35 "The Poor Maid’s Baby Crawled Into the Mafia Boss’s Office — But What He Decided to Do Next Was…

The next forty-eight hours passed in a surreal, tense blur.

While Mia and I remained safely enclosed within the fortress-like estate, the subterranean world of New York erupted into an all-out war. The news on the estate's muted television screens reported "unprecedented gang violence" and "corporate raids" across the tri-state area.

Alessandro was gone for two full days.

I spent those days walking through the estate's manicured gardens with Mia, holding her tight, breathing in the crisp country air, but my mind was constantly in Manhattan. Every time the grand front gates opened, my heart leaped into my throat, praying it was Alessandro returning safely.

I realized with terrifying clarity that I had fallen deeply, completely in love with Alessandro Duca. Not because of his wealth or his terrifying power, but because underneath the brutal exterior was a man who had shielded my child with his life, a man who had looked at a helpless maid and chosen to treat her like royalty.

On Thursday evening, as a light snow began to fall over the upstate mountains, a fleet of muddy SUVs pulled up the long driveway.

I ran to the grand foyer, holding Mia in my arms.

The heavy front doors swung open, and Alessandro walked in. He wore a long dark trench coat dusted with white snow. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue, and a white bandage was wrapped neatly around his left forearm beneath his sleeve.

Marco and three other guards followed him inside, looking utterly exhausted but triumphant.

"Alessandro!" I cried out, stepping forward.

Alessandro stopped, his eyes locking onto mine. A look of immense relief washed over his tired features. He unbuttoned his coat, tossed it to a servant, and walked straight toward us.

"Is it over?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"The Rossi family is broken, Elena," Alessandro stated, his voice flat and definitive. "Victor Rossi has fled the country. His assets have been seized, and his capos have surrendered to my council. There is no one left to threaten you or your child."

I let out a shaky breath, tears of pure relief brimming in my eyes.

Alessandro reached out, gently patting Mia’s head. Mia looked up at him, recognized his dark eyes, and immediately reached out both arms, babbling happily: "Dah! Dah!"

Alessandro froze. He looked at me, his eyes wide with shock. "What did she just say?"

I laughed softly through my tears, my cheeks flushing warm pink. "She’s eight months old, Alessandro. She just makes sounds. It doesn't mean anything."

"She said 'Dah'," Alessandro insisted, a rare, boyish smirk breaking through his tired face. He reached out and carefully took Mia from my arms into his own.

He held her with effortless confidence now—no longer the terrified man who didn't know which part of a baby to touch. Mia happily grabbed his dark hair, pulling it gently, while Alessandro simply smiled down at her.

"She knows who owns the house," Marco muttered from the doorway, a rare grin touching his scarred face.

Alessandro looked up at me over Mia’s head, his dark eyes burning with an intense, life-changing decision.

"Marco," Alessandro said, his tone authoritative yet warm. "Prepare the grand dining hall. We are having a victory dinner tonight. And clear my schedule for the next month. I am taking a leave of absence from active operations."