Chapter 27
Harlow
The morning light slithers softly through the sheer curtains, casting faint golden lines across the bed. I stir, Dante’s warmth still wrapped around me, his arm heavy over my waist, fingers splayed like he’s unwilling to let go, even in sleep. A delicious ache hums low in my body, a tender reminder of last night.
I shift slightly. His grip tightens.
His voice comes, low and rasped, brushing over my skin.
“You’re awake.”
I turn to find him already watching me. There’s the faintest smile on his lips, but there’s always something restrained, something dark swimming just beneath the surface.
A phone vibrates on the nightstand.
He exhales a curse, then reaches over me to retrieve it. His voice is a low growl, edged with irritation. “Speak.”
He listens without a word, the tension in his jaw sharpening with each passing second. I watch the change take hold of him, swift, complete, inevitable. By the time he ends the call with a curt.
“I’ll be there,”
the man beside me is no longer the one who held me through the night. He’s all business now, cold, focused, lethal.
He turns his head and meets my gaze.
“Another shipment was intercepted. Even using Giovanni’s ports, they still manage to strike. I need to put a stop to it. No more of my men die in crossfire, this ends today.”
He leans down and presses a firm kiss to my forehead.
“Stay in bed. It’s still early.”
Then he’s gone, into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing a moment later. Less than ten minutes pass before he emerges, dressed, composed, and deadly calm. He pauses only to kiss my forehead once more. No further words.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess. At last, I rise. After a quick shower, I pull on my gym clothes, and make my way out of the bedroom.
I begin with Pilates in the garden, the sun warming my skin as the sea breeze drifts across the lawn. My muscles resist at first, tight, uncooperative, but the strain feels grounding. When I’m done, I head back inside, make my way downstairs to the gym, and strike the punching bag with focused force, the familiar burn slowly returning to my limbs.
Sofia and Elena are arriving later today, along with my brothers, Niccolò and Enzo. Darion and my father were caught up in work, though they assured me they’ll visit again soon. That word, father, has been easier to say lately. Easier to accept.
Once I’m done, I head upstairs and step straight into the shower, letting the water strip the sweat off my skin. I dress in a soft summer dress that brushes mid thigh, apply a touch of makeup, and leave my hair straight and loose.
In need of coffee, I head straight to the kitchen, where the rich scent of freshly brewed espresso greets me. Niccolò and Enzo are seated at the island, sipping from heavy mugs, while Leonardo stands across from them, casually nursing his own cup. They’re deep in conversation. Bianca moves around, calmly preparing breakfast. The scent of freshly baked croissants lingers in the air. Mario is nowhere to be seen, which likely means he’s accompanying Dante.
The moment I step into the room, every set of eyes turns toward me.
“Buongiorno, sorellina,”
Niccolò says with a grin, rising with open arms.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.”
“You’re in early,”
I reply, letting him pull me into a hug. He smells like cedarwood and black coffee.
“Couldn’t wait to irritate your husband,”
Enzo mutters, dragging me into a tighter embrace next.
Niccolò smirks.
“When Dante sees us, I’m fairly certain he’ll greet your enthusiasm with bullets.”
Leonardo doesn’t glance up from his phone.
“You’ve become oddly persistent with your visits. One might think you now prefer Naples over Palermo.”
The looks of revulsion that flash across Enzo and Niccolò’s faces are genuinely laughable.
“Fuck no,”
Enzo says darkly.
“Yeah, fuck no,”
Niccolò echoes.
“We’re only here because you bastards won’t let Harlow visit.”
Bianca clicks her tongue.
“Language.”
Niccolò chuckles.
“Apologies, signora Bianca.”
Leonardo rolls his eyes, but when he meets mine, he gives me a subtle wink.
“Well, Dante scarcely allows Harlow out of his sight, so naturally, she won’t be visiting unaccompanied. As for him, leaving isn’t an option, he’s consumed by work at the moment.”
