“Oh, thank God,” Angelina says. She leans against Orlando as if she’s completely spent.
“Is that all that was bothering you?” Elise asks. “You don’t look well.”
Angelina gives her a watery smile. “Ah, well, there’s another reason, godmother. I’m pregnant again.”
Orlando beams.
“What? I didn’t even know that was physically possible!” Elise says. She gives Angelina a huge hug and I clap Orlando on the back.
“Good job, brother. Good job.”
The news will be bittersweet for Romeo.
“Is Rosa talking?” I ask Orlando discreetly. He only shakes his head.
“Nah, man. But Santo will have answers for us.” He scowls. “He’d fucking better.”
It hasn’t been long, but it feels damn good to be back at The Castle with The Family without wedding preparations looming or another trip coming up anytime soon. We won’t leave for Tuscany for a while.
When we reach the front steps, the smell of garlic wafts through the air. I can hear streams of Nonna’s favorite Italian opera singers filtering through the open window. Someone’s baking fresh bread. The dogs nap peacefully by the front door, and someone’s done fresh landscaping around the house. It’s swept clean and brightly lit, with spotlights shining on Mama’s rose plants.
“Oh, Tavi,” Elise says, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. “It’s just gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“It is, just like you,” I say, shamelessly flirting. “Welcome home, baby.”
THE END
EPILOGUE
Elise
I like living in two places. It gives me a sense of wonder to arrive home at The Castle, where the Rossi family welcomes me with open arms. I love the old-fashioned feel of The Castle now that it’s home and not my prison. I love having a place to gather with brothers and sisters and a niece and nephew. I love reading in the library, strolling through the garden, and swimming in the big stone pool in the courtyard.
And I love my job. The business is thriving, as we have the ideal location. Tavi says I have an eye for style, and three months after we open, I manage to score the deal of a lifetime—an actual partnership with none other than Pronovias themselves. They do a two-page spread on the store in Vanity Fair, and a TikTok video featuring my custom handbags that coordinate with the Pronovias spring line of dresses goes viral. Business is booming.
Rosa takes Santo’s place as my assistant. She’s a natural. I have no idea if she’s ever given them any information about what happened to lead Santo to Tuscany, but I do know, because Marialena gives me all the gossip, that he’s been exiled to do menial labor in Tuscany. It’s odd imagining a strong, powerful, intelligent man like him watering grapes or something, but it isn’t my business.
But I also love it when we fly to Tuscany. We go back and forth between the vineyard and our Tuscan home, and he does indeed enjoy my feminine touch. It’s a joy to decorate the many homes that he owns, and an even greater joy to cook for him.
It seems fitting, then, that it’s here in Tuscany, where we first began to fall in love, that I tell Tavi my news.
He’s sitting on the covered patio with his evening glass of wine, staring out at the pale pink sunset. It looks like a postcard. I bring out a charcuterie board laden with sliced meats and rich wedges of cheese, rustic crackers, homemade jam, and olives. I slide the board onto the little table beside him. He looks down and his eyes light up.
“Looks incredible.”
“Mm. Looks good to me, too.” I smile and sit beside him. But I decline the glass of wine he offers.
“This is good, though, babe. The same Chianti that’s won awards.”
I smile to myself. “Well, Tavi, I have something to tell you.”
His brows crease. He looks genuinely concerned.
“Are you sick?”
“Welllll….”
He sits up straighter. “Elise. What’s wrong?”
“Well. Nothing’s wrong…” I rest my hand on my belly. “But I think we should probably stay here for a little while until the nausea passes?”
He blinks. Then he blinks again.
I gasp when he jumps to his feet and sends his wineglass flying. Thankfully it doesn’t break but only rolls onto the grass.
“Do you mean to tell me…”
I grin at him. He lifts me up in his arms and swings me around in a semi-circle. “Orlando won’t be the only motherfucker with a baby?”
I laugh out loud. “Well, that’s one way to put it, isn’t it? But no, he will not. Easy, honey, you’re making me a bit queasy.”
He almost drops me, then realizes what he’s doing and eases me onto the chair.
“Sit, babe. There. Do you need anything? Can I get something for you?”
I smile and shake my head. I only have mild nausea, but I’m exhausted. My eyes feel heavy already and we’ve barely eaten dinner. But I reach for his hand and give it a little squeeze.
“No, Tavi. Not now. And thank you.” I kiss his knuckles and rest his hand on mine. “I have everything I need, right here.”
We sit in silence, watching the sunset. I imagine hours from now, the sun setting in Boston where Angelina looks out over the water. And I think to myself… this, right here, is all I need.
PREVIEW
OATH OF SACRIFICE: A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE
CHAPTER ONE
Santo
A bead of sweat rolls down my back. I scowl at the landscape that most would find beautiful—rolling green hills that overlook the Rossi family vineyard, almost ethereal with the setting sun. The air’s pregnant with the sweet scent of ripe grapes.
Fuck that.
I wasn’t bred to harvest fucking grapes.
I yank at my t-shirt and pull it off, wipe it across my brow and ball it in my fist. A cool wind skates across my sweat-slicked naked chest.
September’s usually the time of year they tell tourists to come to Tuscany, instead of the hellish, stifling August heat, because the weather’s begun to cool. But not this year. This year, September’s started off almost as hot as August.
Others might see this as a gorgeous landscape, a little slice of heaven, really.
Not for me.
This vineyard’s my fucking prison.
Bare-chested, glaring at the ripe vines that sprawl before me, I want to pound my chest and scream like motherfuckin’ Tarzan. I want to claw at the rose tat on my forearm, the stark, vivid reminder of who I am.
Of who I try to be.
A reminder of the oaths I took.
All of them.
The ones they know about.
And the one they don’t.
I turn my back to the vineyard and stare at the sprawling estate before me, only one of the number of places the Rossi family owns in Tuscany. I once had a place here in Italy, a place of my own, but I sold it when Romeo banished me to exile at the vineyard. It only mocked me with its vacancy and opulence.
Now I have an apartment here at the vineyard, where I oversee operations.
Motherfucking vineyard operations.
A part of me wonders if I’m here because Romeo wants me as far away from his family in America as possible.