Chapter 13
One year later, the name Cavali meant something different in Chicago.
Not completely different.
Names carried history.
But Dante worked every day to change what came after it.
Cavali Logistics became legitimate.
Marco ran operations.
Dante concentrated on rebuilding companies that employed hundreds of people who had nothing to do with the old organization.
Serena’s foundation expanded.
Patricia joined its board.
The irony was not lost on anyone.
“You realize,” Marco said during dinner one evening, “we’ve become painfully respectable.”
Dante sipped water.
“You say that like it’s fatal.”
“I attended a tax-planning meeting yesterday.”
Serena smiled.
“Terrifying.”
“I preferred gunfire.”
Patricia frowned.
“Don’t joke about that.”
Marco looked at his newly discovered half-sister.
“See? We’re becoming a normal family.”
Serena laughed.
Normal remained relative.
But they were trying.
After dinner, Serena stood on the porch.
Dante joined her.
“You’re quiet.”
She looked toward the garden.
“I went to the doctor today.”
Dante immediately became concerned.
“What happened?”
“Nothing bad.”
He waited.
Serena turned.
“I’m pregnant.”
Dante stared.
Serena’s smile became nervous.
“Say something.”
He didn’t.
“Dante?”
He sat down.
She blinked.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
She laughed.
“You look terrified.”
“I am.”
Serena sat beside him.
“Me too.”
Dante looked at her stomach.
“How far?”
“Eight weeks.”
He slowly placed his hand over hers.
“A baby.”
“Yes.”
“My baby.”
“Our baby.”
He looked at her.
Something changed inside him.
Fear.
Joy.
Responsibility.
Hope.
All at once.
Then Dante began laughing.
Serena stared.
“What?”
“I spent half my life believing fear was weakness.”
“And?”
“I have never been more terrified.”
Serena rested her head on his shoulder.
“Good.”
He smiled.
Months passed.
Dante became unbearable.
He researched cribs.
Car seats.
Schools.
Pediatricians.
Serena eventually confiscated his parenting books.
“You’re making spreadsheets.”
“Preparation is important.”
“You ranked diapers.”
“They have measurable differences.”
“Dante.”
He reluctantly closed the laptop.
But underneath the humor lived a serious promise.
Their child would never inherit fear as a family tradition.
No secrets used as weapons.
No loyalty tests.
No arranged destiny.
The baby would choose.
That promise became more important than any empire Dante had ever controlled.
Then, during Serena’s seventh month, complications sent them rushing to the hospital.
Dante sat beside her bed while doctors worked.
Old fear returned.
The helpless kind.
Serena squeezed his hand.
“Stop looking like you’re going to threaten the medical staff.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
The doctor eventually smiled.
“Everything is okay.”
Dante nearly collapsed with relief.
Their daughter arrived several weeks later.
Small.
Healthy.
Furious.
Dante held her as though she were made of glass.
Serena watched from the hospital bed.
“What do you think?”
Dante stared at the tiny face.
“She’s angry.”
“She’s three minutes old.”
“She has your temper.”
Serena laughed.
“What should we call her?”
They had debated names for months.
But now Dante knew.
“Grace.”
Serena’s eyes filled.
“Grace Cavali.”
Dante nodded.
Grace.
Something neither family had possessed enough of.
Something they could begin with.
Dante placed their daughter against Serena’s chest.
Serena looked at him.
“You know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“If you hadn’t brought those divorce papers…”
Dante shook his head.
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“I brought them.”
He kissed her forehead.
“And then I heard you.”
Serena smiled.
“Nosy.”
“Extremely.”
Outside the hospital window, Chicago glittered.
The city where their families had built empires.
May you like
The city where those empires had nearly destroyed them.
Now none of it seemed as important as the sleeping child between them.
