Chapter 183

I had no intention of letting this reunion turn into a mafia revenge summit.

I squeezed Vincent's hand, steering the conversation back on track.

"We'll deal with Mario later." I looked at the couple sitting across from me. The word "parents" still felt foreign on my tongue, but I didn't shy away from it. "Actually, there are two other things I need to tell you today."

My hand instinctively moved to my still-flat stomach.

My mother's gaze followed the gesture. She froze for a second, seeming to realize something, and sucked in a sharp breath.

"I'm pregnant." My tone was calm, as if stating the most natural fact in the world. "Also, Vincent and I are holding our engagement ceremony in Zurich mid-next month."

The sitting room fell silent for a full thirty seconds.

My mother shot to her feet and crossed to me in several quick steps. She wanted to hug me but was afraid of being too rough, so she could only grip my shoulders gently, tears streaming down her face again—but this time, they were tears of pure joy.

"Dear God... I'm going to be a grandmother?" My mother's voice trembled with incoherence as she touched my hair with shaking hands. "Selena, my darling, is this real?"

"It's real." I looked at her, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.

My father approached as well, his eyes red-rimmed.

As the head of one of Europe's most elite old-money families, he understood exactly what it meant to marry his only heir to a mafia don.

It meant the Colonna family would be irrevocably tied to the Corleone empire.

But my father didn't hesitate for even a moment.

"As long as you're happy, as long as he's willing to die protecting you." My father took a deep breath, his tone solemn. "The Colonna family will give you our fullest blessing. For your engagement, I'll make sure every power player in Europe comes to witness it."

Receiving their approval, that barely perceptible tension in my chest finally released.

"There's one more thing." I looked at my father and brought up a name that disgusted me. "Jocelyn Rochester came to see me at the hospital today. He kept insisting he's my fiancé."

At the mention of that name, my father's brow furrowed.

"He did reach out to me—in fact, he's the one who brought me news of you." My father sighed, a hint of helplessness in his voice. "Years ago, when you were still in your cradle, the previous head of the Rochester family and I were close friends. We did make a verbal agreement about your marriage."

"However, that's all in the past." My father's tone shifted, becoming extremely firm. "Since you already have Vincent, and you're even carrying his child, that verbal engagement is null and void. Don't give it another thought. I'll personally handle the Rochester family and make sure he never bothers you again."

I nodded, satisfied with this resolution.

Night had fallen. My mother noticed the fatigue in my eyes and took my hand with concern.

"It's too late now. Stay the night." My mother turned to Vincent, her attitude completely transformed. "Vincent, you stay too. Selena just came home—you should both get familiar with this place. From now on, this is your home as well."

Vincent inclined his head slightly, reining in his dangerous edge and offering polite, restrained thanks.

After my parents left, the heavy oak door closed behind them.

Only the two of us remained in the sitting room.

The instant the door clicked shut, Vincent spun around and pulled me fiercely into his arms. His grip was almost bruising, his arms locked around my waist as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, breathing in my scent like a man starved.

"I thought they'd pull a gun and throw me out." His voice was low and hoarse, carrying a trace of fear and relief he himself hadn't noticed. "I thought they'd use the Colonna family's power to force you to leave me."

I leaned against his broad chest, listening to his pounding heartbeat, and couldn't help but smile.

"You were actually afraid of that?" I lifted my hand and stroked his tense back in soothing circles.

"I was terrified." Vincent admitted without hesitation.

He raised his head, his deep black eyes boring into mine, churning with possessive intensity so thick it was suffocating. "They can give you the cleanest aristocratic bloodline, a life without bullets and bloodshed. I was so afraid you'd think that kind of life was better than being with me."

He lowered his head, his thin lips brushing the corner of my mouth, his voice hoarse and trembling. "Elena, thank God they accepted me. Thank God you didn't leave me."

I looked at the obsession in his eyes, cupped his face in both hands, and kissed him first.

"I told you—I'm not going anywhere except by your side." I pressed my lips to his, enunciating each word to soothe him.

Just as our breathing intertwined and the atmosphere began to heat up, extremely restrained footsteps sounded from outside the half-open door.

Vincent's eyes instantly turned cold and sharp. He yanked me behind him, his right hand flying to the gun at his waist.

The door pushed open halfway.

Jocelyn stood in the doorway.

He wore a black overcoat, his shoulders still damp with night dew.

His face was deathly pale, his gray-blue eyes locked onto the sight of Vincent and me wrapped in each other's arms. The pain in his gaze threatened to overflow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Vincent's killing intent exploded outward. He took a step forward, gun barrel aimed directly at Jocelyn's chest. "Looking to die?"

Jocelyn didn't even glance at the weapon. His gaze swept past Vincent and landed squarely on my face.

"Elena." His voice was terribly hoarse, as if scraped raw with sandpaper. "Give me ten minutes. Just ten minutes. Talk to me alone."

Vincent let out a cold laugh and was about to pull the trigger.

"Vincent." I pressed down on his arm, my gaze calm as I looked at the devastated man in the doorway.

"Let him in." I turned to Vincent, softening my tone. "We need to settle this once and for all so he stops sniffing around like a rabid dog. Go to the balcony and have a smoke. I'll be fine."

Vincent stared at me for several long seconds.

He ground his teeth in extreme displeasure, but ultimately gave in. He holstered his gun and shot Jocelyn a glacial look as he brushed past him.

"Ten minutes." Vincent's voice was low and warning. "One second over, and I'm throwing you off the second floor."

Vincent pushed open the French doors and stepped onto the terrace.

The sitting room fell into dead silence.

Jocelyn walked in, one slow step at a time.

He moved as if each step was taken on the edge of a blade.

He stopped two paces away from me, his gaze devouring me with desperate longing.

From his coat pocket, he pulled out an extremely worn handmade photo album. The leather cover was scuffed and faded, clearly thumbed through countless times.

With trembling hands, he opened it and held it out to me.

"Do you really not remember anything at all?" His voice shook.

I lowered my eyes. The album was filled with yellowed old photographs. Every single one featured a blonde little boy and a dark-haired little girl.

There were pictures of them running across a lawn, sharing a slice of cake, and one where the little girl, her dress soaked through with water, was gripping the drenched little boy's hand with all her might.