Mr. Buttons was tucked beneath her chin.
Alessandro entered first.
Isabella followed.
The moment she saw her daughter, she stopped.
"Emma."
The little girl opened her eyes.
For one second, she looked confused.
Then she sat up.
"Mommy!"
Isabella crossed the room.
Emma ran into her arms.
The two held each other tightly.
"Are you hurt?" Emma asked.
"I'm all right, sweetheart."
"Did the bad men find you?"
Isabella kissed her forehead.
"They won't bother us tonight."
Emma pulled back.
Then she looked toward Alessandro.
"He's your friend."
Isabella followed her daughter's gaze.
"Yes."
Emma looked between them.
"He's the man from your picture."
Isabella closed her eyes.
"Yes, darling."
The girl seemed to consider something.
Then she asked, "Is he my daddy?"
Isabella did not answer immediately.
Alessandro stood several feet away.
He did not interrupt.
He did not demand anything.
He simply waited.
Isabella looked at Emma.
"Yes, sweetheart."
The girl turned toward Alessandro.
"You're really my daddy?"
He knelt.
"Yes."
Emma studied his face.
Then she walked toward him.
She held out Mr. Buttons.
"You can have him."
Alessandro smiled faintly.
"I thought he was your favorite."
"He is."
"Then why are you giving him to me?"
"Because you were lonely."
Alessandro looked down at the teddy bear.
Then he looked at his daughter.
Something inside him finally broke.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
It simply gave way.
He opened his arms.
Emma stepped into them.
He held her carefully, as though she were something precious that the world had already tried to steal.
Isabella watched.
For the first time in six years, she saw Alessandro without the armor.
No title.
No authority.
No carefully constructed expression.
Just a man holding his daughter.
And she realized that the most frightening thing about returning to his world was not the danger.
It was that she still loved him.
***
Vittorio Moretti received the news at 11:36 p.m.
He was sitting in his private study, drinking a glass of expensive whiskey.
His house overlooked a garden filled with old olive trees imported from Italy.
He had always considered himself a patient man.
He believed that power belonged to whoever could wait longest.
But when his security director informed him that Alessandro had taken Isabella and Emma into his residence, Vittorio placed his glass on the desk.
"How many men were there?"
"Four."
"And my people?"
"They stood down."
Vittorio looked toward the window.
"Alessandro knows?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"We don't know."
The old man smiled faintly.
"Then we have a problem."
His security director shifted.
"Should we move?"
Vittorio turned.
"No."
"Sir?"
"Alessandro is emotional. He has always been emotional where that woman is concerned."
He walked toward his desk.
"He will make mistakes."
"And the girl?"
Vittorio's smile disappeared.
"The girl is the problem."
He opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
It showed Alessandro's father standing beside two young boys.
Alessandro.
And Vittorio.
Their father had built the Moretti empire with blood, money, and political favors.
He had intended Alessandro to inherit it.
Vittorio had spent thirty years accepting that decision.
But he had never forgiven his brother for choosing the younger generation over him.
And now Alessandro had a daughter.
A legitimate heir.
A child who could one day inherit everything.
Vittorio looked at the photograph.
"Your father made the same mistake I did," he murmured.
His security director said nothing.
Vittorio placed the photograph back inside the drawer.
"Find out what Alessandro knows."
"And if he refuses to cooperate?"
The old man looked at him.
"Then remind him that family is not always a blessing."
***
The next morning, Emma woke in a bedroom she had never seen before.
The curtains were open.
Sunlight covered the floor.
A small vase of flowers stood beside the window.
She sat up and looked around.
For a moment, she could not remember where she was.
Then she saw Mr. Buttons beside her pillow.
And remembered.
She climbed out of bed.
The door opened.
Alessandro stood outside holding a tray.
"Good morning."
Emma rubbed her eyes.
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep well?"
She nodded.
"Where's Mommy?"
"She's having breakfast."
"Can I see her?"
"Of course."
He placed the tray on a small table.
There were pancakes, strawberries, and a glass of milk.
Emma looked at the food.
"Did you make these?"
"Yes."
She examined the pancakes.
"They look funny."
Alessandro looked down.
"They taste better than they look."
Emma took a small bite.
Then she smiled.
"Mommy was right."
"About what?"
"You're good at pancakes."
He laughed.
It was a quiet, unfamiliar sound.
Emma climbed onto the chair.
"Can you make them tomorrow?"
"If you want."
"And the day after?"
He considered her.
"I think we can arrange that."
She took another bite.
Then she asked, "Do you have to go to work?"
Alessandro leaned against the table.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have responsibilities."
Emma frowned.
"More important than breakfast?"
He looked at the child.
Then he glanced at the tray.
"Not today."
He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.