“Does this mean you’re my papa now?” Elena asked, looking up at me with those wide, dark eyes.
I nodded.
“If you want me to be.”
She thought about it for a moment.
Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, “I do.”
I closed my eyes and held her close.
That evening, we had a small celebration at the estate.
Carlo brought champagne. The cook made Elena’s favorite cake. The Doberman puppies — now three months old — tumbled around the garden while Elena chased them, laughing.
Sofia stood beside me on the terrace, watching her daughter with a soft smile.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“For giving her a childhood. A real one.”
I slipped my arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“She’s my daughter now,” I said. “I’d do anything for her.”
Sofia looked up at me, and something shifted in her expression.
“And what about me?” she asked softly.
I turned to face her fully.
“What do you mean?”
“What am I to you, Lorenzo?”
Her voice was barely a whisper, but the question hung between us like a thunderclap.
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her.
She froze for half a second.
Then she melted into me, her hands clutching my shirt, her breath warm against my lips.
When we finally pulled apart, she was crying.
“I’ve wanted that for so long,” she whispered.
“So have I.”
She laughed, a sound caught somewhere between joy and disbelief.
“I thought you saw me as a responsibility. Someone you had to protect.”
“You are someone I have to protect,” I said. “But you’re also the woman I’ve been looking for since the night you saved my life.”
