Page 110 of Sinful Bride

"But—"

"I took over the Irish mafia from Lachlan," he continues. "He gave it to me. Not because I was his son or his heir, but because he trusted me to lead. Because he believed in me." His green eyes are steady on mine as he speaks.

"I want children," he says honestly. "But not because I need an heir to pass some empire to. I want them because I want a family, one that's ours, not something we're obligated to create."

My breath catches.

"When you're ready," he says. "If you're ever ready. We'll have children then. Not before. And if you're never ready, then we won't. It's your choice, Elena. Your body. Your life."

"You mean that," I whisper. It's not a question. I can see the truth in his eyes, and it feels like a revelation. I’ve never imagined anyone like this. I didn’t know it was possible.

"I mean it." He pulls me closer. "I'm not your father. I'm not going to force you into anything. I'm not going to use you or control you or treat you like property." His hand moves to my face, cupping my cheek.

"You're my wife," he says. "My partner. My equal. And I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to."

I throw my arms around his neck, holding him tight. He holds me back just as fiercely, his face buried in my hair. "I love you," I whisper against his shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

We stay like that for a long moment, wrapped around each other in my childhood bedroom, with death on the floor and blood on the walls, and the wreckage of my old life scattered around us.

But none of that matters, because I have him. And he has me. For the first time in my life, I have a choice, and I chose him.

And he chose me back.

25

DECLAN

The Capetti estate looks different in daylight, after everything that happened.

A week has passed since I carried Elena out of her childhood bedroom with her father's blood still warm on the Persian rug, and now we're back, driving through the iron gates that frame the long driveway like the entrance to a mausoleum. The morning sun catches the facade of the main house, turning it golden and almost beautiful, but I can't shake the memory of what happened here. The gunfire. The bodies. The way Elena looked when I found her, trapped and terrified, used as bait by the man who was supposed to protect her.

My hand tightens on the steering wheel as I pull up to the circular drive and put the car in park. Elena sits beside me in the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable. She's wearing a navy dress today, her dark hair pulled back from her face. She looks composed, controlled, every inch the mafia princess she was raised to be.

But I know better now. I know what's underneath that careful facade, everything she's spent her whole life hiding because no one ever asked her to be anything more than decorative.

"You ready?" I ask, turning to look at her.

She meets my eyes, and for a moment, I see the flicker of uncertainty there. This place holds nothing but pain for her. Her mother's death, her father's manipulation, years of being told she was nothing more than a bargaining chip to be traded for power and alliances.

But then she lifts her chin slightly, and the uncertainty vanishes behind that mask of composure. "I'm ready."

I reach over and take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. Her skin is cool against mine, and I can feel the slight tremor in her grip that she's trying to hide. "We don't have to do this today," I tell her quietly. "If you need more time⁠—"

"No." Her voice is decisive. "We need to do this now. Before anyone gets ideas about filling the power vacuum."

She's right, of course. In the week since Enzo's death, the Capetti territories have been in chaos. Some of the capos have reached out to me directly, pledging loyalty to the Irish organization in exchange for protection and stability. Others have gone quiet, waiting to see which way the wind blows before they commit. And a few, the ones who were closest to Enzo, have been making noise about how the Capetti name deserves better than to be absorbed into an upstart's empire.

Those are the ones I'm most concerned about.

We get out of the car and walk toward the main entrance together. The front door is unlocked—I sent Finn and a few of my men ahead yesterday to secure the property and make sure there were no surprises waiting for us. The foyer is exactly as I remember it from that night, but now it feels hollow, like a stage set waiting for new actors to bring it to life.

Finn appears from one of the side hallways, his expression carefully neutral. "Boss. Mrs. Murphy." He nods to each of us in turn. "The house is secure. No one's been here since we cleared it last week."

"Good." I glance at Elena, then back at Finn. "Give us some privacy. We'll be in the office."

"Yes, sir. We'll be outside if you need us." He disappears back down the hallway, and I hear the front door close behind him as he and the others step out onto the grounds.