At the center of the ruined music room, Vittorio Bellandi lay bleeding into a pale rug while a massive black Cane Corso stood over him. Paramedics couldn’t get close. Neither could the surgeon. Someone had already suggested shooting the dog.

One year later.

Spring had arrived at the Bellandi estate in the North Ridge. The surrounding hills were covered in lush green oak trees and wild mountain flowers.

On the newly restored marble terrace overlooking the gardens, a large wooden crib sat beneath the shade of a white silk canopy.

Inside the crib, a five-month-old baby boy with thick black hair and bright, intelligent hazel eyes giggled as he reached his tiny hands toward a massive black snout.

Baron lay on the marble floor beside the crib, his head resting gently over the wooden rail, letting the baby pat his nose with complete, gentle patience.

Mara sat in a wicker armchair nearby, dressed in a simple white linen sundress, holding a cup of chamomile tea. She looked healthy, radiant, and utterly content.

The terrace doors clicked open.

Vittorio walked out, wearing a simple navy linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The dark line of his jaw softened the moment his eyes landed on his wife and son.

He walked over to the crib, leaning down to scoop the baby—little Matteo Bellandi—into his broad arms. Matteo let out a loud, happy screech, grabbing his father’s collar.

“Is he troubling you, my love?” Vittorio asked, walking over to Mara’s chair and placing his free hand gently behind her neck, leaning down to kiss her soft lips.

“He has your energy, Vittorio,” Mara laughed, setting her tea down and reaching up to stroke her husband’s cheek. “He refused to take his morning nap until Baron sat beside him.”

Vittorio chuckled—a deep, rich sound that echoed across the quiet garden. He sat down on the edge of the terrace stone, holding his son securely against his broad chest while Mara leaned her head against his shoulder.

In the distance, down at the end of the long winding drive, the heavy steel gates of the Bellandi compound stood closed and guarded by loyal soldiers.

The city outside was still filled with shadows, power struggles, and danger. But inside these walls, there was only light, loyalty, and an unbreakable love that had been forged in blood and healed by grace.

Mara looked down at her hand, where the magnificent emerald ring caught the warm afternoon sunlight. Then she looked up at the man who had traded his cold, violent isolation for a life of devotion.

“What are you thinking about, Queen?” Vittorio asked softly, turning his dark eyes toward her.

Mara smiled, leaning up to press a tender kiss against his cheek.

“I was just thinking about how lucky I was,” Mara whispered, her voice filled with deep warmth, “that the dog didn't let anyone else near you that night.”