He glances at the clock, then adds.
“Tell me, how long before you graciously remove yourselves from the premises once more?”
Enzo shoots him a withering glare.
“If you insist on whining about our presence, perhaps we ought to kidnap Harlow and bring her back to Palermo, just as we suggested before.”
A dark smirk curves Leonardo’s mouth.
“Try it, and you’ll be lucky if you make it out with fewer than three bullets lodged in your spine.”
Bianca shakes her head but offers a faint smile.
“All of you, to the dining room. I’ll serve breakfast there.”
They rise, and we make our way toward the long table, settling into our seats just as Luka steps into the room.
He pauses upon seeing Niccolò and Enzo, his posture tightening instinctively. But he doesn’t withdraw. Instead, he composes himself and crosses the space, silently taking the seat beside me.
Bianca emerges with a tray, carefully setting down plates of eggs, prosciutto, fresh fruit, warm bread, and still steaming pastries across the table. She turns to Luka with the same gentle tone she uses with Mattia, and I’m grateful for it. She doesn’t see him as a threat or an enemy, just a boy.
“What will you drink, tesoro?”
“I’ll have an espresso, thank you,”
Luka replies calmly.
I glance at him, narrowing my eyes.
“Since when do you drink coffee?”
He meets my gaze evenly.
“Since always.”
I arch a brow.
“You’re what, ten?”
“Fifteen, actually,”
he says flatly.
The admission surprises me, though, in hindsight, it shouldn’t. When I first saw him, I didn’t think he was older than twelve. He’d been too thin, too pale, and visibly shaken. But now, after weeks under this roof, there’s weight to his frame, a steadiness in his expression. I’m fairly certain he’s had a growth spurt, he might even be taller than me.
Leonardo chuckles into his cup.
“Puberty makes men of us all.”
Before Luka can respond, the sound of fast footsteps signals Mattia’s arrival. He bursts into the room, hair tousled, eyes bright with energy.
“I’m starving!”
He drops into the chair on my other side and immediately reaches for a slice of bread. I nudge a plate toward him and start adding prosciutto and eggs.
“Eat slowly,” I murmur.
“No promises,”
he replies through a mouthful.
“I’m ravished.”
Niccolò watches him, amused.
“The boy eats more than I do.”
“Difference is,”
Leonardo says.
“we at least have the excuse of dodging bullets. It works up an appetite.”
Mattia pauses just long enough to glance up.
“Do I get to dodge bullets?”
“No,”
I reply.
“You get to finish your orange juice without spilling.”
He shrugs and continues eating like he hasn’t seen food in days. I roll my eyes at him.
“Harlow, can we go to the pool?”
he asks, wiping crumbs from his mouth with as much grace as he can manage. His plate is already spotless.
“I really want to swim.”
I shake my head in amusement.
“You’re a duckling.”
He narrows his eyes at me.
“I don’t appreciate being compared to small children.”
“How exactly did I do that?”
“You said duckling, not duck.”
Luka chuckles.
“Technically, he’s not wrong.”
Leonardo rises, adjusting his watch.
“It’s been a pleasure, ladies and gentlemen—”
he pauses, casting a glance around the table.
“well, to be precise, it’s been a pleasure, Harlow, Luka, and Mattia. The rest of you two, less so.”
Enzo mutters under his breath.
“Careful, or I’ll show you just how unpleasant I can be.”
Leonardo smirks but continues on without a backward glance.
As he disappears down the hallway, I rise from my seat and glance toward the boys.
“Very well. I’ll go change into my swimsuit and join you outside.”
Mattia cheers, already leaping from his chair and dashing off with unmistakable excitement.
I make my way back to the master bedroom, unfastening the soft summer dress and letting it fall away before slipping into a sleek black swimsuit. I gather my hair into a loose knot at the nape of my neck, slide on a pair of sunglasses, and descend the stairs toward the pool.
