Forty-five
Chiara
The terrace doors slide shut behind us, muting the noise from the suite and his brothers celebrating with the team. The Bellagio fountains throw white columns into the dark while traffic crawls along the Strip in ribbons of gold and red.
“You know what bothered me most in Malibu?” I ask, turning the stem slowly between my fingers.
Ciro rests one hip against the counter beside me, his glass untouched near his hand. “Do tell.”
“My mother still checks the windows every night.” I look out across the water instead of at him. “Even inside a gated compound with private security and a husband who could buy half the coastline.”
He says nothing, which is good because I’m not looking for him to fix the conversation this time.
“She lowers her voice every time she says my father’s name.” I take a small sip of wine. “And every time a car slows outside the house, she stops talking completely. I realize she’s probably done this ever since she left and possibly before.”
Ciro slides his hands in his pant pockets. “She knows your father isn’t someone to mess with, which is why I held her location from you.”
“I believe you were worried.” I can’t do this if I look at him so I focus on the fountains dancing. “Her fear was another level, and it kills me that my father did that to her. And part of me kept thinking maybe you saw the danger more clearly than I did.”
Ciro lowers his eyes briefly toward the counter between us. “But.”
The single word pulls my attention back to him.
“But,” I repeat, “understanding why you did something doesn’t make me okay with it.”
Ciro’s gaze stays on me now. Steady. Uncomfortable in a way I haven’t seen often from him. “I know.”
“You decided what I could handle.” I stand at the barrier and finally look at him. “You made choices for me before I even knew there were choices to make.”
The stone feels cool under my palms as I brace myself against it.
Behind me, I hear the soft scrape of crystal as Ciro moves his glass farther back from the edge.
“I’ve been replaying that ever since I found out,” I say, staring out over the fountains. “It was the certainty that you thought you were protecting me and knew better.”
Ciro stops a few feet behind me instead of crowding into my space. “Chiara—”
“You were wrong.” I turn before he can finish, one hand still hooked against the railing behind me. “You don’t get to determine what I’m capable of handling.”
His face tightens slightly at that, but he doesn’t interrupt again.
“That’s what my father does,” I say, my voice lowering as the words settle heavier between us. “He controls information first. Then he controls people.”
“I’m not your father.”
“No.” I shake my head once. “You’re not. But you still took the choice away from me.”
His mouth opens slightly like he might answer on instinct this time.
Then it closes again.
That catches me off guard more than if he’d fought me.
“You’ve defended every decision you’ve made since I met you,” I say carefully, watching him now instead of the skyline. “Why aren’t you defending this one?”
He looks down briefly toward the terrace floor before meeting my eyes again. “Because you’re right.”
I fold my arms loosely across my waist, holding myself still. “That doesn’t magically fix it.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get credit for admitting it.”
He steps closer and pulls me to him. “I’m not asking for credit.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. “We didn’t start out like a normal couple does.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“I was angry with you in Malibu for about three days.” I glance down toward the water below. “Maybe four.”
“Only four?”
“You were very far away.” I look back at him. “It helped.”
A rough laugh slips out of him before he looks off toward the Strip lights. The sound disappears quickly.
“You still came back to me,” he says quietly, his hands tightening around me, holding me and making me feel safe.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I hold his gaze across the terrace and let the silence stretch for a second before answering. “Because when I walk into a room, I still look for you first.”
His hand stays at my waist, warm and careful through the thin fabric of my dress. Below us, the fountains rise again in bright white arcs before collapsing back into the lake.
“I don’t want to stand in front of you anymore,” he says quietly, his thumb moving once against my hip. “I don’t want to drag you behind me. I want you standing right beside me.”
I study his face for a second before sliding my hand higher against his chest. “Good. Because I’m exhausted from fighting you for information.”
One corner of his mouth pulls faintly upward. “That feels deserved.”
“It was.” I grin.
“You keep thinking I want less of you,” I say, tracing the seam of his shirt beneath my thumb. “That’s never actually been the problem.”
I watch the fountain dance to “Luck be a Lady” sung by Frank Sinatra.
“I wanted inclusion.”
“No, what you really want is partnership,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the shape of the word before offering it back to me.
“Yes.”
“When things become uncertain,” he says after a moment, his thumb brushing once against the side of my hand, “my first instinct is still going to be controlling the situation before it spreads.”
“I know.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “And you’re going to hate some of my decisions.”
“Probably.” He smiles. “I think,” he says carefully, “I’ve spent most of my life assuming responsibility gives me authority.”
“It does in business.”
“And with you?”
I hold his gaze while the wind moves softly between us.
“With me. Responsibility means you tell me the truth even when it’s ugly.”
His thumb drags once slowly across my knuckles.
“You really would rather know everything?” he asks quietly. “Even the parts that terrify you?”
“Yes.”
His hand stays steady at my waist while his mouth moves against mine without urgency now, slower and more deliberate than before.
I kiss him back just as slowly, my fingers tightening lightly in his hair as Vegas glows around us.
Ciro breaks the kiss first only enough to rest his forehead against mine again.
“You know this is going to be messy,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my mouth.
“I’ve met your family.” I brush my thumb once along the edge of his jaw. “I’m aware.”
He grins. “That wasn’t the part I meant.”
“I know.”
Ciro brushes another kiss against my mouth, slower this time, his hand anchoring gently at my waist instead of pulling me closer than I already am.
“Let’s go back to my room.” He reaches for my hand, and together, we walk back into the party to his room.