Black Rose in the Abyss Chapter 22

Time flew. In the blink of an eye, it was the spring of the second year after their marriage.

In the hospital corridor, even the smell of disinfectant seemed to carry a hint of sweetness.

Bianca looked down, repeatedly reading the report in her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly.

Dante stood beside her, his arm tightly around her shoulders. His gaze was also locked on those few lines of words, his breathing rapid.

"Is it really..." Bianca's voice choked with disbelief.

"Yes." Dante's voice was terribly hoarse. He pulled her deeper into his arms, lowering his head to kiss the top of her head. "Bianca, we're having a baby."

Bianca buried her face in his chest. Tears flowed silently, wetting his lapel.

It was something lost and found, a generous gift from fate in the end.

"This is a happy thing. Don't cry." Dante flusteredly wiped her tears, but the corners of his own eyes were moist too.

Several months later, the child was born. A healthy girl.

The day she was discharged, the sun was shining perfectly.

Roxy and Maria stood on either side, carefully pushing Bianca in the wheelchair, their faces beaming with joy.

Dante was "entrusted with a heavy responsibility" by Bianca—holding his daughter wrapped in a soft swaddle. Beside him stood Lorenzo, whose expression rarely carried a hint of awkwardness.

Two men who dominated their respective fields were now facing the soft, eyes-closed little creature in their arms as if facing a formidable enemy.

"Head... support the head!"

Dante stiffly adjusted his posture.

Lorenzo frowned, wanting to reach out to adjust the angle of the swaddle, but fearing his hand was too heavy. His fingertips rubbed against his lighter again and again.

The maternity nurse on the side shook her head watching them, laughing and crying as she stepped forward to guide them. "Oh my, Mr. Moretti, not like that! Put your hand here. Yes, relax. The baby is comfortable!"

"Mr. Valenti, don't just watch. Learn a bit. You might have to babysit your grandniece in the future!"

Under the nurse's command, the two big men learned clumsily but earnestly, making Roxy and Maria chuckle. Laughter echoed in the hospital corridor.

Bianca leaned back in the wheelchair, watching this chaotic yet incredibly heartwarming scene. Seeing Dante sweating profusely but with gentle eyes, a happy smile slowly bloomed on her lips.

The wind of Manhattan still blew; the neon lights of Brooklyn still flashed.

The past of blood and fire, misunderstanding and separation, was finally settled by time, brewed into the solid and warm future she now held tightly in her palm.

Epilogue

Bella Moretti first truly "saw" the world on a sunny afternoon.

It was late spring in New York. The air floated with the scent of tulips.

She lay in the crib in the master bedroom of the Central Park penthouse—a crib so soft one could sink into it—and slowly opened her eyes.

Her vision started as a blurry halo, then gradually cleared.

What came into view wasn't a cartoon mobile typical for infants, but a face with sharp angles.

Dante almost held his breath, watching his daughter's glass-like eyes—so similar to Bianca's—dart around until they fixed firmly on his face.

Then, ever so slightly, she curled her toothless mouth.

In that instant, Dante felt his heart slammed by something, turning into a complete mush of softness.

Tentatively, he used one finger to touch his daughter's hand very, very lightly.

The tiny fingers immediately curled up, wrapping around his fingertip.

The former Mafia Godfather was completely captured in this moment by a small, unconscious movement from his daughter.

Bella's growth trajectory was destined to have nothing to do with the word "ordinary."

Her stroller was sent by Great-Uncle Lorenzo from Chicago.

Handcrafted by the Valenti family's exclusive artisans, it was made of century-old black walnut and carved with complex, hidden family crests said to ward off evil.

When pushing her to the park to sunbathe, it always attracted side-eyes, people guessing which family's little princess this was.

When she learned to speak, the language environment she heard was complex.

Bianca would hold her, pointing at the New York map, teaching her in a gentle but certain voice: "This is Manhattan. This is Brooklyn. These are the places we conquered."

Between the lines lay the unspoken dominance of a queen.

Dante would sit aside while she played with blocks, explaining the simplest concepts of "balance" and "structure" in a voice only father and daughter could hear—metaphors for the balance of territory and power.

Although every time he tried to tell his daughter a bedtime story, it would unconsciously skew into "This dwarf team has a configuration problem, needs adjustment" or "The knight is holding that sword wrong."

