By evening, the news of Sadi’s crushing courtroom victory had swept through New York’s legal and financial circles. The Vance Foundation’s reputation was permanently cemented as an untouchable titan of ethical charity.

In the penthouse overlooking Central Park, the atmosphere was soft, quiet, and filled with warm candlelight.

Sadi lay curled on the deep velvet sofa, wrapped in a plush cashmere throw, her feet resting in Roman’s lap as he gently massaged her ankles.

"You were terrifying today, Mrs. Moretti," Roman murmured, his dark eyes brimming with unconditional pride and affection. "The way you dismantled Julian Vance... I almost felt sorry for the man."

"Almost?" Sadi giggled, taking a sip of warm chamomile tea.

"Not even a little bit," Roman smiled, leaning forward to kiss her knee. "He tried to stress my wife while she’s carrying my heir. He's lucky you ruined him legally before I handled him personally."

Sadi set her teacup down and took Roman’s large hand, resting it directly over her rounded stomach.

Suddenly, a distinct, firm nudge pressed against Roman’s palm from within.

Roman froze. His eyes widened in genuine, breathless shock—a look rarely seen on the face of Chicago and New York's most feared former mob boss.

"Did you... did you feel that?" Roman whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

"Our little girl is kicking," Sadi smiled softly, tears of happiness sparkling in her dark eyes. "She knows her father is right here."

Roman lowered his head, pressing his warm forehead against her belly, holding Sadi close as the winter snow began to fall silently outside the penthouse windows.