
She was beginning to feel trapped by the very man who claimed to love her.
Dante looked away.
“My father once told me that loving someone makes you weak.”
Clara studied him.
“Do you believe that?”
“I used to.”
“And now?”
He looked back at her.
“Now I know it’s the only thing that makes me afraid.”
Clara approached.
She took both his hands and guided them to her stomach.
“Our son needs a father who will fight for him.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“And?”
“He also needs a father who knows when to trust the people he loves.”
For a long moment, Dante didn’t speak.
Then he pressed his forehead against hers.
“Tell me what you need.”
Clara exhaled.
“Full access to the shipping records, the private financial agreements, and the legal team.”
“You have it.”
“And no more decisions about my life without me.”
Dante hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Agreed.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good.”
He brushed her cheek.
“And Clara?”
“Yes?”
“If anything happens to you—”
“Nothing has happened yet.”
She kissed him.
“Let’s make sure it stays that way.”
Over the next forty-eight hours, Clara worked with Moretti Maritime’s independent auditors and legal counsel to untangle the network of shell companies.
The pattern was worse than she’d imagined.
Julian’s venture firm had been receiving substantial payments from businesses connected to Salvatore.
In exchange, he’d supplied personal information, access credentials, and fraudulent financial documentation.
The Marseille shipment was part of the scheme, but not the whole objective.
Salvatore intended to embarrass Dante financially, provoke a conflict among his lieutenants, and exploit the confusion to remove the family’s legitimate heir.
The child Clara carried had become a symbol of succession.
Salvatore wanted that future erased.
Clara stared at the documents until the numbers blurred.
At three in the morning, Dante found her asleep over her laptop.
He carefully closed the computer and draped a blanket across her shoulders.
She stirred.
“I’m not finished.”
“I know.”
“There’s a missing account.”
“We’ll find it tomorrow.”
She opened one eye.
“You sound suspiciously reasonable.”
“I’m learning.”
He gently lifted her from the chair.
Clara wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Dante?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever regret finding me in Maine?”
He stopped.
“Never.”
“Even with everything that’s happened?”
He carried her toward the bedroom.
“Especially because of everything that’s happened.”
She rested her cheek against his shoulder.
“I was afraid to love you.”
“I know.”
“I thought your world would swallow me.”
He kissed her hair.
“Sometimes I worry it still might.”
Clara lifted her head.
“Then help me build a different one.”
Dante looked at her.
For a moment, the room was very quiet.
Then he whispered, “I will.”
The next morning, Clara discovered the missing account.
It had been concealed among the investment records of Sterling Venture Partners.
Unlike the other suspicious transactions, it didn’t lead overseas.
It led to a charitable foundation that Julian frequently used to impress wealthy donors.
The Sterling Children’s Future Foundation.
Clara felt sick.
The foundation had announced a lavish fundraising gala for Friday night.
Five hundred of Boston’s wealthiest businesspeople were expected to attend.
Julian was scheduled to deliver the keynote address.
Salvatore’s associates were listed among the principal donors.
And Dante had received an invitation.
Clara looked at the event program.
Then she noticed something.
A small line beneath the evening’s itinerary.
A private family announcement will conclude the program.
She called Dante.
“I found it.”
Within minutes, he arrived in her study.
Clara showed him the documents.
“Julian is using the gala to formalize an investment partnership with Salvatore’s financial network.”
Dante studied the screen.
“Then we shut it down.”
“Not yet.”
He frowned.
“Clara.”
“The foundation has been receiving proceeds from fraudulent transactions. If we destroy the event before the records are preserved, Julian can claim the transfers were authorized donations.”
She looked up.
“We need the people involved to confirm the arrangement.”
Dante folded his arms.
“I’m not taking you into a room full of our enemies.”
“You don’t have to.”
She turned the laptop toward him.
“I can attend as a representative of the independent review team and present the discrepancies to the foundation’s board.”
Dante stared.
“Absolutely not.”
“Dante.”
“No.”
She rose.
“You promised.”
His jaw flexed.
