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Amara nodded, rocking Tempest in her arms. “There aren’t two people I trust more with her life besides Dante. If anything were to happen to us, I’d die knowing she was safe and loved by someone who would lay their lives for her.”

Morana went teary-eyed. Tristan put a hand on Amara’s shoulder in silent acceptance. And Dante smiled.

“Who’s on Amara now that Vin’s gone?” Tristan asked quietly, standing by his side as they waited for Amara to walk out into the lawn.

Trust him to ask the most non-romantic question during one of the most romantic moments of his life. Dante almost chuckled but stopped himself.

“Sav,” Dante replied, looking around at the garden that had been transformed into something out of a crazy fairytale. They hadn’t delayed the wedding, but he’d brought Amara home and not allowed her to lift a finger while she recovered. Call him overprotective, but that’s where he was at.

Dante stood in a tux, looking around at the guests who had come in for the wedding, the who’s who of the Outfit, the underworld, his father’s acquaintances, and his.

“I think Xander’s like Damien,” Tristan said out of the blue from his side, his brows slightly furrowed. “Not exactly the same, but similar. You have any tips for me?”

Dante turned to follow his gaze to the young eight-year-old boy who sat in the front, looking down at a tablet. Combined with what Morana had told him about his high intelligence, Dante could see why they’d think that.

“Don’t think,” he told Tristan. “Know. Get a diagnosis so you can do what’s the best for him. Assuming you’re keeping him, of course,” he added with a sly grin.

Tristan gave him a look, before looking forward again. “He reminds me of myself when I was that age. I don’t want him to be alone. Morana and I, he’s happy with us.”

Dante smiled. “Then don’t. Are you happy?”

“I think so.”

The music beginning stopped their conversation. Dante turned to see Zia walking down the aisle arm in arm with his woman is a stunning dress of white gold that shimmered in the sunlight, the lacy full sleeves covering her arms, the high neck covering her scar, her hair in some kind of an up-do, his little warrior princess nestled in her arms.

Dante felt something move inside his chest, something so soft and fierce and alive, something that only resonated with and for this woman. His magnum opus. His warrior queen. The mother of his child.

She came to a stop beside him, a wide smile on her red lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmured, his eyes taking her in, savoring this moment he’d never thought he’d have with her over the years of wait, his eyes flickering down to the curious little girl wiggling and looking around in awe.

He bent down and planted a kiss on her head, before pressing a hard kiss to his woman. “You’re the beat to my heart, Amara. Now, she’s a beat too.”

She wiped the lipstick from his mouth. “And mine.”

The ceremony began.

And though their world kept getting darker every day, empires he hadn’t known about coming to light, the one he was building nascent and dangerous and terrifying; though there were mysteries unsolved and questions unanswered and futures unknown; though there were possibilities of danger lurking in every corner, Dante looked around at his chessboard, and with his queen by his side, he felt ready to play them all.

The man watched from the shadows as the wedding commenced.

Dante Maroni got married to an outsider, his heir already born.

The Predator stood by his side, Morana Vitalio on the other.

The kid he’d led them to sat in the front.

And Alpha, the king of the south, sat in the back with a tiny woman.

It was perfect for all of them.

The man flicked a lighter on and off.

He would give them a week, and then it was time to leave more breadcrumbs.

It was time.

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