Page 105 of Forbidden Vengeance

“Forget them,” Mario growls, his attention completely on me as another contraction hits and my body jerks. “Just breathe, little planner. Focus on bringing our daughter into the world.”

Our daughter.Even now, in the midst of this chaos, those words make my heart clench. He’s never once hesitated to claim her, to love her despite biology. Despite Anthony’s taunts about blood and tradition.

She’s been ours since the moment he chose us over revenge.

The pain becomes all-consuming, everything narrowing to this moment, to Mario’s steady presence beside me. The doctor’s instructions mix with security updates in my ear: “Push now” overlapping with “Target neutralized in the parking structure.”

Mario’s hand never leaves mine, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on my skin as I fight through each contraction. Through waves of pain and exhaustion, I hear Siobhan coordinating with Matteo’s teams, our carefully built alliances protecting us while I labor to bring our daughter into this complicated world.

“I see the head,” the doctor announces. “One more big push, Ms. Santiago.”

Mario’s hand tightens on mine as I bear down. His eyes never leave my face, his own transformed into something softer, something I never thought I’d see from Giuseppe DeLuca’s exiled son.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs against my temple. “So strong, my little planner.”

With one final, tremendous push and a final, animalistic scream, our daughter announces her arrival with healthy lungs. The sound of her first cry makes something break open in my chest—pure love flooding through me as they place her in my arms.

“She’s beautiful,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face as I study her perfect features. She has my coloring, thank God, but I swear there’s something of Mario in the determined set of hertiny jaw. When she grips his finger with surprising strength, I watch his careful composure shatter completely.

“I love you,” he tells us both, his voice rough with emotion I’ve never heard from him before. The words feel like freedom, like possibility, like everything we’ve fought for. “No matter what happens next, no matter whose blood she carries—you’re mine. Both of you.”

Stella’s tiny hand grips his finger tighter, as if sealing this promise between us. For a moment, watching them together—this dangerous man transformed by love for our daughter—every choice that led us here feels worth it. Every risk, every betrayal, every game we played; all of it leading to this perfect moment.

Because Mario isn’t just choosing to raise another man’s child. He’s choosing love over blood, choosing to be better than the poison Giuseppe left in his veins. Choosing us.

And watching him hold our daughter with hands that have dealt so much death, seeing him transformed by this tiny life we’ll protect together, I know we’ve won something more precious than any territory or power.

But through my earpiece, I hear Dante’s urgent warning: “Boss, we’ve got movement. Multiple vehicles approaching. Anthony’s here.”

The perfect moment shatters as Mario’s body tenses beside me, that beautiful softness transforming back into something lethal. I watch his walls slam up, the loving father replaced by Giuseppe’s most dangerous son.

Stella continues to wail, unaware that her biological father has come to claim what he thinks is his. Unaware that our brief moment of peace is already dissolving as reality crashes back.

The war isn’t over yet.

35

MARIO

Ifeel the change in my body before Dante’s warning comes through—that combat-ready tension Giuseppe beat into both his sons. One moment I’m lost in my daughter’s perfect face, marveling at how tightly she grips my finger. The next, I’m fighting back the urge to burn the world as Anthony’s forces converge on Mount Sinai.

“Multiple teams approaching,” Antonio reports through comms, his voice tight with controlled urgency. “At least twenty men, all highly trained. They’ve got every exit covered, and they’re carrying specialized equipment—not just weapons.”

“Another medical transport standing by,” Dante adds grimly. “Military experience. They’re prepared to take the baby by force if necessary.”

Elena cradles Stella closer, exhausted from labor but her mind still razor-sharp as she processes the threat. Even after giving birth, she calculates angles and implications. “He’s done playing games,” she says quietly. “This is his last stand.”

I study our daughter’s sleeping face, memorizing every perfect feature that thankfully favors her mother. The same determined chin, the same stubbornness even in sleep. My handdrifts to my weapon as boots echo down the hospital corridor—too many sets to count.

“That’s my daughter,” Anthony announces as he bursts through the door, his lawyers hovering behind him like well-dressed vultures. But this isn’t just a legal play—I see the violence barely contained beneath his designer suit, the way his hand keeps drifting toward his concealed weapon. The same madness that consumed his uncle Johnny bleeding through his polished facade. “My blood. My heir. And I’m done asking nicely.”

I move faster than thought, placing myself between him and my family. Because that’s what they are now—myfamily, chosen and claimed and protected despite blood or biology or all the poison Giuseppe left in our veins. “Touch them,” I say quietly, letting that DeLuca darkness fill my voice, “and they’ll never find all the pieces.”

Some things are worth burning the world to protect.

“Biological rights aren’t so easily dismissed,” Anthony sneers, but there’s something fractured in his expression now—that same madness that made his uncle Johnny infamous. “That’s my blood she’s holding. My heir. Every court in New York will recognize that.”

His eyes keep darting to Elena and Stella, something desperate and possessive in his gaze that makes my trigger finger itch. He takes a step forward, trying to see around me. “Elena, please. Let me just see her. She’s my daughter—my blood. You can’t keep her from me.”

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