“I promised to trust you. I did not promise to stand by while someone puts you in danger.”
Clara walked toward him.
“Then don’t stand by. Work with me.”
He looked into her eyes.
“You’ve already prepared a plan.”
“Yes.”
“Of course you have.”
She smiled slightly.
“I married a very expensive businessman. I assumed he could afford competent legal representation.”
Despite himself, Dante laughed.
Then he grew serious.
“We do this with the authorities involved. No improvising.”
Clara nodded.
“Agreed.”
“And you remain with me.”
“Until the evening is over.”
He took her hand.
“Clara, if I lose you—”
She touched his lips.
“You won’t.”
Dante drew her into his arms.
But neither spoke the fear they both shared.
Because by Friday evening, everything could change.
The Sterling Children’s Future Gala was held in one of Boston’s most extravagant historic hotels.
Crystal chandeliers glittered above marble floors.
A string quartet played near the staircase.
Champagne circulated on silver trays.
And the city’s wealthiest families had gathered to congratulate themselves on their generosity.
Clara entered wearing an emerald velvet maternity gown.
The fabric draped elegantly over her generous curves and rounded stomach.
Her dark hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder.
A rare yellow diamond sparkled on her left hand.
Beside her walked Dante Moretti.
He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo.
His silver-threaded hair was combed neatly back.
His expression was unreadable.
The room went quiet as they entered.
Whispers spread.
“That’s Dante Moretti.”
“Is that his wife?”
“She’s pregnant?”
“I heard she used to work for Julian Sterling.”
Clara heard every word.
For once, none of them troubled her.
Dante offered his arm.
“Ready?”
She smiled.
“Absolutely.”
Across the ballroom, Julian Sterling stood beside Chloe.
He was wearing a white dinner jacket and the artificial smile of a man desperately trying to appear solvent.
When he saw Clara, his expression froze.
Chloe grabbed his sleeve.
“Julian.”
“I see them.”
“Why are they here?”
Julian swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Clara approached with a pleasant smile.
“Good evening, Julian.”
He glanced at Dante.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Dante inclined his head.
“Sterling.”
Chloe looked at Clara’s dress.
“That’s quite an outfit.”
“Thank you.”
“I suppose pregnancy makes finding something flattering difficult.”
Clara smiled.
“Not nearly as difficult as finding an honest investment manager.”
Julian flinched.
Dante’s mouth twitched.
Before Julian could respond, a hotel representative approached.
“Mrs. Moretti, the foundation’s board is ready for your presentation.”
Julian went pale.
“Presentation?”
Clara turned toward him.
“Oh, didn’t anyone tell you?”
She adjusted the bracelet on her wrist.
“Your foundation is undergoing a financial review.”
Julian’s expression changed.
“Who authorized that?”
“The board’s independent directors.”
Clara leaned closer.
“And Julian?”
“Yes?”
“You should probably sit down.”
Half an hour later, the ballroom lights dimmed.
Julian had expected to deliver a triumphant announcement about his firm’s newest investment partnership.
Instead, the chairman of the foundation’s audit committee stepped onto the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, before we proceed, our independent reviewers have requested an opportunity to clarify certain financial irregularities.”
An uneasy murmur swept the room.
Julian rose from his chair.
“This is unnecessary.”
The chairman ignored him.
“Mrs. Clara Moretti.”
Clara stood.
Dante rose beside her.
He offered his hand as she stepped toward the stage.
For a brief moment, she remembered another public event years earlier.
Julian had invited her to assist with an investor presentation.
She’d spent weeks preparing the financial models.
But when the guests arrived, he’d told her to wait in the back office.
“You don’t belong in that room,” he’d said.
Now she was walking onto a stage before five hundred people.
And her husband, one of the most powerful men in the city, watched her with unmistakable pride.
Clara accepted the microphone.
“Good evening.”
Her voice was calm.
Professional.
Confident.
“My name is Clara Vance Moretti. I’m a forensic financial analyst specializing in complex commercial transactions.”
Julian shifted uneasily.
Clara continued.
