It was a cold March morning in Chicago, dirty snow on the curbs, I had been working at the Moretti estate for exactly twenty-three minutes when I realized Emma was no longer in the staff room — her yellow sweater gone, Mr. Rabbit gone, one red crayon under the folding chair and the pouch with three butter cookies gone with her.

Four months later.

The summer sun shone brilliantly over Lake Michigan, painting the waters in shimmering shades of blue and gold. The dreary cold of March was a distant memory.

The Moretti estate had been completely transformed. The heavy velvet drapes in the west wing had been replaced with bright white linen, allowing natural sunlight to flood every corridor. The ballroom, which had sat empty for a decade, was currently decorated with dozens of yellow balloons, floral arches of white roses, and long tables covered in cake and fruit tarts.

It was Emma’s fourth birthday party.

Laughter echoed across the manicured south lawn. Dozens of guests—including high-ranking city officials, reformed business associates, and local families—watched as Emma ran through the sprinklers, wearing a new bright yellow sundress, holding Mr. Rabbit proudly in her hand.

Walking smoothly across the lawn without a cane or a wheelchair was Alessandro.

He wore a tailored navy linen suit, looking healthy, powerful, and deeply at peace. The scars on his body remained, but the darkness in his eyes was entirely gone.

He walked up behind me as I set a tray of fresh lemonade on the garden table.

Alessandro wrapped his broad arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin gently on my shoulder, pulling me back against his chest.

"You're leaning on me, Don Moretti," I teased softly, turning my head to kiss his cheek.

"I will lean on you for the rest of my life, Nora," he murmured, his voice warm against my skin.

Over the past four months, Alessandro had dismantled every toxic element of his old life. He had liquidated his gray-market investments, transitioning the Moretti enterprise into a legitimate global logistics and real estate firm. The city no longer feared his name; they respected his leadership.

"The doctor at Chicago General gave me your updated nerve conduction results this morning," I said, turning in his arms to face him.

Alessandro smirked, steepling his eyebrows. "And?"

"Full recovery," I smiled, tears of happiness bubbling in my eyes. "You're completely cured, Alessandro."

Alessandro didn't answer with words. He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined mahogany box.

My heart skipped a beat.

He dropped down onto one knee on the lush green grass, holding the box up to me. Inside rested a breathtaking ring—a vintage rose-gold band set with a flawless three-carat canary yellow diamond.

"Nora Vance," Alessandro said, his deep voice carrying across the quiet lawn. "Four months ago, I was a dying man trapped in a dark room. You and your daughter walked into my life with a broken butter cookie and gave me a reason to fight. You saved my life, healed my soul, and showed me what a real family looks like."

He looked up into my eyes with complete, unreserved devotion.

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you let me love you, protect you, and be a father to Emma for as long as I live?"

I didn't hesitate for a single second. Tears spilled over my cheeks as I threw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss that made the entire lawn erupt into cheering and applause.

"Yes!" I sobbed happily against his lips. "Yes, Alessandro! A thousand times yes!"

Emma came running across the lawn, dropping her toy rabbit as she threw her tiny arms around both of our legs.

"Are we getting married?!" Emma cheered, jumping up and down.