Page 139 of Beauty and the Daddy
We spend those precious minutes the way we always do, curled together on the couch that's survived countless family movie nights and several Meatball-related incidents. Belle's head finds its perfect spot on my shoulder, and I breathe in the peace of this moment.
Bruno settles at our feet with a contented sigh that seems to echo through his entire gray-muzzled body. He's earned his rest, this faithful guardian who's watched over our family with the same fierce loyalty he showed that first night Belle arrived, scared and defiant and completely unaware that she was about to change everything.
Meatball claims his throne in the armchair across from us, orange tail twitching as he plots whatever act of domestic terrorism he's planning for later. The cat has appointed himself the chaos coordinator of our household, and he takes the job seriously.
"Elena wants a pony," Belle mentions casually, like she's discussing the weather instead of dropping a bomb into our peaceful moment.
"Absolutely not."
"She's prepared a presentation. With visual aids and a cost-benefit analysis."
I stare at her in disbelief. "She's three years old."
"She's a Moretti. We're overachievers by genetics." Belle grins up at me, completely unrepentant. "Sofia helped with the PowerPoint, and Leo contributed artistic elements."
"I'm surrounded by tiny criminals with excellent presentation skills," I mutter, but I'm already mentally calculating where we could construct a stable and what kind of security measures would be necessary for a pony.
Because this is what Belle Moretti does to me. She makes me consider ponies and tea parties and dance recitals, and somehow transforms them from foreign concepts into the most important negotiations I'll ever conduct.
"I love our life," Belle says quietly, tracing lazy patterns on my chest with her fingertip.
"Even when it's complete chaos?"
"Especially when it's chaos." She tilts her head up to study my face with those green eyes that still stop my heart. "Do you ever miss it? The quiet? The control? The days when your biggest concern was which enemy to eliminate next?"
I consider her question seriously, thinking about the man I used to be. The one who lived in silence and shadows, who measured success in fear and respect rather than laughter and sticky hugs. The one who thought love was a weakness instead of the strongest armor I've ever worn.
"Never," I tell her with complete honesty. "You know what I miss? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because this right here, this beautiful disaster we've created, this is everything I never knew I needed."
The scar on my knuckle catches against the fabric of her shirt as I pull her closer, a reminder of the violence I'm capable of, the darkness I came from. But also proof of what I'll do to protect this light we've built together, this family that chose me as much as I chose them.
"Good," Belle says, settling deeper into my arms like she belongs there, like she's always belonged there. "Because you're stuck with us now."
"Forever?"
"Longer than forever. Through peanut butter crowns and pony presentations and whatever other chaos our children dream up."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
Outside, Meatball stalks some unsuspecting creature through the garden while Bruno supervises from his favorite patch of afternoon shade, his gray muzzle lifted to catch the breeze that carries the scent of roses and possibility.
Inside, our house waits patiently for our children to return and fill it with noise and mess and the particular brand of joy that only comes from being completely, unconditionally loved.
And here, in this perfect moment, with my wife in my arms and our future stretching out like a promise written in laughter and chaos, I know exactly who I am.
Not the Beast of New York.
Not the monster everyone feared.
Just Luca. Husband. Father. The man who found his salvation in the most unlikely place imaginable.
In love. In family. In the beautiful, messy, perfect disaster of a life built on hope instead of fear.
The man who learned that happily ever after isn't a destination.
It's a choice you make every morning when you wake up and decide to love someone more than you love your own safety.
And I choose this. I choose them. I choose us.
Every damn day.
