When my Mafia ex-husband saw the three identical gray-green eyes staring back at him across the ballroom, the most feared man in Manhattan finally started to shake.

By midnight, the estate had settled into a heavy, watchful quiet.

The boys had eaten their chocolate chip pancakes, explored the vast playrooms in the west wing, and were finally tucked into three custom twin beds arranged side-by-side in the master guest suite.

I sat on the edge of Leo’s bed, smoothing his dark curls as his eyes drifted shut. Julian was already snoring softly, clutching his stuffed elephant, while Sam held my left index finger in his tiny fist.

The bedroom door creaked open silently.

Gabriel stepped inside. He had changed out of his tuxedo into a soft charcoal sweater and dark trousers. He looked younger without his armor, but the exhaustion on his face was profound.

He walked quietly across the thick carpet, dropping to his knees beside Leo’s bed. He looked down at his three sons, his breath hitching slightly.

"They sleep like you," Gabriel whispered, pointing to the way Julian had his cheek pressed flat against the pillow. "You used to do that when you were stressed."

"They got your stubbornness," I murmured back. "And your eyes. Every time they looked at me with those gray-green eyes, Gabriel, I saw you."

Gabriel reached out, his thick, scarred thumb lightly hovering over Sam’s small cheek, not quite touching, as if afraid the child would shatter if he used his full strength.

"I missed their first steps," Gabriel whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I missed their first words. I missed their first birthdays."

"You couldn't have known, Gabriel," I said softly.

"I should have looked harder," he said, turning his head to look up at me. "After I drove Moretti out of New York three years ago, I should have come looking for you. But I thought... I thought you hated me. I thought you were living a peaceful life without the blood of my world on your hands."

"I was peaceful," I admitted honestly. "It was hard, raising three boys alone on a small editor's salary, but we were happy."

"You won't have to work another day in your life, Claire," Gabriel declared firmly. "Everything I own—the docks, the real estate, the trusts—it's all theirs. And yours."

"I don't want your money, Gabriel," I said, gently pulling my hand from Sam's grip as he finally fell into deep sleep. "I just want them to be safe. Is Moretti really gone?"

Gabriel’s expression darkened instantly. He stood up, gesturing toward the doorway. "Let's talk in the hall."

We stepped out into the softly lit corridor, leaving the door cracked so we could hear the boys.

"Dante Moretti was pushed back to Chicago three years ago," Gabriel explained, leaning against the wooden railing of the balcony. "But he never stopped watching New York. His organization is weak, dying. If he finds out I have three young heirs, he will see them as the ultimate leverage."

"Then we have to leave," I said, panic rising in my throat. "I'll take them back to the cottage, or out of the country—"

"No," Gabriel interrupted sharply, gripping my shoulders. "You run, and you become prey. In this house, behind these walls, with forty of my best men on the perimeter, you are invincible. You stay here, Claire. With me."

I looked into his eyes, seeing the desperate plea beneath his authoritative tone. He wasn't just trying to keep his sons safe; he was terrified of losing me again.

"Gabriel... we haven't been husband and wife for five years," I whispered. "You divorced me. You broke my heart."

"I broke my own heart to keep yours beating," Gabriel said, his voice raw with passion. He reached up, cupping my face in both of his broad hands. "Every night for five years, Claire, I slept in that empty master bedroom, staring at the ceiling, hating myself for sending you away. I kept your rose garden alive. I left your studio exactly as you left it. I never stopped loving you. Not for a single second."

His words hit me like a physical force, melting the cold wall I had built around my heart over five lonely years.

"Gabriel..." I breathed.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against mine. "Give me a chance to earn back your trust, Claire. Not as the boss of Manhattan, but as the father of your sons. And the man who loves you."

Before I could answer, a loud, sharp phone ring echoed from Gabriel’s pocket.

He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone, clicking the speaker button. "Speak."