Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
RENZO
I died on a cross.
I drove a cross through a man’s body and dangled him in the air with it.
But here, in the quiet stillness of an empty Roman cathedral, a strange peace seeps into my bones as I ask God to give me strength for what I’m about to do.
Then, it’s time.
When I leave, my new motorcycle waits on the cobblestone road. Leather jacket zipped, helmet secured, I give the engine a few hungry revs and take off.
The ride to Grottaferrata should take thirty minutes, but I’m there in twenty.
The road cuts through rolling vineyards and ancient olive groves, their leaves shimmering with dew and the early morning light.
To my left, the sun edges over the horizon, turning the hills into a landscape fit for saints and sinners alike.
Still, I can’t reach the farmhouse fast enough.
I don’t hide my arrival. This isn’t about secrecy. This is me making a statement.
When Fina steps onto the porch, I stop breathing.
Bare feet. Tousled hair. Eyes still heavy from sleep. She’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen and has never looked more beautiful.
I expect fire, anger, rejection. But she just watches me as I climb the stairs toward her.
Did she believe I wouldn’t come for her? Did she think I’d give up?
Well, I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.
We look at each other like it’s the first time.
I open my mouth, because I’ve waited fucking forever to say it: I love you.
A crow of a rooster breaks the quiet, and in a flurry of flapping wings and evil intent, the feathered hellion charges across the yard.
I jab a finger at it. “Nail me with a spur, and I’ll take you out.”
It arches its head back, crows once more, and then runs off in search of an easier target.
Fina clutches her stomach, and laughter pours out of her.
The sound cracks me wide open. “Glad it knows who’s boss.”
“The look on its face …”
“Yeah, I’m more interested in the look on your face.”
That sobers her. “We’re not fucking.”
“Not what I meant, babe.” I wait for her to correct the nickname.
She rolls her eyes. “Come inside. I’ll make coffee.”
I follow her into the farmhouse and kitchen, noticing she’s lost weight.
That’s going to stop. Fina’s going to feast on food and love, and grow plump with the baby I fill her womb with.
She measures out spoonfuls of coffee grounds, then adds water to a stovetop coffee maker and ignites the flame while I lean against the kitchen table, soaking her in.
I hear her inhale before she faces me, eyes glistening with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I give it to her, raw and honest. “This isn’t an excuse, just an explanation.
I was messed up. Period. I spent years avoiding the Life, sneering at the famiglie and convincing myself I was more clever and more deadly than they were.
My father stayed patient with me until Rome.
You remember, during our ride to Las Vegas, I mentioned that trip?
It went badly. Everyone—my father, my brother, the Twelve at the time—saw me freeze and mistook it for weakness.
My therapist calls it my trigger moment, and it was.
I pushed back harder against the Life when deep down all I wanted was to be the son my father raised me to be.
You got caught in the crosshairs. You, and Alessia. ”
“You proposed to her?” she quietly asks, but the weight of her question’s heavy.
“More proposition than proposal, which we approached my father with. I did it because I was trying to help her, trying to do right by someone—if not you or even myself. Not only did my father shoot me down, I was neutralized and dragged off into rehab.”
“Do you love her?”
My lips curl. “Yeah.”
Fina hisses.
“Like a sister, even a mom. You will, too, once I formally introduce you.”
Fina bites her lip, considering what I’ve told her.
I step toward her until our bodies almost touch. “Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up. Please say we can move forward from our past.”
“Renzo.”
“Fina. I love you, only you. Always have but was too fucked up to see it. I had to learn to love myself before I could recognize it.”
Her lips part, a sharp intake of breath trembling between us. Her eyes flash like she’s been struck, my love bomb blasting away the lingering hurt and everything else holding her back.
I want to grab her and hug her so tight while the rest of the world fucks off.
Tears spill down her cheeks in quick, furious streaks. “Is that why you did it?”
“Did what?”
“Murdered Carlo?” Her voice cracks, shattering the air between us.
Well, shit. “Who told you?”
“Your brother.”
My brows lift. “Sandro?”
Her soft laugh is edged with disbelief. “He came to the restaurant while you were in Rhode Island. Told me what you did for me. How you risked your father’s reputation with the famiglie, the repercussions you’d have faced for killing Carlo and not being a made man. You gave me a chance at a new life.”
“Yeah, I should have taken care of Emo Accardo too.”
“Revenge made him unhinged. No one could have predicted he’d stalk me or try to take down the strongest capos in the Eleven and Cosa Nostra.”
“My father appreciated the warning you gave him about his fence.”
She swipes at her tears. “Advice, he calls it.”
“He likes you.” I close the distance and pull her against me. “I’m sorry.”
Her head dips in a nod.
“Listen, Fina. A future with me means you’re back in the Life. I’ve got demons I’m battling with a therapist’s help. You witnessed my violent streak, how I coldly kill without hesitation. I’m twisted, bent, and nothing about life with me will be easy.”
“Fine.” Her breath warms my neck. “The answer’s no.”
“Is that right?” I demand. The answer is never no. I’ve a talent for wearing people down and, as stubborn as she is, I’m always up for the challenge.
“Can we start over?” Her whisper, fragile yet defiant, carries the weight of months lost. Like she’s wavering between believing I’m the same man who left her and the one who now stands before her, heart in fucking hand.
“You can start over, babe. For me, you never ended.”
She pulls back, eyes searching mine.
And then, her lips twitch.
“Is that why you bought a ring?”
What. The. Hell?
