When the maid brought the napkin and pen, the dining room was quiet except for Livia’s broken sobs.

I did not move toward her right away.

Dante was still holding her. Her shoulders shook as she cried, but her fingers stayed locked around the white rabbit toy in her arms. Its ribbon had been twisted out of shape, and a tiny pearl clip was pinned to one ear.

I crouched down until my eyes were level with hers.

“What’s its name?”

Livia looked at me through tears.

I nodded toward the rabbit. “I mean her.”

She pulled the toy closer to her chest and whispered, “Pearl.”

“Miss Pearl.” I nodded. “That’s a beautiful name.”

A faint snort came from the staircase landing.

I did not turn around.

Livia stared at me with the wary look of a cornered animal. “Do you want Daddy to like you too?”

One of the maids lowered her head. Enzo’s expression shifted slightly.

Dante’s arm tightened around her, but he did not interrupt.

I set the spoon beside the bowl and pulled the napkin toward me.

“Tonight, I only want you to eat dinner,” I said. “Whether your father likes me is not my job.”

Livia’s crying paused.

The two boys on the stairs went quiet too.

I drew three small boxes on the napkin, then placed the pen beside it.

“Three bites,” I said. “After each bite, you mark one box. When all three boxes are full, I leave the table and you decide whether I may come back tomorrow.”

Livia looked at the napkin. “I decide?”

“For dinner, yes.”

She sniffed and glanced at Dante, then back at me. “What if I say no?”

“Then I won’t bother you at breakfast.”

The answer seemed to surprise her. She looked down at Pearl as if asking the rabbit for advice.

At last, she whispered, “One bite.”

Dante set her back in the high chair.

I scooped up a small spoonful of soup, blew on it until it cooled, and held it near her lips without touching her. Livia hesitated for a few seconds before opening her mouth.

From the stairs, Nico whispered, “She actually ate.”

Matteo said nothing, but his grip on the banister loosened.

Livia swallowed, took the pen, and marked the first box with a crooked line.

“That counts,” she said.

“It does.”

The second bite took less time. After she marked the second box, she held Pearl closer and studied me again.

“You won’t touch my hair?”

“Not unless you ask me to.”

The third bite went in on her own terms. She leaned forward slightly, swallowed, and drew a hard line through the last box.

No one in the dining room spoke.

“All done,” I said. “Three bites.”

Livia held the rabbit and looked at me. “Will you leave tonight?”

I did not give her a beautiful promise I could not keep. Before that evening, I had not even known which way the Bellandi gates opened. I had no idea whether I would still be here tomorrow.

So I only said, “Not tonight.”

Livia watched me for a long time. Then she pushed the napkin toward me and said softly, “You can come back tomorrow.”

Dante watched me, and something finally shifted in his gray eyes.

He did not praise me. He only turned to the maid. “Heat another bowl of soup.”

The maid answered at once.

Enzo stepped forward. “Don, I’ll have a guest room prepared.”

“Second floor,” Dante said.

Enzo glanced up.

Dante’s tone did not change. “The room beside the nursery.”

Enzo lowered his head again. “Understood.”

When I stood, my knees were slightly numb from crouching too long. Before I could reach for my bag, the two boys had already come down from the stairs.

Matteo reached me first. He handed me a broken music box with a ballerina on the lid, one of her arms missing.

“Livia listens to this before bed,” he said. “It’s broken.”

I took it from him. “I can try.”

Nico moved more slowly. As he passed me with his blanket in his arms, he muttered, “She doesn’t like milk too hot. And she doesn’t like strangers touching her hair.”

Then he seemed to regret saying so much and ran back upstairs.

Livia was still sitting in the high chair, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes stayed on the music box in my hand.

Dante came to stand beside me, his gaze falling on the old music box.

“You handle children’s fear well.”

“I just didn’t rush to touch her,” I said.

He looked at me again, more carefully this time.

“Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. My study.”

I thought he meant a formal employment contract.

The next morning, when I opened the study door, I found two documents waiting on the long table.

One was an employment agreement.

The other was a marriage contract.

At eight the next morning, Enzo opened the study door for me.

