The next morning, a soft knock woke me.

"Signorina, breakfast is ready," a maid called through the door.

I stared at the ceiling for a second, letting last night hit me all over again.

I was engaged. And in a month, I'd be married to Dante Falcone.

After freshening up, I made my way to the dining room.

Dante was already there, papers spread in front of him.

"Morning," he said, standing to pull out my chair.

"Morning." I sat, eyeing the fancy breakfast. "You're up early."

"Old habit." He slid a document toward me. "Property agreement. All your assets stay yours—I won't touch a cent."

I flipped through it. Way more generous than I expected.

It basically gave me full freedom.

"Also," Dante said, "I arranged a memorial Mass for your mother this afternoon. I know you were young when she passed."

I looked up, caught off guard.

That loss was buried deep—and he remembered.

"Thank you," I said, voice catching.

"We're getting married," he said softly. "It's the least I could do."

I set the document down and really looked at him.

In the morning light, his face was clearer. The faint lines around his eyes said everything—years of quiet endurance.

"Dante, I need you to trust me," I said. "I know a way to help you."

He set his coffee down, watching me—waiting.

"Your leg... I know a biotech company—NeuroGen Biotech. They're testing experimental nerve repair treatments." I met his eyes. "My family's a secret investor."

He didn't flinch, but his grip on the cup tightened.

"That injury caused nerve damage," he said quietly. "Doctors said it's permanent."

"Maybe they're wrong." I held his gaze. "Just give me a shot."

He went silent for a moment. Then nodded.

"If you believe there's a chance—I'll try."

***

The next day, we headed to a private clinic partnered with NeuroGen Biotech for Dante's first check-up.

But as we walked in, we ran right into trouble.

Marco and Lola were stepping out of a prenatal exam room.

"Well, well," Marco smirked. "Just got engaged and already hitting up doctors?"

Dante's face darkened, but he stayed silent.

Marco raised his voice. "Let me guess—you're here to patch up my crippled brother? Or maybe to check on my future sister-in-law's—"

He paused, eyes sweeping over me like poison.

"Marco, stai zitto!" Dante's voice dropped low, cold as hell.

"Why should I?" Marco stepped closer. "Just being a thoughtful relative. Gotta make sure my future sister-in-law's still... functional. She is secondhand now, after all."

Lola grabbed his arm, fake-scolding, "Marco, don't say that."

But her eyes were scanning—sharp, twitchy—until they landed on a container in a nurse's hands.

It was the one I'd just picked up. The experimental drug.

"What's that?" Lola pointed, voice suddenly all interest. "Looks pricey."

"It's a nerve regeneration compound," the nurse said. "Came from an outside lab. Extremely rare."

Lola's eyes sparkled.

She turned to Marco, all fake concern. "Marco, the doctor said the baby's unstable. I need extra nutrients."

She pointed at the vial, voice dripping sugar. "They said nerve repair drugs help fetal development. I want that one."

Marco didn't even blink. He stepped toward the nurse. "Give it to her."

"Sir, that belongs to Signorina De Luca—"

"I don't care!" Marco barked, spinning toward me. "Hand it over! My son matters more than some broken woman!"

He reached for the container.

But a hand locked around his wrist—hard.

Dante was behind him. Voice ice-cold.

"In a few weeks, she'll be my wife. What's hers belongs to the Family. Marco Falcone, are you stealing from the Family?"