Chapter Seven: Building A Home

The south wing of the Vieira estate was a revelation.

While the rest of the house was all modern minimalism and cold marble, this section had been preserved from an earlier era. Crown molding. Original hardwood floors. A massive fireplace in what would become their bedroom.

“My grandmother’s wing,” Elio explained as they walked through dusty rooms. “She died when I was twelve. My father kept it closed after that. Said it was too painful to go in.”

Geneva could see why.

There was warmth here that the rest of the house lacked. Evidence of a woman who’d made this place a home rather than just a showpiece.

“Tell me about her.”

She ran her fingers over the carved mantelpiece.

“She was the only soft thing in my father’s life. The only person who could make him smile.” Elio’s voice was quiet. “When she died, he became harder. Colder. Turned me into what he thought a Vieira heir should be.”

“What would she think of me?”

His hand found hers. Warm and solid.

“She’d love you. She always said I needed someone strong enough to stand up to me. Soft enough to remind me I was human.”

“I’m not sure I’m all that soft.”

“You’re soft where it matters.” His free hand pressed over her heart. “In here.”

Over the next several weeks, they transformed the south wing.

Contractors worked around the clock. Carefully preserving the original character while adding modern amenities.

Geneva chose furniture and artwork. Elio handled security upgrades and technology.

They argued about paint colors. Compromised on window treatments.

Made love on dusty drop cloths while workers were at lunch.

It was domestic and normal and utterly foreign to both of them.

And she loved every minute of it.

“The bed arrives tomorrow,” Elio said one evening as they sat in what would become their bedroom. Drinking wine directly from the bottle like teenagers.

“About time.” She leaned against him. Pleasantly buzzed and completely content. “I’m tired of the guest room.”

“I could always carry you to my old room.”

“Too far away.”

She straddled his lap. Felt him harden immediately beneath her.

“Besides, I like it here. It feels like ours.”

“Everything I have is ours now.” He murmured against her neck. “The estate. The businesses. The empire. All of it.”

She pulled back to look at him.

“I don’t want your empire, Elio.”

“I know.” His hands spanned her waist. “That’s why I’m giving it to you anyway. When we have children, they’ll inherit everything. But if something happens to me before then—it all goes to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“You don’t know that.” His expression turned serious. “This life—it’s dangerous. There will always be someone trying to take what’s ours. I need to know that if I fall, you’ll be protected. Powerful enough that no one would dare touch you.”

The thought of losing him made her chest tighten painfully.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m being practical.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My lawyer is drawing up new documents. Everything in my name becomes joint ownership. You’ll have access to all accounts. All properties. All business interests.”

“Elio—”

“Non-negotiable.” He finished. “You’re my wife, Geneva. My partner. It’s time you had the power to match the position.”

She didn’t know what to say.

In the mafia world, wives were protected but powerless.

The fact that Elio was willing to give her actual control—actual access—was unprecedented.

“Thank you,” she whispered finally.

“Don’t thank me for what should have been yours from the beginning.” He kissed her softly.

---

Four months after the Santoro war, Geneva woke up with her head in the toilet.

Again.

“Geneva?” Elio’s voice came from the bedroom. Concerned. “That’s the third morning this week.”

She rinsed her mouth. Splashed cold water on her face. Stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Pale skin. Dark circles under her eyes.

And a suspicion that had been growing for the past week.

When had her last period been?

“Just something I ate.”

Elio appeared in the doorway. Already dressed for the day in charcoal slacks and a white shirt. Sleeves rolled to reveal his forearms.

“You said that yesterday.”

“And it’s still true.”

He studied her with those perceptive gray eyes.

“You’re a terrible liar, amore mio.”

The endearment—which he’d started using regularly over the past weeks—made her heart squeeze.

They’d been so happy lately. Settling into their new life together.

The south wing was finally finished. Their private sanctuary within the larger estate.

They took meals together. Fell asleep tangled in each other. Woke to slow morning kisses.

She didn’t want anything to disrupt that fragile happiness.

Especially not when she wasn’t sure yet.

“I have a meeting with the charity board this afternoon,” she said, changing the subject. “The fundraiser next month—”

“Geneva.”

He crossed to her, tilting her chin up.

“What’s wrong?”

And because she’d promised him honesty—always honesty—she said it.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Elio’s face went completely blank. His body going very still.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Her heart sank.

This was too much. Too soon. They’d only been truly together for a few months.

Were still learning each other. Still building.

“Pregnant.” He repeated softly. His hand moved from her chin to her stomach. Pressing gently against the flat plane. “Our baby.”

“Maybe.” She cautioned. “I haven’t taken a test yet. I could just be sick.”

“Take one.” His voice was rough. “Now.”

“Elio, please—”

“Geneva. I need to know.”

There was something in his expression. A vulnerability she’d rarely seen.

She nodded.

“Okay.”

Bruno was dispatched to acquire several different pregnancy tests.

He returned within an hour. His face carefully neutral as he handed the discreet bag to Geneva.

She locked herself in the bathroom while Elio paced the bedroom.

Three tests. All different brands.

She lined them up on the counter and waited the requisite time.

Her heart hammering against her ribs.

Three tests.

Three positive results.

She opened the door to find Elio frozen mid-pace.

Their eyes met.

She nodded once.

“I’m pregnant.”

He was across the room in two strides. Lifting her off her feet and spinning her in a circle.

His laugh was pure joy. Uninhibited in a way she’d never heard before.

“We’re having a baby.” He set her down gently. Reverently. “Cristo, Geneva—we’re going to be parents.”

Relief flooded through her.

“You’re happy?”

“Happy?” He cupped her face, his eyes bright. “I’m terrified and ecstatic and completely unprepared. But yes, amore mio. I’m happy.”

They told no one else at first.

Keeping the news to themselves for the first precious weeks. But Elio knew he had to inform Bruno—for security reasons. He called his right hand that same evening.

“The security around Geneva doubles immediately,” Elio said. “No one outside this room knows why. Understood?”

Bruno’s eyes widened briefly, then he nodded. “Understood, boss. Congratulations.”

Elio became impossibly protective after that. Hovering whenever she so much as stood up too quickly.

Security doubled. Then tripled.

Her diet was scrutinized by a nutritionist he hired.

Dr. Cesare, the family physician, began making house calls weekly.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” she told him one evening as he insisted she elevate her feet.

“I’m keeping you safe.” He countered. “Both of you.”

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