Dante sat behind a long table in a black suit, the two documents from last night waiting in front of him.

I stopped at the edge of the table. “I thought I was here to take care of the children.”

“You passed last night’s interview.” Dante pushed the papers toward me. “Now I need to give them someone who can stay.”

He spoke with the calm of a man discussing terms, not feelings.

“The Bellandi family has enemies watching my children. A regular nanny can’t enter the security system, sign medical authorizations, or represent them at school and family events. Livia has seen too many people leave. She needs a mother written into the law.”

I sat down.

“You want me to marry you.”

“On paper.”

“Where would I live?”

“Second floor. The room you used last night. Mine is on the third.”

“How far do my duties go?”

“Care for the three children. Help them adjust to a normal life. Attend family events as Mrs. Bellandi when necessary.”

“And marital obligations?”

Dante turned the contract to one page and tapped a line with his finger.

“There is no such clause.”

I read it twice before asking, “What about money?”

“A personal operating account will be opened under your name. Household expenses come from the family account. Anything transferred to your private account stays yours.”

“Even if we divorce?”

“Even then.”

I looked at the contract. “I’ve signed an agreement before. In the end, I walked away with twenty-six dollars.”

Dante turned to the lawyer. “Add a clause. All funds transferred to Evelyn Ward’s personal account during the marriage remain her separate property. The Bellandi family may not reclaim them after divorce, separation, or termination of this agreement.”

The lawyer began revising at once.

Dante looked back at me. “Caring for children is labor. The Bellandi family does not take labor for free.”

“The Crane family never called it labor.”

“Then they were poorer than they looked.”

For a moment, I thought of the Crane house, where cooking, cleaning, laundry, and childcare had all become my duty once the nanny was dismissed. On the day of the divorce, they said I had lived off them for three years.

I pressed my fingers around the pen.

“One more thing. If the children don’t need me someday, can I leave?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t stop me?”

“I’ll compensate you according to the agreement and make sure you’re protected.”

He did not rush me.

The contract was dangerous, but its terms were clear. It gave me conditions, boundaries, and a way out.

At last, I signed.

Dante signed beside my name.

After the lawyer collected the papers, Dante opened a black velvet box. Inside lay an obsidian-and-gold brooch with the Bellandi crest at its center.

“Wear it,” he said. “The household will know to listen to you.”

I picked it up. “What happens if I lose it?”

Dante glanced at Enzo.

Enzo’s brows tightened at once.

“Enzo won’t sleep,” Dante said.

I almost laughed.

He pinned the brooch to my coat himself, his fingers brushing the fabric only briefly before he stepped back.

A small sound came from outside the door.

Dante lifted his eyes. “Come in.”

The door opened a crack. Livia peeked in with Pearl in her arms, while Matteo and Nico crowded behind her.

Livia stared at the crest on my chest. “Are you going to live here?”

“The agreement says I will stay.”

She did not understand the agreement, but she understood stay. She came in and stood beside me.

Matteo looked at Dante. “Can she enter the children’s wing?”

“Yes.”

Nico asked, “Can she tell the kitchen not to make the milk too hot?”

“Yes.”

Livia held Pearl tighter. “Can she be in charge of bedtime stories?”

Dante looked at me.

“That depends on how long the story is,” I said.

“Short,” Nico said at once.

Matteo glanced at him. “Yesterday’s book had twenty-six pages.”

That night, I moved into the room beside the children’s wing.

After my shower, while I was still drying my hair, a white rabbit toy appeared through the crack of my door.

Then came Livia’s small face.

“Does the agreement mention bedtime stories?”

“No.”

Her eyes dropped.

At the end of the corridor, Matteo held the broken music box, and Nico carried a thick storybook. Both boys pretended they had only been passing by.

I opened the door wider.

“But we can add a verbal clause.”

During my first week as Mrs. Bellandi, the second floor slowly became less quiet.

Every morning, Livia came to my door with Pearl in her arms. Sometimes she needed a hair clip. Sometimes she wanted to know whether there would be strawberries at breakfast. Every excuse eventually led to the same question.

“Are you staying here today too?”

Each time, I answered, “Yes.”

