Chapter 13
Serena's POV
One year.
One year married to Dante Valenti, and I'd become someone I barely recognized — not because I'd changed, but because I'd finally become who I always was.
Confident. Capable. Loved.
The casino operations had tripled under my management. My father's European network expanded with every deal I closed. And through it all, Dante was beside me — not in front, not behind. Beside.
Partners. Equals. In every sense.
...
Our anniversary dinner was at a small restaurant overlooking the Tiber River. No guards at the door — just Dante and me, a bottle of wine, and the Roman skyline stretching golden in the evening light.
"A year," I said, twirling the wine in my glass. "Did you think we'd make it here?"
"I knew from the beginning," Dante said. No hesitation.
"Liar. I was a mess when I called you. Angry, impulsive—"
"Beautiful. Fierce. Decisive." He leaned forward. "You called me at your lowest — and you still sounded like a queen."
I laughed, heat rising to my cheeks. After a year, he still did that to me — still made me flush like a teenager.
"I have something for you," he said, pulling a small box from his jacket.
I opened it. Inside was a key — old, ornate, brass.
"What's this?"
"My mother's house," he said. "I signed it over to you this morning."
I stared at him. "Dante — that's yours. Your memories—"
"They're ours now." He covered my hand with his. "I want us to build new memories there. Together."
My throat tightened. That house — the one he'd never taken anyone to. The one filled with photos of his mother, with the ghosts of his childhood. He was giving it to me.
"Are you sure?" I whispered.
"I've never been more sure of anything." He paused. "Except maybe one other thing."
"What?"
He reached into his jacket again. This time, he pulled out a black-and-white photograph.
An ultrasound.
My heart stopped.
"I found this in your desk this morning," he said softly. "You left it next to the projections for next quarter."
I blinked. I'd been waiting for the right moment to tell him — planned something elaborate. And instead, he'd found it by accident between spreadsheets and quarterly reports.
"Surprise?" I offered weakly.
Dante stood from his chair, rounded the table, and pulled me to my feet. His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize had fallen.
"A baby," he breathed. "Our baby."
"Our baby," I confirmed.
He kissed me — deep, consuming, trembling with something I'd never felt from him before.
Joy. Pure, terrified, overwhelming joy.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. "Thank you," he whispered. "For choosing me. For choosing this life."
I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest.
One year ago, I was a woman burned by betrayal, choosing survival over love.
Now I was building a family with a man who'd never once made me question my worth.
"I'd choose you again," I said into his shirt. "Every time. In every version of this story."
His arms tightened around me. "Every time," he echoed.
And in that quiet restaurant overlooking the river, with the city glowing around us and a new life beginning between us — I knew with absolute certainty that the best decision I ever made wasn't leaving Dominic.
It was choosing myself.
And in choosing myself, I found everything.
One year.
One year married to Dante Valenti, and I'd become someone I barely recognized — not because I'd changed, but because I'd finally become who I always was.
Confident. Capable. Loved.
The casino operations had tripled under my management. My father's European network expanded with every deal I closed. And through it all, Dante was beside me — not in front, not behind. Beside.
Partners. Equals. In every sense.
...
Our anniversary dinner was at a small restaurant overlooking the Tiber River. No guards at the door — just Dante and me, a bottle of wine, and the Roman skyline stretching golden in the evening light.
"A year," I said, twirling the wine in my glass. "Did you think we'd make it here?"
"I knew from the beginning," Dante said. No hesitation.
"Liar. I was a mess when I called you. Angry, impulsive—"
"Beautiful. Fierce. Decisive." He leaned forward. "You called me at your lowest — and you still sounded like a queen."
I laughed, heat rising to my cheeks. After a year, he still did that to me — still made me flush like a teenager.
"I have something for you," he said, pulling a small box from his jacket.
I opened it. Inside was a key — old, ornate, brass.
"What's this?"
"My mother's house," he said. "I signed it over to you this morning."
I stared at him. "Dante — that's yours. Your memories—"
"They're ours now." He covered my hand with his. "I want us to build new memories there. Together."
My throat tightened. That house — the one he'd never taken anyone to. The one filled with photos of his mother, with the ghosts of his childhood. He was giving it to me.
"Are you sure?" I whispered.
"I've never been more sure of anything." He paused. "Except maybe one other thing."
"What?"
He reached into his jacket again. This time, he pulled out a black-and-white photograph.
An ultrasound.
My heart stopped.
"I found this in your desk this morning," he said softly. "You left it next to the projections for next quarter."
I blinked. I'd been waiting for the right moment to tell him — planned something elaborate. And instead, he'd found it by accident between spreadsheets and quarterly reports.
"Surprise?" I offered weakly.
Dante stood from his chair, rounded the table, and pulled me to my feet. His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize had fallen.
"A baby," he breathed. "Our baby."
"Our baby," I confirmed.
He kissed me — deep, consuming, trembling with something I'd never felt from him before.
Joy. Pure, terrified, overwhelming joy.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. "Thank you," he whispered. "For choosing me. For choosing this life."
I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest.
One year ago, I was a woman burned by betrayal, choosing survival over love.
Now I was building a family with a man who'd never once made me question my worth.
"I'd choose you again," I said into his shirt. "Every time. In every version of this story."
His arms tightened around me. "Every time," he echoed.
And in that quiet restaurant overlooking the river, with the city glowing around us and a new life beginning between us — I knew with absolute certainty that the best decision I ever made wasn't leaving Dominic.
It was choosing myself.
And in choosing myself, I found everything.