He wasn't happy at first. He gave me a lecture about professional boundaries and potential security risks that lasted nearly an hour. But over time, seeing Annie with Marco, observing how she handles herself around our associates with perfect discretion, he's come around.
"Something smells amazing," Elena comments, embracing Annie warmly. The two have developed an unexpected friendship.
"Raphael's recipe, my execution," Annie explains with a smile.
Dante claps me on the shoulder as Franco and Sarah arrive minutes later, Tommy racing to join Marco in the living room.
"Business first," Dante says quietly to me and Franco. "Then family dinner."
We move to my office, closing the door for privacy. I catch Annie's eye as we leave, and she gives me a small nod of understanding. She knows what we discuss behind closed doors now, though I still spare her the bloodier details. Knowledge is protection in our world, but too much knowledge can be its own danger.
The business discussion is brief—a new territory opening up since Moretti's demise, opportunities for expansion, potential threats to monitor. When we return to the main room, Annie has dinner on the table, the children seated and already chattering about dinosaurs and superheroes.
As we take our seats, I place my hand on the small of Annie's back, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by Dante. He raises an eyebrow at me, but there's approval in his expression now rather than skepticism.
"A toast," Dante suggests, raising his wine glass. "To family. Blood and chosen."
We all raise our glasses, even the kids with their juice. "To family," we echo.
Under the table, Annie's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. I look around at this unlikely gathering. The mafia boss and his wife, the fearsome enforcer and his former-waitress girlfriend,my son happily demolishing his pasta, and Annie, my Annie, who walked into danger with her eyes wide open and never flinched.
Is this a normal life? No. Is it safe? Not completely. But it's ours. This strange, dangerous, beautiful family we've built.
And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Epilogue - Annie
Three Years Later
"Sophia Valentina Conti, if you put that frosting in your brother's hair, you're going to be in big trouble, young lady."
My daughter's chubby hand freezes midair, a glob of pink buttercream dangling precariously from her tiny fingers. Her dark eyes, so like her father's, widen with that particular innocence only a one-year-old can muster, as if to say, "Who, me?"
"Don't give me that look," I laugh, scooping her up from her high chair. "I know exactly what you were planning."
Marco, now eight and deeply invested in maintaining his "cool big brother" image, rolls his eyes dramatically. "She always tries to mess up my hair," he complains, though I catch the small smile he can't quite hide when Sophia reaches for him anyway.
"That's because she adores you," I tell him, passing my daughter to her brother. Despite his protests, Marco cradles her expertly, his lanky frame having grown several inches in the three years I've been in his life.
From the kitchen doorway, I hear a familiar deep chuckle. "Already manipulating the men in her life. She's definitely your daughter."
I turn to find Raphael leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, looking at the three of us with an expression that still makes my heart skip even after all this time. At thirty-three, he's more handsome than ever, laughter lines deepening around his eyes.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I reply primly, but the smile tugging at my lips gives me away. "Besides, you're worse than I am. She has you completely wrapped around her finger."
"Guilty as charged." He crosses the kitchen to press a kiss to my lips, then bends to do the same to Sophia's frosting-smeared cheek. "The caterers are here. Dante and Elena just pulled up too."
"Perfect timing." I glance at the clock—3 PM, right on schedule for Sophia's first birthday party. "Marco, can you take your sister to get cleaned up? Her party dress is laid out on the changing table."
Marco nods, his sense of responsibility one of the many ways he's matured since I first met him. "Come on, squirt," he says to Sophia, who babbles happily in response. "Let's make you look fancy for your party."
As they leave the kitchen, Raphael's arms encircle my waist from behind, pulling me against his chest. "Have I told you today how much I love you?" he murmurs against my neck.
"Mmm, only twice," I reply, leaning into his embrace. "You're slacking, Mr. Conti."
"A terrible oversight." His lips brush against the sensitive spot below my ear. "I love you, Annie. More than I ever thought possible."
Even now, three years into our relationship, two years into our marriage, his words send warmth flooding through me. "I love you too," I whisper, turning in his arms to face him. "Even when you let your daughter have extra cake when you think I'm not looking."
