Chapter 2 - The Oath in the PenthouseArthur, the elderly butler, pushed the nursery door open half an inch, carrying a silver tray with warm milk. The light from the hallway spilled across the room, illuminating Dante kneeling beside me on the rug with both of his daughters sleeping peacefully in our lap.
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw sagging open in utter, disbelieving shock. He had seen twenty elite pediatric specialists and nanny agencies fail to quiet the twins for even five minutes over thirty-six months.
"Mr. Moretti...?" Arthur gasped in a soft, trembling whisper.
"Clear the hallway, Arthur," Dante commanded softly, his tone flat, calm, and absolute. "Cancel my morning meetings with the council. And bring Leo up to my private study immediately."
"Yes, Don Dante," Arthur replied, bowing his head reverently before quietly closing the heavy mahogany door.
Dante reached out his broad, calloused hand, gently, reverently laying his palm over the twins' backs as they slept against my chest. His storm-gray eyes raised to meet mine, holding a fierce, protective warmth that made my breath hitch.
"What is your name?" Dante asked softly.
"Elena... Elena Vance," I answered, holding his daughters securely against my heart.
Dante looked at my face—taking in my hazel eyes, my dark hair, and the striking resemblance I bore to his late wife’s family structure.
"Your brother's debt to the Kowalski syndicate," Dante spoke, his voice dropping into a low, velvet baritone. "How much is it?"
"Forty thousand dollars," I whispered, lowering my eyes in shame. "They threatened to break his legs on Friday."
Dante stood up fluidly, reaching down his broad hand to help me stand up while holding the sleeping twins.
"Your brother's debt is paid as of tonight, Elena," Dante declared, every word dropped into the quiet room like a heavy block of cold iron. "And the Kowalski syndicate will never speak his name again."
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He stepped closer, his broad frame shielding us from the cold rain outside the glass.
"Starting tonight... you stay in the penthouse," Dante promised, his gray eyes burning with an unshakeable, sovereign intensity. "You are not a servant in this house, Elena. You are family."
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