Only then would she go downstairs.

Matteo still did not talk much. When I worked on the broken music box, he sat nearby with a book and reminded me which screw not to touch. Nico complained that I read too slowly, yet every night he was the first to shove a storybook into my hands.

Dante usually left early and returned late. Sometimes, when I went downstairs after midnight to warm milk for Livia, I would find him at the end of the dining table with papers spread before him and men standing nearby with quiet reports. When he saw me, he only asked, “She’s awake again?”

I would nod, and he would have his men step aside.

On the seventh morning, I told Enzo I needed to go out.

The music box repair shop had called. The old ballerina could be fixed, but I had to bring the missing piece Matteo had found under Livia’s dresser. I also needed to stop by the pharmacy for my prescription.

Enzo arranged two cars and four guards. Before I could answer, Livia ran down the stairs with Pearl in her arms.

“You’re going out?”

“To repair your music box,” I said. “And to pick up medicine.”

Her fingers tightened around Pearl. “I’m going too.”

Matteo appeared with the missing ballerina arm wrapped in tissue. “I have the piece.”

Nico followed with his blanket. “If Livia cries, Matteo can’t handle it.”

Livia glared at him. “I won’t cry.”

In the end, all three children climbed into the car.

Enzo stood by the door, watching them fasten their seatbelts. “Miss Livia has not willingly left the gates since her mother disappeared.”

I looked into the car. Livia sat with Pearl in her lap, her eyes fixed on me. As long as I was there, she seemed able to endure everything beyond the window.

The repair shop was a narrow place in Little Italy, filled with clocks, brass keys, and glass cabinets of old mechanical toys. Livia stood on a stool at the counter while the owner opened the music box. Matteo leaned close, tracking each movement. Nico pretended not to care and kept asking whether there was a bakery nearby.

The owner fitted the tiny arm back onto the ballerina, wound the key, and set the box down.

Music trembled out.

Livia held her breath until the ballerina began to turn.

“She’s dancing again,” she whispered.

When I stepped into the pharmacy next door, the children followed. The pharmacist handed me the prescription and repeated the doctor’s instructions: regular meals, regular sleep, less stress.

Livia listened with a solemn face. Outside the shop, she removed the pearl clip from Pearl’s ear and fastened it to my coat.

“This is for you. It keeps bad things away.”

Nico took the paper bag from the pharmacy. “I’ll carry it.”

The bag was almost weightless.

Matteo glanced at him and chose not to expose him. Instead, he handed me a bottle of water. “The pharmacist said you need this.”

When we stepped outside, Dante was already waiting by the curb.

He stood beside his car with a black coat over one arm and two guards behind him. His gaze settled on the children walking calmly at my side and stayed there for a long moment.

“Enzo called,” he said. “He told me they all left the house.”

Livia held the repaired music box against her chest. “I didn’t cry.”

Dante lowered his eyes to her. “I can see that.”

Nico added, “She only crushed one candy in the car.”

Livia immediately tried to step on his shoe.

Dante looked from them to me, his voice lowering slightly. “Thank you.”

“They were good.”

His eyes moved to the small pharmacy bag in Nico’s hand, then to the crooked pearl clip on my coat. He said nothing more.

That night, Dante came to the second-floor sitting room with a set of keys.

“If you’re going to take them out again, you need a car that does not announce my name three blocks away.”

I looked down at the keys. “That sounds unusually practical for a Don.”

“You may be the first person in Chicago to accuse me of practicality.”

The next morning, an old dark-green Volvo was parked outside the garage.

It looked wildly out of place beside the line of black armored cars. Livia pressed herself against the window and announced that Pearl loved the color. Nico was already checking how much candy the trunk could hold, while Matteo inspected the child locks.

Dante stood on the steps, watching the children circle the car.

I walked over and said quietly, “Thank you.”

“The guards will follow when you take them out.”

“I know.”

“If anything happens, call me.”

I nodded and opened the car door.

Livia climbed in first. Matteo and Nico followed. As the door closed, Dante remained where he was, watching the three faces in the window.

Only then did I understand that he had given me more than a room in a guarded house.

He had placed the softest part of his life in my hands.