I Bathed the Mafia Boss’s Killer Pit Bull in a Basement Sink and Never Expected Him to Tell Me I Was His

Six months later, spring had arrived at the Caruso estate.

The cherry blossoms surrounding the stone main house were in full bloom, dropping pink petals across the green lawns stretching down to the blue waters of the Chesapeake Bay.

The new Whitaker-Caruso Animal Rehabilitation Center sat on the eastern edge of the property—a state-of-the-art facility featuring bright surgical suites, hydrotherapy pools, and spacious outdoor runs for rescued animals.

Marcus was thriving in his freshman year at Johns Hopkins University, studying veterinary medicine himself, inspired by the journey we had walked together.

It was a warm Saturday evening. The sun was setting over the harbor, painting the sky in brilliant hues of gold, violet, and crimson.

I stood on the private balcony of the main house master suite, wearing a flowing white silk dress, holding a glass of iced tea, watching the sea gulls soar over the waves.

Titan lay on the warm stone floor beside my feet, snoring softly in the evening sun, completely at peace.

Hands wrapped around my waist from behind.

Dante pulled me back against his broad chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of my hair. He was wearing an open-collared black shirt, relaxed and completely stripped of the heavy burdens he had carried for years.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against my skin, his hands folding gently over my stomach.

I turned in his arms, wrapping my hands around his neck, looking up into his golden-brown eyes—eyes that were no longer cold granite, but filled with a deep, endless warmth.

"I was thinking about the night in the laundry room," I smiled, tracing the line of his jaw with my thumb. "When you closed that heavy door and told me I belonged to you."

Dante let out a low, husky laugh, leaning down to press his lips against mine in a lingering, tender kiss.

"I was wrong that night, Rosalie," Dante whispered, pulling back slightly, his hand reaching into his pocket.

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a breathtaking ring—a flawless, emerald-cut canary diamond set in a band of paved white platinum that caught the dying sunlight like fire.

He took my left hand, holding it gently, looking into my eyes with a raw, fierce vulnerability that made my heart leap.

"You don't belong to me, Rosalie Whitaker," Dante said softly, his voice trembling with deep emotion. "I belong to you. My heart, my life, my empire... it is all yours. Will you marry me?"

I looked at the ring, then up at the man who had protected my brother, restored my dignity, and loved me with a fierce, unyielding devotion that had transformed my entire world.

"Yes, Dante," I whispered, tears of joy streaming down my cheeks. "Yes, a thousand times yes."

Dante slid the ring onto my finger, pulling me into a fierce, passionate embrace as his lips met mine under the golden sunset.

Titan woke up, trotted over, and leaned his massive head against our joined legs, letting out a soft, happy huff of air.

I looked out over the sparkling waters of the harbor, holding the man I loved, with the dog that had brought us together by my side.