“But he will have a better life than either of us.”

We named him Leo, after the driver who had kept us safe during the darkest nights.

A year passed quickly at the estate.

The seasons changed from the gold of autumn to the white of winter, and then to the green of spring.

I spent my mornings in the garden, watching Leo crawl on a thick blanket on the grass.

He was a happy child, quick to laugh and eager to explore.

Dante came home early most days.

He would shed his dark suit jacket on the porch and immediately pick Leo up, tossing him gently into the air.

Leo’s giggles would echo across the lawn.

One evening, we sat on the porch as the sun dipped below the tree line.

Leo was asleep in his crib inside, monitored by a baby camera on the table between us.

Dante poured two glasses of white wine.

He handed one to me and took a sip from his own.

“The city is quiet,” he said.

“The old alliances have been dismantled.”

“And Marcus?” I asked.