Chapter 84
Chapter 84
The guest wing of the Romano mansion is the only place that doesn’t remember blood. It’s all pale plaster, imported marble, the hush of central air and the faint perfume of jasmine from the courtyard. A day’s worth of sun pools on the parquet, filtered through windows triple-layered and armored, though nobody mentions the security to Bell, not in this context. They are supposed to be making a nursery, not a panic room. Still, nothing in this house is ever just one thing.
Bell is kneeling by the windowsill, arranging a half-moon of stuffed animals into ascending order of threat: lion, bear, tiger, rabbit, lamb. She pauses over the lion, runs a thumb over the plastic whiskers, then sets it at the head of the pride. Behind her, Dante stands at the door, a man at odds with the concept of childhood, holding a roll of blueprints that keep unspooling like bad news. He is marking points of entry, calculating field of view, already deciding where the safe is going to hide behind the pastel wall art.
Luca is in the middle of the room, surrounded by IKEA detritus and power tools. He’s shirtless, even though the house is cool, and his tattooed arms flex as he snaps pieces of crib together with unnecessary force. Every so often, he glances up to watch Bell and the animals, his smile equal parts pride and mischief.
“You know,” Luca says, “it’s a little fucked up that we’re planning for a baby and a siege at the same time.”
Bell doesn’t look up. “Everything we do is a little fucked up. That’s our brand.”
Dante is tracing lines with a silver pen. “There’s nothing wrong with being prepared.”
Luca snorts. “That’s what you said about the armored Mercedes, and then you wrecked it in the parking lot of Whole Foods.”
Dante ignores him, but his lips thin. Bell hides a smile behind the mane of the lion.
She stands, stretches her back, and surveys the room. “It’s almost cute,” she says. “In a hostage-decorator kind of way.”
Luca bounds over, cradling the crib’s headboard like a shield. “Say it again,” he teases. “Say it’s cute.”
Bell shakes her head. “Not a chance.”
He grins and lowers his voice, pitching it just for her. “If you want, I can paint little dragons on the side. Make it extra boss-baby.”
Bell makes a face, but she’s laughing. Luca can always pull that from her, even in a fortress.
Behind them, Dante is all business. “I want motion sensors in every corner,” he says. “And the glass is resistant, but not proof. If they use a thermite lance—”
Bell interrupts: “Stop. I get it. The kid will be safer than the president.”
Dante looks up, and for the first time today there’s something almost tender in his face. “That’s the point.”
Bell’s hand goes instinctively to her belly, a reflex she’s not yet caught herself making. She lets it rest there, small and protective.
Luca sees and softens. He comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Hey. You’re doing great.”
She leans back into him, letting herself breathe for a moment. “Are we?” she asks, honest.
“Better than most,” Luca says, planting a kiss on the back of her neck.
Dante walks over, blueprints forgotten. He studies Bell’s profile, then surprises them both by placing his hand, gently, over hers on her stomach. The warmth of him is shocking—steady and grounding, a weight that says everything without words.
“Our child will never know fear,” he says, voice low and certain. “Not while we’re here.”
Luca adds his hand beside his brother’s, the three of them a knot of flesh and ink and promise.
Bell covers their hands with her own, pressing them close, as if she could anchor the moment in muscle and memory. “You’re both saps,” she says, but her eyes sting with tears that she won’t let fall.
They stand like that, a living shield, until the world outside reasserts itself.
The house line buzzes—Antonio, of course, never one to leave emotion unpunished by timing.
Bell picks up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
Antonio’s voice is clipped, urgent. “Vasquez just moved on the refinery. They broke the agreement. We need you at the command center, now.”
Bell glances at the brothers, already reading the shift in their posture—the return to readiness, the recommitment to war. She lets go of their hands, smoothing her blouse, and turns to the door.
“Duty calls,” she says, dry and steady.
Luca brushes her arm, his humor gone but his love undimmed. “Let’s go show them what a real family looks like.”
Dante is already at the threshold, scanning for threat.
The three of them leave the nursery behind, the promise of peace replaced by the reality of siege. But the memory of the moment lingers—a shield, and a vow, and the certainty that whatever comes, they will face it together.