Chapter 91

Chapter 91
Their private suite is a world apart, padded in velvet and silence, immune for a few hours to the violence outside. The bedroom glows in the low amber of candlelight, shadows curling on the ceiling like smoke. There is a king-size bed, too soft for any of them to ever sleep through the night, and Bell sits on its edge, the silk of her nightgown clinging to her skin, belly stretched round and impossible to ignore.

Dante is on her right, posture perfect even in exhaustion, eyes still flicking toward the door every few minutes, the old habit of vigilance unbroken. His left hand holds a printout of the command center logs, the right rests on Bell’s thigh, squeezing so gently it could be mistaken for affection if not for the slight tremor. He reads aloud in low monotone, itemizing the damage, the recovery, the cost.

Luca is at her left, legs folded under him, shirtless and spent. The tension that usually sets his grin at a tilt is gone; instead, he traces slow, absent circles on Bell’s back, his face uncharacteristically open. Every so often, he glances at her belly, then at Dante, then at nothing at all.

For a while, nobody speaks except Dante, reciting the day’s wreckage as if reading a bedtime story.

Eventually, Bell interrupts. “We need a new protocol for hiring. No more old favors. No more taking people because they come from the right family.”

Dante nods, not trusting his voice. He sets the report aside, rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Luca says, “I vote we only hire people who hate us. That way, if they betray us, at least we’ll see it coming.”

Bell smiles, tired but real. “You’d be out of a job.”

He leans in, nuzzles her shoulder. “I can live with that.”

The room is warm, but their bodies press close anyway, seeking an intimacy the rest of the world wants to take away. Bell rests her hands on her belly, feeling the faintest flutter inside.

Dante's hand engulfs hers completely, his grip firm but tender. "I'll fix it," he commands, voice a low rumble that vibrates through her bones. "Nothing will touch what's mine again."

Bell turns to him, surrendering as her cheek brushes his shoulder. "You can't control everything," she whispers, melting into his protection despite herself.

Luca's eyes darken possessively. "Anything that threatens what belongs to us burns," he growls, fingers pressing into Bell's waist with a gentleness that contradicts his words. "We'll keep you safe, little one." His thumb traces a reverent circle over her belly.

Bell closes her eyes, surrendering to the weight of them both against her. Dante's hand slides to the nape of her neck, gripping firmly enough to make her breath catch. "Promise me," she whispers, "that no matter how bad it gets, we won't turn on each other."

They sit like that for a long time, a single shape carved from need and memory and the certainty that tomorrow will be just as hard as today. Outside, the city is quiet, too late for even the sirens.

Bell feels a flutter, stronger this time. Dante's hand moves to her stomach before she can even reach for it, his large palm spreading possessively across her rounded belly. "Mine," he whispers, voice rough with tenderness. Luca's fingers join his brother's, pressing firmly enough to make Bell gasp, yet gentle enough to make her melt between them. For a moment, the three of them are perfectly still, the only movement the kick of the next Romano beneath their commanding hands.

Bell laughs, wet and shaky. “He’s going to be a terror.”

“She,” Luca corrects, grinning again.

Dante just smiles, a real one this time.

A knock at the door. Antonio’s voice, respectful: “Miss Romano. You have a visitor.”

Bell sighs. “Now?”

He replies, “It’s important. There are rumors. International. Someone saw opportunity in tonight’s… difficulties.”

Dante stands, instantly at war again. “Who?”

“Nothing confirmed. But Russian. Possibly old Genovese contacts. I thought you’d want to know.”

Bell looks at the brothers, then at the door. “Bring me everything,” she says. “We don’t let it slide.”

Antonio’s footsteps fade.

Bell stands, smoothing her gown, the lines of her body equal parts vulnerability and threat. “We deal with it tomorrow.”

Luca takes her hand, and Dante flanks her other side.

Together, they move to the window, Dante's hand firmly guiding the small of Bell's back while Luca's fingers possessively intertwine with hers. The city sprawls beneath them like a conquered kingdom—lights bowing to their tower, streets laid bare for their judgment, the black water of the river coiling through it all like a pet serpent. The candles throw their shadows against the glass, three silhouettes melded into one protective fortress around the curve of her belly.

For now, there is nothing but the quiet, and the promise that they will face whatever comes next.

Three hands, one future. No fear.

The night waits, but so do they.