“During our review, we identified inconsistencies involving the foundation’s donor accounts, related-party transactions, and several companies connected to Sterling Venture Partners.”
A series of financial summaries appeared on the screen behind her.
Clara explained the discrepancies without exposing confidential personal records.
She identified suspicious transfers, unexplained expenses, and transactions requiring formal investigation.
The room grew silent.
Then she displayed the relevant independent audit findings.
“These matters have been referred to the appropriate authorities. The foundation’s board has also suspended the affected accounts pending further review.”
Julian jumped to his feet.
“This is a lie!”
Every head turned.
Clara looked at him.
“Mr. Sterling, you’ll have an opportunity to respond through your legal representatives.”
“You’re trying to destroy me!”
“No,” Clara replied. “I’m presenting financial evidence.”
Julian strode toward the stage.
“You bitter, vindictive woman!”
Dante stepped forward.
Marco and the hotel security team moved closer.
Clara raised a hand.
“It’s all right.”
Julian pointed at her.
“You think marrying a gangster makes you powerful? You’re still the same woman I rescued from obscurity.”
Clara watched him silently.
Then she asked, “Is that what you think happened?”
Julian laughed.
“I gave you everything.”
She shook her head.
“You gave me a desk in the back office and told me not to speak when investors visited.”
The ballroom was utterly quiet.
“You submitted my work under your name. You took credit for my analysis. And when I finally asked to be treated as a partner, you told me nobody would take a woman my size seriously.”
Julian’s face reddened.
“That was private!”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have brought my appearance into this room.”
A few people murmured in agreement.
Clara continued.
“For years, I believed you when you told me I was too much. Too loud. Too ambitious. Too difficult to love.”
She rested one hand on her pregnant stomach.
“But I was never too much, Julian.”
Her voice grew stronger.
“You were simply unwilling to see me as your equal.”
Dante stood at the foot of the stage, watching.
Clara met his eyes.
And for a moment, the dangerous world around them seemed to disappear.
Then Julian shouted, “You’re nothing without him!”
Clara turned back.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I was someone before Dante entered my life. I’ll remain someone regardless of the name on my marriage certificate.”
Her expression softened.
“He didn’t give me my value. He reminded me not to surrender it.”
For the first time, Julian had nothing to say.
At the rear of the ballroom, the doors opened.
Federal investigators entered with the hotel’s legal representatives.
The lead investigator approached the stage.
“Julian Sterling?”
Julian stared.
“Yes?”
“We need to speak with you concerning an ongoing financial investigation.”
His face drained.
“Here?”
“Now, please.”
Julian turned desperately toward Dante.
“Mr. Moretti, surely we can resolve this privately.”
Dante’s expression remained cold.
“No.”
Julian looked at Clara.
“Please.”
She regarded him for a long moment.
The man who’d spent years telling her she would never find anyone better now stood before her with fear in his eyes.
“Clara,” he whispered, “we were together for three years.”
“I remember.”
“I loved you.”
She felt something inside her finally settle.
“No, Julian.”
Her voice was soft.
“You loved what I could do for you.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“Please help me.”
Clara shook her head.
“I won’t lie for you again.”
The investigators escorted him from the ballroom for questioning.
Chloe stood frozen beside the empty chair.
No one moved to comfort her.
Clara returned the microphone.
Then she stepped down from the stage.
Dante reached for her hand.
“You were extraordinary.”
She smiled.
“I had good evidence.”
He brushed his thumb across her knuckles.
“You had courage.”
And in front of everyone, he kissed her forehead.
But the evening wasn’t finished.
While the guests slowly resumed their conversations, Marco approached Dante.
His expression was grave.
“We have Salvatore.”
Dante became still.
“Where?”
“His vehicle was stopped outside the hotel. The authorities are questioning him about the financial records and the threats against your family.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Relief washed through her.
Then Marco continued.
“There’s something else.”
Dante looked at him sharply.
“Speak.”
“Enzo agreed to cooperate. He confirmed the arrangements Julian made with Salvatore.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“And the plans involving my son?”
Marco hesitated.
