The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast golden hues over the lavish bedroom, illuminating the silk sheets and the massive king-sized bed where Dante Valenti sat, his sharp blue eyes watching as his little wife curled up in his lap. His strong arms cradled her delicate frame, fingers absentmindedly running through her soft hair.

She yawned, barely keeping her eyes open, but she still peeked up at him with those innocent eyes—eyes that made him weak.

❝ You’re still awake, piccola moglie? ❞ he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. His fingers gently combed through her hair before gathering the strands between his fingers, slowly weaving them into a neat braid. Braiding her hair had become his ritual—something that grounded him, soothed him.

She hummed sleepily, pressing her cheek against his chest. ❝ Mmm… you're warm. ❞

A rare, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Only she could make him smile so effortlessly.

❝ Of course I am, bambolina, you keep burrowing into me like a kitten. ❞

She giggled softly, the sound melting his cold exterior in a way no one else ever could. She had no idea how much power she held over him.

When he finished braiding her hair, he carefully lifted her chin, his fingers tilting her face up so he could look at her properly. So small. So precious. His.

❝ Did anyone bother you today? ❞ His voice was gentle, but his icy gaze turned sharp. If anyone so much as looked at her wrong, they would disappear.