Great-Uncle Lorenzo flew in from Chicago at least once a month.

When he came, he didn't talk much. He often just sat aside, leisurely playing with his lighter, watching Bella toddle around or play with the "toys" he brought—ordinary-looking but mechanically complex inside.

Occasionally, he would correct a subtle movement of Bella's.

Little Bella especially liked this cold and powerful Great-Uncle. Every time she saw him, she would babble and open her arms.

Auntie Roxy was Bella's "fanatic fan" and "chief playmate."

She wanted to pile the best things in the world in front of Bella, taking her to "inspect" the various companies under her name, calling it "getting familiar with the business from a young age."

The Sterling grandparents, on the other hand, were dedicated to guiding their granddaughter onto the path of the elite.

In Grandfather Sterling's study, a set of children's law books was prepared early for Bella.

When Grandmother Sterling held her to watch the news, she didn't talk about entertainment gossip, but the simplest international situations.

The gifts they brought Bella were often pre-admission letters to prestigious schools or intricate puzzle models, attempting to plant seeds of rationality and knowledge in her young mind.

Growing up in this environment, Bella showed promise by age three.

She could order in a childish voice at the Brooklyn deli: "Mrs. Baker, one Reuben sandwich, no pickles, extra cheese. My mommy likes it."

Turning around, she could point to the map in her grandfather's study and accurately say "Washington."

When she turned four, the gifts she received for her birthday piled up in the living room.

There was a scale model of the port from Dante.

A custom-made small crown encrusted with tiny diamonds from Bianca.

An antique pocket watch from Lorenzo, said to ward off disaster.

A pink electric sports car from Roxy (though temporarily confiscated by Dante and Bianca for safety reasons).

And a charitable foundation named after her from her grandparents.

At the birthday banquet, big shots from all sides gathered. On the surface, it was a birthday celebration for the Moretti daughter; in reality, it was a tacit display of harmony between New York's old and new powers.

The birthday girl, Bella, wearing an exquisite princess dress, was held in Bianca's arms. Facing the crowd, she showed no stage fright. Her glass-like eyes were clear and bright, and occasionally she would give a sweet smile to those she knew.

Uncle Luca came over on his crutch, handing over a giant plush toy, teasing her: "Bella, do you like Uncle Luca's gift?"

Bella looked seriously and said, "I like it. Thank you, Uncle Luca. Does your leg still hurt? My mommy has a very good doctor."

One sentence silenced the few people present who knew the past history for a moment.

Luca's eyes grew hot, and he shook his head repeatedly. "It doesn't hurt. It stopped hurting a long time ago. Bella is such a good girl."

Dante stood beside Bianca, looking at his daughter, and tightly held Bianca's hand.

Bianca turned to look at him, smiled slightly, and interlaced her fingers with his.

Later, the guests dispersed.

Bella, tired from playing, fell into a deep sleep in Dante's arms.

Lorenzo hadn't left yet. He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

"This child is like you, and like her," Lorenzo said suddenly, his tone unreadable. "She has a clear mind and Bianca's resilience. In the future, I wonder which lucky brat will get her."

Dante's arm holding his daughter tightened subconsciously, his brow already furrowing. "Who dares?"

Lorenzo turned around, glanced at him, and the corner of his mouth hooked into a half-smile. "You can protect her for a while, but can you protect her for a lifetime? The young eagle has to fly on its own eventually."

Bianca walked over and took her daughter from Dante's arms, gently adjusting her position to make her more comfortable.

She looked at her daughter's peaceful sleeping face. Her voice was light, but carried an unquestionable certainty:

"She doesn't need to depend on anyone. She is Bella Moretti, our daughter. She will have her own sky."

Dante and Lorenzo both fell silent, casting their gaze once again toward the glittering skyline outside the window.

Yes, this was Bella.

Born from the peace after blood and fire, carrying the unfulfilled love and expectations of her parents, surrounded by top-tier resources and protection.

Her future was destined to be a smooth path toward the stars and the sea.

And right now, she only needed to be a child surrounded by love in her parents' warm embrace, under her grandparents' loving gaze, and amidst the unconditional spoiling of her great-uncle and aunt.

This was the beginning of Bella's life.