“The investigators have recovered evidence of surveillance and threats. They’re pursuing the remaining people involved.”
Dante placed an arm around Clara.
She leaned against him.
For months, she’d lived with a quiet fear that danger might emerge from any shadow.
Now, for the first time, there was a path toward accountability.
Not because Dante had ordered someone to disappear.
Not because she’d hidden behind his wealth.
But because she’d trusted her intelligence, pursued the evidence, and refused to let fear dictate her future.
Dante looked at Marco.
“Cooperate fully with the investigation.”
Marco nodded.
“And have the legal team review every company that was involved. I want any compromised operations closed.”
Clara studied her husband.
He turned toward her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She smiled.
“You’re changing.”
Dante considered that.
“Perhaps.”
“Do you mind?”
He looked down at her stomach.
Then back into her eyes.
“No.”
He touched her cheek.
“I think it’s long overdue.”
Two months later, snow covered the rooftops of Beacon Hill.
Inside the Moretti estate, Christmas lights glowed around the tall library windows.
A fire burned in the marble fireplace.
Soft music drifted through the room.
Clara sat in an enormous velvet armchair wearing a dark emerald robe.
At thirty-nine weeks pregnant, she had officially decided that walking was an unreasonable activity.
Her ankles were swollen.
Her back hurt.
And she had been craving cinnamon pastries since breakfast.
Dante entered carrying a porcelain plate.
“Your churros, signora.”
Clara brightened.
“My favorite husband.”
“Your only husband.”
“Then you’re winning by a considerable margin.”
He placed the plate beside her.
Clara selected a pastry.
Dante didn’t sit.
Instead, he stood beside the fireplace holding a thick folder and a small mahogany box.
She narrowed her eyes.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing terrible.”
“That’s exactly what you said when you bought me the grocery store.”
“It was a sound commercial investment.”
“You bought an entire building because someone broke my pickles.”
“I also liked the location.”
Clara laughed.
Dante approached.
Then, unexpectedly, he knelt beside her chair.
Her smile faded.
“Dante?”
He took her hand.
“When I found you in Maine, I was terrified.”
She studied his face.
“I know.”
“I had spent months searching. Every day I imagined that Salvatore had reached you first.”
His voice grew rough.
“When I finally saw you standing in that little cottage, carrying our child, I knew I would do anything to keep you safe.”
Clara’s eyes softened.
“But I made a mistake.”
She frowned.
“What mistake?”
“I treated protection like ownership.”
He lowered his gaze.
“I gave you guards, restrictions, lawyers, and contracts because those were things I understood.”
He opened the folder.
“Not how to trust someone. Not how to build a marriage between equals.”
Clara felt her throat tighten.
Dante continued.
“I’ve spent the past two months restructuring my business. The companies involved in the investigation have been separated from our legitimate operations. The maritime and property businesses now have independent compliance oversight.”
He took a breath.
“And I’ve prepared something for you.”
He placed a series of documents in her lap.
Clara looked down.
Her professional instincts took over immediately.
She scanned the first page.
Then the second.
Her eyes widened.
“Dante.”
He watched her.
“These are ownership agreements.”
“Yes.”
“For Moretti Maritime?”
“Yes.”
“And the commercial property holdings?”
“Yes.”
She looked up.
“Dante, these documents establish a shared ownership structure.”
He smiled faintly.
“Very observant, Mrs. Moretti.”
She stared.
“You’re making me an equal shareholder?”
“If you choose to accept.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Why?”
Dante’s expression softened.
“Because I don’t want you standing behind me.”
He took both her hands.
“I want you beside me.”
She shook her head slowly.
“Dante, you don’t have to give me half your world to prove you love me.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because you’re the best partner I’ve ever had.”
He smiled.
“And because I’d rather build something worthy of you than spend the rest of my life demanding you fit inside what I inherited.”
Clara laughed through her tears.
“You know I could vote against you.”
“I expect you will.”
“Frequently.”
“I’ve already been warned.”
He opened the mahogany box.
Inside lay an antique gold signet ring bearing the Moretti family crest.
