"Papà," she says, voice quivering but firm, "you can't hurt my Bella."
The words hit me like a punch.
Behind her, Isabella freezes.
"She would never hurt our family," Sofia continues, tears still shining in her eyes. "Iknowshe wouldn't. Bella belongs with us."
"Sofia—"
"She's your Queen," she insists, chin lifting. "Even if you can't see it yet."
My throat tightens. For a second, I can't find any words at all.
Then she crosses her arms, defiance flashing in her eyes — my eyes — and the next words come out like she's ready to take on the world.
"If you're mad at someone, you should be mad atme."
"What?" I manage, hoarse.
"I'm the one who gave her the notebook," she blurts out. "I told her she should find the truth, so if anyone has to go to the warehouse with Uncle Alessandro, it should be me."
The air leaves my chest in one long, quiet exhale.
A dozen emotions crash through me all at once — disbelief, anger, pride, heartbreak.
And somewhere beneath all that… amusement.
She's standing there, tiny and fierce, defending the woman who nearly tore our world apart. With the same kind of fire Isabella used against me not ten minutes ago.
I glance up. Isabella's looking down at Sofia with a soft, trembling smile — her hand brushing through my daughter's curls, her eyes full of something that makes my chest ache.
And in that moment, the thought hits me with absolute clarity.
She is my Bella.
The one my daughter sees.
The one I didn't even realize I was waiting for.
I take a slow step closer, crouching so I'm eye level with Sofia.
"Principessa," I say quietly, "Bella isn't in trouble."
Her lip wobbles. "She's not?"
"No," I tell her. "You were right to help her. Finding the truth… it matters in our world too. But you have to be careful who you trust."
She frowns thoughtfully, then brightens. "I know. That's why I trust Beau."
I blink. "Who the hell is Beau?"
She smiles, proud. "My best friend from school. He told me I'm the most beautiful princess he's ever seen and that he loves me."
The words come out of me automatically. "I'm going to kill a kid."
Isabella chokes on a laugh — an honest, bright sound that slices through all the tension in the room.
Sofia looks up at her, confused but hopeful. "Does that mean you're not mad at him anymore?"
