Page 85 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

"No," he said. "It's the name you chose. The name you're giving your daughter. Even when she grows up and learns what it means, she'll be proud."

I smiled. "Then it's settled. You think of a name for a son."

"A son." Dante thought for a moment. "Matteo. My grandfather's name. Only person in the family I ever respected."

"Matteo Moretti," I said it aloud. "I like it."

"Then that's settled." He kept holding my hand, voice carrying barely hidden laughter. "One Jenny, one Matteo. Two's enough."

"What if there's three?"

"I can afford three." He looked back at me, eyes catching tiny fragments of light. "However many you have, I'll take care of them."

Days passed. My belly grew. The brand moved forward piece by piece. Luca worked fast—emails back and forth, supply chain locked down, studio location secured. First batch of collaboration designs already sitting on my work table.

When I got busy, I forgot I was about to become a mother.

Until Dante moved my work table from the third floor to the first, put a cushion behind my chair. That's when I realized he'd been watching quietly all along.

"You climbing up and down stairs with that belly—I don't like it." He stood at the bottom of the stairs, completely matter-of-fact. "You want to work at the studio, you work on the first floor. Nowhere else."

I laughed and felt touched at the same time. Let him have his way.

During that time, I sketched designs during the day. At night, Dante pushed his work off on Marco and walked with me aroundthe manor grounds. When the moon rose, he held my hand, walked slowly, matching my pace.

The manor nights were quiet. Just crickets and wind. New York City glowed in the distance. Out here, just one light, one man, and one unborn child.

Meanwhile, I was making quiet preparations.

That wedding dress—I'd started designing it back in Mexico. Back then I didn't know what the future held. Just knew I wanted to design the most perfect wedding dress for myself. Sew in all those imaginings of happiness I'd saved up through the dark days.

White train. Medieval style. Intricate and exquisite. Every piece of lace hand-selected. Every pearl hand-sewn.

The matching suit, I tailored to his measurements. From memory—his shoulder width, his arm length. Made it stitch by stitch.

The new suit and dress sat in the studio sample room. Dante had never seen them.

After the new studio finished renovations, Dante said he wanted to see my new designs. I pulled him up to the third floor. Among rows of bridal samples, I pushed aside the middle rack. Behind it hung the dress and suit, side by side.

White train gown, intricate and elaborate, medieval styling. The suit beside it perfectly matched—noble, elegant, radiating quiet refinement.

Dante looked at them, confused, then turned to me.

I took a deep breath. Held out my hand to him.

"Mr. Moretti, will you marry me again?"

Last wedding—no Maggie, no blessings, no love between Dante and me. Now our child was almost here. The suit and dress I'd been preparing were finished. Time for this.

Dante froze. Then his expression cleared with understanding.

He pulled a ring box from his jacket. Opened it. Inside lay a ring set with an enormous blue diamond, facets smooth, refracting brilliant light.

"Elena." He looked at me, hint of a smile in his eyes. "I was planning to propose to you again. You beat me to it."

I stared, looked at that ring, nose stinging. "You... you were thinking the same thing."

"Been planning it for a while." Dante knelt down in front of me. Frowned slightly, like the position annoyed him, but when he spoke, his voice stayed gentle.