Beside it rested a delicate band of pink diamonds.
Clara covered her mouth.
“Dante.”
He looked up at her.
“When we married, we did it because I was afraid. I was afraid of losing you, afraid of losing our child, afraid of what my enemies would do.”
His voice trembled slightly.
“But I don’t want our marriage to be remembered as something born from fear.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I want to marry you again.”
She stared at him.
“In the spring,” he continued. “Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere nobody is afraid of my name.”
He swallowed.
“No contracts. No protection arrangements. No obligations.”
He raised the ring.
“Just a man asking the woman he loves to choose him.”
Clara began to cry.
Dante’s expression turned worried.
“Cara mia?”
She laughed through her tears.
“You impossible man.”
He smiled.
“Is that a yes?”
She reached for his face.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
She laughed harder.
“Were you actually nervous?”
“Terrified.”
“The great Dante Moretti?”
“Completely.”
She leaned forward and kissed him.
He wrapped his arms carefully around her, mindful of her enormous stomach.
For a long moment, they simply held each other.
Then Clara pulled back.
“Dante?”
“Yes, my love?”
“I think the baby just kicked your hand.”
He smiled and looked down.
But suddenly Clara’s expression changed.
She gripped the armrests.
A sharp pressure tightened across her abdomen.
Dante immediately straightened.
“What’s wrong?”
Clara stared at him.
“Dante.”
His face lost color.
“Clara?”
She took a careful breath.
Then she felt a sudden warmth beneath her robe.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Dante looked down.
Then back at her.
“Oh?”
She gripped his sleeve.
“My water just broke.”
For three full seconds, the man who had faced gunfire without flinching stood absolutely motionless.
Then he shouted.
“MARCO!”
Clara burst out laughing.
“Dante!”
“LUCA! THE CAR!”
“Darling, calm down.”
“CALL THE DOCTOR!”
“Dante, I’m the one having the baby.”
He looked back at her, wild-eyed.
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough that I’d appreciate you not interrogating me.”
Another contraction began.
Clara squeezed his hand.
Dante turned pale.
“Marco!”
The library doors flew open.
Marco appeared.
“Boss?”
“The baby.”
Marco blinked.
“Now?”
“YES, NOW!”
Within minutes, the entire household was in motion.
The maternity bag was retrieved.
The hospital was contacted.
The car was prepared.
And Dante Moretti, who could negotiate multimillion-dollar contracts without raising his voice, repeatedly asked whether someone had remembered Clara’s slippers.
As they hurried toward the entrance, Clara stopped him.
“Dante.”
He turned immediately.
“What is it?”
“My churros.”
He stared.
She pointed toward the library.
“I’m not leaving them.”
Marco, who had witnessed many extraordinary events during his years with the family, silently returned to retrieve the plate.
Six hours later, the first cry of their son filled a private hospital room overlooking Boston.
The baby weighed nine pounds and four ounces.
He had a full head of dark hair.
Tiny, tightly curled fingers.
And a remarkably powerful voice.
Dante sat beside Clara’s bed holding their son against his chest.
For several minutes, he said nothing.
Then tears began to run down his cheeks.
Clara watched him.
The most feared man in Boston.
A man whose name had once made powerful people tremble.
Now sitting in a hospital room, crying because a newborn baby had wrapped one tiny hand around his finger.
“Dante?”
He looked up.
His eyes were wet.
“He’s beautiful.”
Clara smiled.
“He is.”
Dante looked down at the baby again.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered.
“Didn’t know what?”
“That it was possible to love someone this much.”
Clara reached for him.
He moved closer.
She rested her hand against their son’s little back.
“And yet,” she said softly, “here we are.”
Dante kissed her forehead.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving me in Vermont.”
She smiled.
“You would have done the same.”
He shook his head.
“You saved more than my life.”
Clara studied him.
Dante looked around the peaceful hospital room.
“For years, I thought power meant making people afraid.”
He lowered his gaze to their son.
“Then I met you.”
Clara’s eyes filled with tears.
“And you showed me that a man could be strong enough to protect his family without making them fear him.”