The sun hangs high in the sky, the air thick with warmth and the scent of citrus and freshly trimmed grass. Drinks are already set on the shaded table, and a plate of sliced fruit glistens beneath a mesh cover.
Everyone’s already here.
Enzo lounges shirtless in a shaded chair, black swim trunks slung low on his hips, a worn paperback resting in his hands. His dark hair is pulled back into a loose man bun. As I draw closer and catch sight of the cover, I stop mid step. Anna Karenina.
My brows lift nearly to my hairline. Of all things, this... is unexpected.
Niccolò is perched on the edge of a chair, his body angled toward the pool, laughing at something Mattia just shouted. Luka is in the water beside him, holding a ball above his head.
“Mattia, catch!”
Luka calls, launching the ball, which promptly smacks Mattia in the head.
He whips around, thrashing like a maniac.
“You’ll pay for that!”
Luka merely shakes his head, amused.
I settle into a lounge chair and open my own book, barely a few sentences in before a splash hits squarely across my legs.
I gasp as the cold water hits my sun warmed skin and jerk upright. “Mattia.”
He grins up at me, hair plastered to his forehead. “Come in.”
“No.”
“Come on,”
he urges, swimming closer.
“You’ll like it.”
“I’ll like staying dry, thanks.”
His expression shifts with exaggerated theatrics.
“Ah, yes. Harlow is afraid of water.”
“I’m most certainly not,”
I reply. Then quieter, under my breath, I add. “Traitor.”
“You don’t know how to swim,”
he accuses.
“Why don’t you shout it louder?”
I feel the weight of a stare. When I glance toward the pool, Luka’s eyes are already on me.
“You don’t know how to swim?”
Niccolò laughs, clearly entertained.
“Surely you’re not serious.”
Luka’s brow arches.
“You’re joking.”
“Will you stop? You make it sound like I’ve confessed to murder. Plenty of people can’t swim.”
Enzo lowers his book slowly, his gaze sharper now.
“That’s dangerous.”
I look at him.
“If I stay out of the water, I’m safe.”
He shakes his head once.
“That’s exactly why it’s dangerous. You can’t always control the circumstances. Sometimes the water finds you.”
I don’t argue. He’s right. But I still don’t move.
“Come on,”
Niccolò says, grinning as he extends a hand toward me.
“We’ll teach you.”
“Don’t even think about it. What gave you the delusion I trust you that much?”
He touches his chest with mock offense.
“You wound me, sorellina.”
Before I can respond, he lunges. I scramble, laughing and protesting, but he’s already gripping my arms and dragging me toward the pool.
“Niccolò, don’t you dare!”
I shriek, laughing and trying to dig my heels into the stone, but he’s stronger and faster.
He pushes me in.
The water crashes over my head, and for a second, panic surges, but then my feet touch the bottom. I stand, sputtering, hair plastered to my face, half coughing, half laughing. He didn’t throw me into the deep end.
Mattia is howling with laughter. Luka grins from where he floats nearby.
I glare at them.
“You’re all terrible.”
Niccolò dives in and swims toward me with a splash. They start demonstrating, floating, kicking, how to hold the edge and push off.
I try.
The first few attempts are completely pathetic.
“You look like a drowning puppy,”
Niccolò says cheerfully.
“You’re not helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
Luka corrects my leg movement with surprising patience, he’s more mature about this than Niccolò, for God’s sake. Mattia demonstrates with exaggerated strokes, while Niccolò continues his completely unhelpful commentary.
Eventually, Enzo lets out a sigh, tosses his book aside, and stands. He walks toward the pool without a word.
“You’re all doing it wrong,”
he mutters.
He steps to the edge and dives in with perfect form, slicing into the water.
“You need to feel the balance,”
he says, swimming smoothly to my side.
“Not fight it.”
He shows me. Slowly. And to my surprise, it actually helps. I manage to paddle across a short distance, awkward but upright.
