Page 53 of Ruined Through Obsession

Niccolò claps my shoulder once before he turns. Alessio offers me a final nod, and the two couples quietly exit the suite, the oak door clicking shut behind them to seal us back into our private sanctuary.

I settle back into the leather armchair, shifting my daughter slightly to ensure she remains comfortable against my chest. Outside the reinforced windows, the sun begins to rise over the skyline.

I press a soft kiss to the crown of my baby's head.

What a wonderful day it is.

34

Elena

I blink my eyes open, my eyelashes sticking together for a fraction of a second as the lingering haze of exhaustion and medical-grade painkillers slowly drains from my system. My muscles ache with soreness that radiates through my bones.

We actually did it, I muse, shifting my hips against the crisp white sheets, relishing the glorious absence of the agonizing contractions that dominated my existence just a few hours ago.

I turn my head toward the corner of the suite, expecting to find a sleeping nurse or a vacant room. Instead, my gaze lands on Enzo, who is sitting in the oversized leather armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the immaculate presentation of the Harvard-educated Consigliere thoroughly ruined. His suit jacket is tossed carelessly over the back of the furniture, his expensive dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up.

He is holding our daughter.

He rocks the tiny, swaddled bundle with a gentle, rocking motion, his massive, calloused hands cradling her fragile head with a gentleness that steals the oxygen straight from my lungs.

I do not speak right away. I simply lie in the hospital bed, allowing the breathtaking tableau to wash over me, etching every single detail of his profile into my memory.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I stood on the sun-scorched terrace of my uncle's Sicilian estate, playing the obedient, diplomatic niece while secretly plotting the demise of the men who slaughtered my parents. I remember the blistering heat of the vineyard, the sudden, concussive blast of the car bomb that sent us diving onto the cobblestones, and the realization that the terrifying American enforcer sent to evaluate our ports was the exact weapon I needed to secure my throne.

We burned the old world to the ground so we could build this one for her, I realize.

Our daughter will never know the treacherous, patriarchal rules that bound my youth. She will never be viewed as a disposable pawn to be bartered away in a marital treaty. She is Serafina Santoro, the heir to the integrated global network of Boston and Palermo. She is a queen born into a dynasty that finally values strength over gender.

Enzo shifts in the armchair, his instincts registering the subtle change in my breathing pattern. He looks up, his gaze catching mine across the dim expanse of the suite. A brilliant, relieved smile transforms his austere expression.

He stands up with fluid grace, taking immense care not to jostle the sleeping infant, and crosses the linoleum floor.

"You are awake," Enzo murmurs.

He stops at the edge of the mattress, he searches my face, his eyes cataloging every bruise and sign of fatigue.

"I am awake," I confirm with a voice that is rough from screaming, reaching out to trace the knuckles of his hand where it supports our baby. "How long was I asleep?"

"Just a few hours," he replies, carefully lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress. "Niccolò and Alessio were in here earlier with Livia and Caterina. They brought Elettra and Bianca to meet their new cousin. The Don has the entire hospital locked down, Elena. Giancarlo is standing right outside that door, and we have operators stationed at every conceivable entry point. There is not a single rat in this city foolish enough to breach our perimeter."

"Good," I breathe, accepting the tactical update with a nod. "Let them guard the doors. I want to see my daughter."

Enzo leans forward, his large hands shifting the soft pink blankets with a meticulous care before he transfers her into the crook of my arm.

The weight of her tiny body settling against my chest is an earth-shattering sensation. I look down at her flawless, sleeping face. She possesses a shock of thick, raven hair, her miniature lips parted in a soft exhale. She is the manifestation of the impossible love we cultivated amidst the carnage of the underworld, a beautiful, innocent life untainted by the sins of her predecessors.

"Hello, Serafina," I whisper, tracing the impossibly small curve of her cheek with my index finger. "You have your father's stubborn chin."

"And she possesses her mother's scowl," Enzo counters smoothly. "She protested quite loudly when the nurse attempted to swaddle her the second time. She clearly despises taking orders from anyone. Serafina, I quite like it."

"She is a sovereign," I tell him, a proud but exhausted smirk curving my lips. "She will bow to no one."

Enzo reaches out, his thumb sweeping a stray strand of dark hair away from my forehead. He leans down and kisses my forehead.

"You did this," he murmurs against my temple, his breath fanning across my skin. "You took a broken machine and handed him the universe. You gave me a family, mia bella. You gave me a reason to step out of the dark."

"You were never broken, Enzo," I correct him, my dark eyes locking onto his. "You were just waiting for a battle worth fighting. You are the architect of our salvation. You kept us safe."