“No,” I agreed, rubbing my thumb along the hard cut of his stubbled jaw. “I think we see the world the same way.”
“In black and white?” he teased.
“And red,” I supplied with a smile that broke my face in two clean halves.
“Bene, because you’re about to meet your new family,” he told me after pressing a kiss to my forehead and levering me back into my seat.
“I’ve met Tore before,” I reminded him as he had reminded me earlier that day.
His smile was dark, an expression of ownership. “Yes, but he and our men here haven’t met you are you are now.”
“As yours?”
“Not just as my woman, but theirs. The woman, la Donna, they will be expected to lay down their lives for just as I would,” he said almost casually, factually, as if he wasn’t altering my entire world again. “You aren’t my lawyer anymore, Elena. Tu sei la mia regina.”
You are my queen.
Six
Elena
Villa Rosa was nestled at the top of a hill an hour and twenty minutes outside of Naples in Parco Regionale Monti Picentini near the small town of Sieti. Lush green mountains dominated the landscape, but the villa itself had a riot of carefully cultivated plants that were in beautiful bloom even though it was December. I held my breath in awe as we wound up the ribbon of asphalt leading to the house, the drive lined by towering cypress trees.
“It’s like something out of a dream,” I breathed, shocked by how beautiful I found the typically Italian scenery compared to the dingy Naples neighborhood I’d grown up in.
When the house came into view, I gasped a little. It was a traditional casali, a farm house big enough to host the landlord’s family and the families of the field hands. The large structure was made of off-white stone turned rose gold in the light of the setting sun, the tiled roof red as blood. The arched windows and doorways were covered in creeping bougainvillea and vines so that the structure seemed to have burst from the earth like a plant, something organic and timeless.
I loved it.
It felt like a home at the same time it felt like a palace.
And standing in front of it, in two long rows on either side of the colossal wood front door stood its occupants. I knew from reading books and binge-watching Downton Abbey with Beau that this was how 18th century servants used to greet their lord and lady on their return to the family estate. Twenty-five people, mostly men with guns clothed in black even though it was warm, stood at attention as we pulled to a stop in the circular drive.
“Sei pronto?” Dante asked.
Are you ready?
No.
Not really.
How did one prepare to meet a group of criminals that would suddenly be responsible for keeping you safe? How did I meet men who I’d thought my entire life were the very scum of society and not feel ashamed for the way I’d judged them?
“Stop thinking, cuore mia,” Dante ordered, but there was gentle humor in his voice as he pulled my gaze from the window to his face. “Embrace la dolce vita and enjoy these moments with me, va bene?”
He collected my hand and planted a kiss in my palm. Without thinking, I curled my fingers over it, protecting it.
“This is my home more than any place has ever been before. I spent almost every summer here as a boy with my mother, Alexander, and Tore then I lived here for years after she died. It’s my sanctuary and I hope it will be yours too.”
“I feel like all you ever do is give to me,” I told him quietly, forcing myself to communicate the tangled knot of emotion clogging up my throat. “I was meant to help you and now, you’re only here as a fugitive because of me.”
“Ferma,” he said, stop. “Having to leave the US was always a possibility I planned for and quite frankly, I could have left Addie, Frankie, Marco, Chen, and Jacopo to save you back in Brooklyn, but I chose not to. We all make choices, Lena, don’t let them haunt you when what’s done is done.”
I laughed a little. “You know, I’m always telling other people that but I have the hardest time applying it to myself.”
“I’ll help you,” he offered simply.
And I loved him then even more fiercely than I had the moment before that. Because that was who Dante was. He was a dangerous man with the biggest heart I’d ever known and he never hesitated in offering his love, guidance, or protection to those in need.
“I love you,” I told him for the first time since I’d first declared it on the tarmac in New Jersey.
Why did it feel like the most dangerous thing I’d done all day was say three teeny, tiny words people usually said every day of their lives?
I love you.
It was almost absurd how language could so neatly parcel up such enormous emotion.
“Ti amo, cuore mia,” Dante responded instantly, so easily I almost envied him that capacity.
He leaned across the console and, in front of everyone gathered before the car, he clasped my face entirely in his huge hands and kissed me. He kissed me languidly, sensuously parting my lips with a stroke of his tongue before diving inside to stroke over my own. I moaned at the taste of him, at the rough bite of his stubble against my smooth skin and the sharp pain as he took my lower lip between his teeth and tugged. When he finished, he pulled away only far enough to lean his forehead against me.
“You are with me, now, Elena. Let me welcome you properly to my world.”
I nodded, nerves still low in my belly but quieted by the press of love exploding throughout my chest. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he agreed with a boyish smirk that belayed his eager enthusiasm to claim me in this way.
He was moving away and out of the car in a flash, walking around the hood with a ringing Ciao! to the men gathered to welcome him. They called out in an uneven chorus in return as Dante reached my door and pulled it up and open for me. I took his offered hand, looking up at him as he winked at me.
“Raggazzi,” he called in a jovial shout that carried easily across the large yard. “It’s good to be home.”
There was a resounding shouted response. Amadeo Salvatore broke free of the formation on the right side and made his way toward us. He wore a white linen shirt undone to his sternum, revealing a thicket of black chest hair and a simple gold cross necklace. In loose pants, sandaled feet, with his deep olive brown tan and tousled black hair threaded only lightly with silver at the temples, he looked like some wealthy vacationer, not a ruthless mafia Don.
“Welcome home,” he greeted with a broad grin that cut creases into his cheeks, beside his eyes. It made me realize just how handsome he was and once again, how rare it was to see such truly golden eyes. I’d only even known Cosima and Sebastian to have that yellow gaze and it tugged something loose at the back of my memories I resolved to study later.
For now, I let Dante usher me forward to his pseudo-father.
“Tore, come stai?” Dante asked him as they clasped each other by the shoulders and exchanged smacking kisses to either cheek.
Tore didn’t release his grip on Dante when they stepped back, squeezing the taller man’s shoulders as he beamed at him. “Better, much better seeing you free and well.”
“You were right,” Dante said cryptically, both of them casting a sidelong glance at me. “From the start. I was always going to change everything for her.”