They cheer and I roll my eyes.
“She’s learning!”
Mattia announces proudly.
“I wouldn’t go that far,”
I mutter, still coughing.
“I look like a frightened dog trying to escape a bath.”
“You look better than Niccolò did during his first attempt,”
Enzo remarks dryly, as though trying to reassure me.
Niccolò scowls.
“That was years ago. I was five.”
We spend the rest of the day by the pool. Lunch is light, grilled vegetables, fruit, and soft bread, served on the shaded patio beside the water. I eat half drenched, laughing more than I have in months.
As I look around, I feel... good. Alive.
My sessions with Dr. Verdi are no longer daily, though they remain a weekly constant. Yet sitting here beside my brothers, a quiet shift settles in my chest, an ache I no longer fight. The fear remains, of course, that persistent, gnawing apprehension Dr. Verdi so clinically refers to as abandonment. The part of me that still braces for the people I love to vanish without warning.
But these men are unyielding. They have carved their place beneath my skin, not with permission, but with persistence, and now, inconveniently, irrevocably, they reside in my heart.
If they ever do leave me, they’ll do so with black eyes and stab wounds.
And Luka, watching him slowly open up more and more, does something to my inner child. I hope he knows now that he’s not alone in this world. He has a family.
As for Mattia...
He’s pure joy. From the moment I met him, he was the exception, the boy who broke through my walls and carved out a permanent place in my heart. He’s never leaving that place.
It’s close to dinner now, and I’m still in the water, because apparently, now that I’ve finally stepped into the pool, Mattia refuses to let me out.
“You need to practice your swimming,”
he says sternly, as if we’re in some kind of training camp.
“You’re a tyrant,”
I mutter, paddling clumsily toward the edge. I reach the stone lip, breathless, and hold on.
When I look up, I see a pair of polished leather shoes. My gaze rises slowly. Black slacks. Rolled white sleeves. Strong forearms.
Dante.
He stands at the edge of the pool, one brow raised, eyes locked on mine. There’s heat in that gaze, possessive and unyielding.
“Leonessa,”
he says, voice dark.
“Did someone here dare to teach you how to swim?”
I smirk before I can stop myself, first, because his jealousy borders on the absurd, and second, because few things delight me more than provoking him.
“I told you I’d be the one to teach you,”
he says, colder now.
I blink innocently.
“Is that jealousy or lunacy?”
His mouth curves slowly. “Both.”
“Try not to look so crazy. There are witnesses.”
He doesn’t answer, just leans down and offers his hand. I take it. And I don’t know what comes over me, hell, I didn’t plan it, but I pull hard.
He doesn’t expect it and falls in.
The water splashes everywhere as he goes under. I surface first, my breath catching.
Dante rises slowly, eyes locked on mine, soaked and lethal. There’s something feral in his expression, wild, hungry, and out for retribution.
“You. Will. Pay,”
he growls, low and deadly.
I laugh and turn, trying to paddle away with as much speed as my flailing limbs allow.
“Go, Harlow, go!”
Mattia shouts, cheering me on.
Luka and Niccolò are laughing outright.
Enzo mutters under his breath.
“Utterly hopeless.”
Dante reaches me in seconds. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me tight against his chest. I squeal.
“Dante, let me go!”
“You shouldn’t have done that, love,”
he murmurs against my ear, his voice a wicked caress.
“And what will you do?”
I shoot back.
“I think I’d rather show you.”
He swims to the edge and lifts himself out, still holding me securely in his arms. He doesn’t so much as glance at a towel. A trail of water follows us, glistening against the marble as he strides through the house.
By the time we reach the top of the stairs, I hear Bianca’s voice float up from downstairs, laced with exasperation.
“Dio mio... children, all of them.”
My husband pushes the bedroom door open with his foot, carries me straight into the bathroom, and lowers me gently to the floor.
I look up at him, into those dark, feral eyes. And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
Fuck.