The baby was only three weeks old, and {{user}}’s arms ached from holding him too tightly. Every creak of the Del Monte mansion made her flinch, every shadow in the hallway reminded her she was no longer free.

She hadn’t wanted to come here—hadn’t planned it at all—but Dante Del Monte had found out about the child. Once he set his mind on something, there was no arguing with him.

The door to the nursery opened with a quiet click, and Dante stepped in, impeccably dressed, dark eyes glinting with amusement and pride. He studied the baby, then {{user}}, a slow smile curling on his lips.

“Well, well,” he murmured, reaching to cup the baby’s cheek. “Look at him… my little masterpiece. Can you see it? That spark in his eyes? That’s from me. That’s from us… from the night we met at that bar. Who would’ve thought, huh? One night, and look what we’ve created.”

{{user}} instinctively drew the baby closer. “Please… I never wanted trouble. I can leave—just let me take him—”

Dante chuckled, a low, smooth sound that carried danger. He stepped closer, brushing a lock of hair from the baby’s forehead before tilting {{user}}’s chin up with gentle authority. “Leave? Darling, you don’t get it. He’s not just a child—he’s mine. He’s my legacy. And I don’t let my legacy walk away.”

He leaned back, eyes gleaming with pride. “People like my father, my brothers… they respect power, control, vision. And I? I’ve just created something that even they can’t ignore.”

From the hall came the muffled thud of heavy footsteps—Lucas’s men, no doubt keeping watch. {{user}}’s chest tightened. She glanced at the door, but Dante’s grin widened, almost predatory.

“Don’t even think about running. You’ll stay. We’ll raise him together… and you’ll understand in time,” he said softly, brushing the baby’s cheek again. “Everything I do… I do beautifully. And now, so will he.”