Yeah, I bought a massive, in-your-face engagement ring from a Roman jeweler days ago. Like I said, no isn’t in the cards for us.
“You stalking me again?”
She shrugs, a hint of defiance in her eyes.
“You still got the hots for me?”
Her cheeks flush. “Maybe.”
A growl builds low in my throat. “But you made me suffer, waiting until I came for you.”
“I’m vindictive like that.”
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the kitchen table, before laying her across it. “I’m going to put a baby in you right now, so you’ll never escape.”
I’ll get down on one knee later. Right now, I need her shaking with pleasure and laughing through tears.
Fina loops her arms around my neck and pulls me close. “Then show me. Over and over. Prove I’m yours and only yours.”
FINA
I wait for weeks for Renzo’s proposal.
It never comes.
He’s wined and dined me, in expensive restaurants and small trattorias.
One morning, he woke me before dawn and walked me from our new apartment, past the restaurant and club, to the river.
He held my hand and kissed me as daybreak spilled color across the Tiber.
Another time, he took me to the opera, which I adored while he endured for my sake.
And once, at the old barn on the farm, I was sure he was about to drop to one knee …
instead, he chained me in the hay and fucked me until my knees buckled.
Be patient, I tell myself. He promised.
We’ve both been busy. Renzo’s in charge of Rome now while Dante’s in Los Angeles, running the West Coast in my father’s place. That’s right—Don Lombardi out, Dante in.
While Renzo charmed the Midwest Casino Trust into freeing the Eleven’s investments, I set my sights on Sebastiano Beneventi. I coaxed, I provoked, and when his silence stretched long enough to rattle me even over the video call, I pushed harder, demanding a favor for taking Renzo off his hands.
Terrifying and calculating, the most powerful capo di tutti capi in the Life and soon to be my father-in-law, and I didn’t flinch.
Across the screen, I stared him down with every ounce of nerve I had, daring him to underestimate me.
His low, amused laugh was music to my ears.
“Cazzo. You two deserve each other.” Then he gave me what I wanted: my father branded an embarrassment, stripped of his place in the Eleven, and banished from the famiglie.
In the Life, respect is worth as much as money, and now my father has neither. He’s ruined. Alone. And I made sure of it. The last nail in in his coffin, hammered in by his own daughter.
Renzo’s on a mission to knock me up, and I can’t stop wondering what kind of parent I’ll be. What I won’t be is cruel or unfeeling, a hollow excuse for a mother.
My family is in Rome now, and I’m surrounded by people who love me here. Bianca’s still a shameless flirt, Camilla’s finally letting her hair down, Riley’s nearby, and Sandro’s almost tolerable when he isn’t bossing everyone.
Do I miss the States? Sometimes. But we return often enough, the demands of the famiglie business pulling us back and forth.
Do Renzo and I clash, fight, laugh?
You bet.
We test limits. We fuck.
We love.
And Renzo always knows how to stoke my curiosity. My knees still ache from last night.
“Are you ready?” His voice brooked no argument, pure authority, as he set the scene. We’re pushing boundaries before he softens our games with the promise of a baby.
“I’m about to lose my fucking mind,” I warned. His muscles tensed, lifting me off the bed as the shibari rope bit into my breasts and thighs. Below me, the mattress was spread with every wicked toy imaginable, a sinful buffet that could rival Sandro and Riley’s entire armoire.
“You’re at my mercy now,” he said, grinning, before suspending me in ropes and teasing me until every nerve in my body surrendered.
Renzo and I have been exploring Rome with a passion, too. Today, we’re on a private Colosseum Underground Tour, winding through corridors rich with history.
Our guide leads us into the arena. The space is vast and ancient, the echo of the gladiators’ footsteps shifting with the earthen floor.
Sunlight slices across the weathered stones, glinting like it’s spotlighting every failure, every triumph etched into the ruins.
In the Hollywood Hills, people “die” to get the right parking spot, to shop at the trendiest store, or to make the next great movie.
Same illusion of drama with wildly different stakes.
I glance at Renzo, and notice the guide has slipped away. “Where did he go?”
He simply smirks.
My attention falls on something in the center of the arena. A small round table dressed with a red-checked cloth, two tall candles, a vase of red roses, and champagne on ice with crystal flutes.
“Is this part of the tour?” I murmur, caught between awe, disbelief, and the thrill of knowing he orchestrated every second.
“Hey, Fina!”
I whip around. Bianca’s waving from the amphitheater seats, flanked by Aunt Teresa and Camilla. Riley’s there too, with Sandro of all people. They wave wildly, then point behind me.
Joy hits me like a punch. Everything I’ve been through, everything I dreamed about … I’ve never felt so happy.
I turn.
Renzo’s on one knee, ring in hand.
“Here?” I blurt. “Not the opera? Not some fancy restaurant?”
“This is the perfect place.” His smirk curves into something softer. “Ask me why.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re fighters, Fina.” His expression’s fierce in a way I’ve never witnessed before.
“And look at you. You don’t stay down. You rise.
You fucking thrive. I’m not just in awe, I’m proud.
So damn proud.” His voice thickens, my tears spurring him on.
“Elia Seraphina Lombardi, will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He slips the ring onto my finger, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me. Cheers erupt from the seats, echoing off the ancient stone.
Love is like looking through a kaleidoscope. On bright days, light filters through, scattering soft, gentle colors across your vision. On dark days, colors clash and compete for attention, rich and saturated, intense and mesmerizing, beautiful in a different way.
And as I kiss my fiancé, my obsession, my heart, I know I’ll never want it any other way.