He gently kissed the baby’s forehead.
“I want him to grow up knowing that.”
Clara squeezed his hand.
“He will.”
Dante looked at her.
“I promise you, Clara. Whatever it takes, he will never have to become the man I was.”
She reached up and touched his cheek.
“Then we’ll teach him together.”
Dante leaned down and kissed her.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
Like a man who had finally found the place where he belonged.
The following spring, beneath flowering olive trees on a quiet Sicilian estate, Clara and Dante exchanged vows for the second time.
Their infant son slept peacefully in a white bassinet beside the altar.
There were no threatening guards in the aisle.
No business contracts.
No secret alliances.
Just family, a few trusted friends, sunlight, and the sound of the sea.
Clara wore an elegant ivory gown made to celebrate every curve of her body.
She had refused the seamstress’s suggestion that the dress should make her appear smaller.
“I don’t want to look smaller,” she’d said. “I want to look like myself.”
And she did.
Radiant.
Confident.
Beautiful.
When Dante saw her walking toward him, his breath caught.
He met her halfway down the aisle.
“You look extraordinary,” he whispered.
Clara smiled.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
She took his hand.
Their vows were simple.
Dante promised honesty, loyalty, tenderness, and respect.
Clara promised partnership, courage, laughter, and love.
When it was her turn to speak, she looked into his gray eyes.
“For most of my life, I believed love was something I had to earn by changing myself.”
Her voice trembled.
“I thought I had to become quieter, smaller, prettier, easier to accept.”
Dante gently squeezed her fingers.
“But then you came into my life and loved the very things I’d been taught to hate.”
Tears gathered in his eyes.
“You didn’t rescue me because I was helpless. You stood beside me until I remembered how strong I was.”
She smiled through her tears.
“And I promise to spend the rest of my life standing beside you.”
Dante lifted her hand to his lips.
“Clara, I once believed that having power meant never needing anyone.”
He glanced toward their sleeping son.
“Then you walked into a storm and saved a stranger.”
A soft laugh moved through the guests.
“You gave me a family. You gave me a future. And you gave me the courage to become a different man.”
His voice broke.
“I will never stop choosing you.”
Clara was crying openly now.
Dante stepped closer.
“Not because you carry my name. Not because we share a son. Not because you’ve helped build our future.”
He touched her cheek.
“Because you’re Clara.”
Then he kissed her.
The guests rose in applause.
Their son stirred briefly in his bassinet, gave a small indignant cry, and settled back to sleep.
Clara laughed against Dante’s lips.
“He’s already demanding attention.”
Dante smiled.
“He takes after his mother.”
“Careful, husband.”
He drew her closer.
“Always, wife.”
And as the Mediterranean sunlight spilled across the garden, Clara realized something extraordinary.
She no longer wondered whether she was too big, too difficult, too outspoken, or too much to be loved.
She had built a life in which she didn’t have to apologize for existing.
She had a son who would grow up knowing that strength and tenderness could live in the same heart.
She had a husband who had learned that devotion was not possession.
And she had a future shaped by her own intelligence, courage, and choices.
Dante wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked toward their waiting family.
“Happy?” he murmured.
Clara looked at their sleeping son, at the sunlit garden, and at the man beside her.
“Very.”
He kissed her temple.
“Anything else you want?”
She thought for a moment.
“Actually, yes.”
Dante smiled.
“Name it.”
“I want some aged Gouda.”
He laughed.
“Of course you do.”
“And garlic pickles.”
“Anything else?”
She leaned closer.
“And I want you to promise me something.”
His expression softened.
“Anything.”
“No more buying entire grocery stores just because I like the cheese.”
Dante considered her request.
Then he looked toward the horizon.
“I can promise to try.”
Clara burst out laughing.
He kissed her again.
And this time, when she looked at the powerful man who had once terrified an entire city, she saw neither a king nor a monster.
She saw her husband.
The man who had chosen her.
The man she had chosen in return.
May you like
And the life they would continue building together.
For Clara Vance Moretti, that was more than enough.
