Page 13 of Crimson Reign

Elena

AweekhaspassedsinceMatteo brought us to Nico Moretti’s estate.

I expected it to feel like another prison. Another place where I was someone else’s problem, existing under someone else’s protection.

Instead, I’ve found something I never expected in a mafia compound—comfort.

Fiona has taken a surprising liking to Matteo. She follows him with wide eyes whenever he’s around, tugging at his sleeve when she wants to be picked up.

And even more surprising? He lets her. I’ve caught him more than once absentmindedly balancing her on his arm while talking to his men, like she’s always belonged there.

Then there’s Julian Salvatore, one of Matteo’s men, who has an undeniable soft spot for my daughter. I often find him sneaking her sweets late at night. When I tease him about it, he only smirks. “She’s got good taste. Can’t say no to a girl who likes chocolate.”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around this place, these people. Matteo is supposed to be dangerous. Brutal. But he’s not the only one defying expectations.

Like Isabella.

She and I have spent most mornings together, and despite her last name, she’s nothing like the image I had of mafia women. She’s warm, sharp-witted, and effortlessly kind. Today, we’re in the kitchen, hands dusted with flour as we shape dough into neat circles.

“I can’t believe you know how to bake,” she says, watching as I roll out dough.

I laugh. “Why? Because I was married to an accountant?”

“No, because you’re calm about it,” she replies. “Matteo treats cooking like a war zone. He acts like he’s defusing a bomb every time he uses the stove.”

A deep voice cuts in behind us. “I heard that.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Matteo leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.

Isabella grins. “Good. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Before Matteo can retort, the kitchen door swings open wider, and Nico Moretti walks in with a small boy perched on his hip. The child is the spitting image of Isabella, with the same striking green eyes and a mop of dark curls that bounce with each step his father takes.

“Someone’s been asking for his mama,” Nico says with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he gazes at Isabella. The little boy reaches out eagerly, his chubby hands opening and closing.

“Adrian!” Isabella’s face lights up as she quickly wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Come here, my little prince.” She takes him from Nico, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Nico slides an arm around his wife’s waist, dropping a casual kiss on her temple. “He woke up from his nap insisting on finding you. Apparently, Papa isn’t good enough when there are cookies being made.”

“Smart boy,” Isabella teases, adjusting Adrian on her hip. “He knows where the real magic happens.”

“Just like his mother,” Nico murmurs, his eyes filled with something that makes Isabella’s cheeks flush slightly. “Always knowing exactly what she wants.”

Matteo steps forward, ruffling his nephew’s curls. “Hey, campione. Want to play with your favorite uncle?”

Adrian squeals in delight, reaching for Matteo with grabby hands. “Teo! Up!”

“The kid has good taste,” Matteo says smugly as he takes Adrian, tossing him gently in the air and catching him, eliciting delighted giggles.

Isabella watches them fondly before turning to me. “I’m sorry about the interruption. Adrian has Nico’s timing.”

“And his mother’s determination,” Nico adds with a proud grin.

I smile warmly. “I can see that.”

From the living room adjoining the kitchen, I glance at the baby monitor showing Fiona fast asleep in her toddler bed, her little chest rising and falling steadily. At least one child is getting their nap today.

Matteo turns to me, Adrian now contentedly playing with his collar. “Our Father wants us all at dinner tonight.”

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