I'M HIS ALONE

CHAPTER 18

THE FAMILY

Meeting the extended Romano family was inevitable, and Bella had been dreading it.

Dante's immediate family—Sofia and Marco—she had grown comfortable with. Sofia was becoming a genuine friend, and Marco, despite his gruff exterior and obvious suspicion of her, had thawed slightly after witnessing how happy she made his brother.

But the wider family was a different story. The Romano clan was large, loud, and deeply entrenched in the family business. There were cousins who ran various enterprises, uncles who had served under Dante's father, aunts who knew every secret and scandal going back three generations. And then there was Nonna Rosa.

Dante's grandmother was a tiny woman with iron-gray hair, sharp black eyes, and a presence that commanded respect from everyone in the room—including Dante himself. She had ruled the Romano family alongside her late husband, and even in her late sixties, she was still the moral compass that everyone turned to in times of crisis.

"She's coming for Sunday dinner," Dante announced one evening, his voice carefully neutral. "And she wants to meet you."

Bella felt her stomach drop. "Should I be worried?"

"Nonna is... particular. She has strong opinions about who belongs in this family. But Bella—" He took her hands, his eyes serious. "If she approves of you, no one else will dare question your place here. And if she doesn't..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Well, I'll deal with that if it happens."

"Dante, what if she hates me?"

"She won't hate you." He kissed her knuckles. "She might test you. She might interrogate you. She might feed you until you burst and then criticize your table manners. But she won't hate you. It's not in her nature."

Sunday dinner was a formal affair, held in the estate's grand dining room with enough food to feed an army. The table was laden with antipasti, pasta, roasted meats, and enough wine to float a boat. Various family members filled the chairs, their conversations a loud, overlapping mixture of English and Italian that made Bella's head spin.

Nonna Rosa sat at the head of the table, opposite Dante, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She watched Bella throughout the meal, assessing, cataloguing, judging. By the time the main course was served, Bella was a nervous wreck, her appetite gone, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for her water glass.

"So," Nonna said, her voice carrying the faint accent of the old country. "You are the girl my grandson stole."

The table went silent. All eyes turned to Bella.

"Nonna—" Dante started, but the old woman held up a hand.

"I asked her, Dante. Not you." Her eyes, so like Dante's in their intensity, fixed on Bella. "Well, girl? Are you?"

Bella swallowed hard. "Yes, Nonna. I am."

"And do you love him?"

The question was direct, unadorned, and utterly disarming. Bella felt her face flush as every Romano in the room leaned in to hear her answer.

"I... I'm not sure I'm ready to—"

"That wasn't the question." Nonna's voice was gentle but firm. "I didn't ask if you were ready. I asked if you love him. It's a simple question, Isabella. Yes or no."

Bella looked at Dante, at the hope and fear warring in his eyes, and told the truth.

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper, but it rang through the silent room like a bell. "Yes, I love him."

Dante's face transformed, his eyes lighting up with a joy so profound it made Bella's heart ache. Nonna Rosa watched the exchange with a small, knowing smile.

"Good," the old woman said. "Then you may call me Nonna. And you may help me in the kitchen with the tiramisu."

Bella blinked. "That's... that's it?"

"What more do you want? A parade?" Nonna stood, shuffling toward the kitchen. "Come, come. I want to know your intentions toward my grandson. And whether you can cook. A woman who can't cook is only half a woman, in my opinion."

Bella looked at Dante, who was grinning like a fool, and then at Sofia, who gave her a thumbs-up. Then she followed Nonna Rosa into the kitchen, feeling like she had just passed some ancient, unspoken test.

The tiramisu lesson turned into a three-hour conversation that covered everything from Bella's childhood to her academic ambitions to her feelings about the family business. Nonna was blunt, opinionated, and surprisingly wise, offering advice that ranged from practical ("Never let Dante leave the house without a good breakfast") to profound ("Love is not about finding the perfect person. It's about finding the person whose imperfections fit perfectly with yours").

By the time Bella emerged from the kitchen, carrying a perfect tiramisu and wearing Nonna's borrowed apron, she felt like she had gained something priceless—a grandmother's approval, a family's acceptance, and a sense of belonging she hadn't realized she was missing.

Dante met her in the hallway, pulling her into his arms with a fierce tenderness.

"You told her you loved me," he whispered against her hair.

"I told everyone I loved you."

"Do you mean it?"

Bella looked up at him, at this complicated, dangerous, devastatingly loving man who had turned her world upside down, and knew that she did.

"I mean it, Dante. I love you. All of you. The darkness and the light. The monster and the man." She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. "I love you."

Dante's kiss was a benediction, a promise, a vow spoken without words. And as the sounds of the family celebration drifted around them, Bella realized that she had finally, truly, come home.

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