Chapter 25 Regina
Regina
“Three months in Sicily and you still haven’t learned to take a break.”
Mauricio’s voice carries across the terrace of our villa in Cefalù, rough with amusement. I don’t look up from my laptop, though my fingers pause on the keyboard as I track his approach through the Mediterranean afternoon.
“Three months in Sicily and you still think I’m the workaholic in this relationship.
” I save the document I’m reviewing—acquisition papers for a legitimate shipping company that will form the backbone of our import business.
“Last night you were on the phone with contractors until two in the morning.”
“That was different.” He appears in my peripheral vision, all silver hair and sun-bronzed skin, wearing nothing but swim trunks that sit low on his hips.
Prison-lean has given way to something more substantial—muscle built from honest work instead of survival necessity.
“I was ensuring our warehouse renovations stay on schedule.”
“Exactly.” I finally look up, letting my gaze travel over him with deliberate appreciation. “Working. Just like I’m working now on securing supply chain agreements that will triple our profit margin.”
“It’s Saturday.” He plucks the laptop from my hands with the confident ease of someone who knows I won’t actually protest. “In Sicily. In July. And you’re sitting inside reviewing contracts instead of enjoying the fact that we own a villa with a private pool and no one is trying to kill us.”
“I was enjoying it.” But I’m already standing, drawn by the promise in his storm-gray eyes. “I enjoy building things. Creating something legitimate from the ground up.”
“I know.” His hands find my hips, pulling me close enough that I can smell salt and sunscreen and the cedar scent that’s become synonymous with home. “It’s one of the many things I love about you. But even empire builders need breaks.”
“Is that what we’re building?” I loop my arms around his neck, feeling three months of peace and partnership settle warm in my chest. “An empire?”
“A business.” His correction is gentle, thumbs tracing circles on my hipbones through the thin fabric of my sundress. “Legitimate import-export operations, warehouses, shipping contracts. Nothing that requires looking over our shoulders or wondering when federal prosecutors will come knocking.”
“Boring,” I tease, even though the normalcy is exactly what I craved after twenty-eight years of living in a criminal organization.
“Profitable.” He walks me backward toward the terrace doors, his intent clear. “Sustainable. Ours.”
The last word carries weight that has nothing to do with business.
Three months of building something together—not just the import company that’s already showing impressive returns, but a life that’s chosen rather than inherited.
Morning coffee on the terrace overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.
Afternoons spent reviewing contracts and negotiating deals with suppliers who don’t know our history.
Evenings cooking together in a kitchen that’s seen more laughter than violence.
“I like that word,” I admit, letting him guide me through the villa’s sun-drenched interior toward the back terrace and pool beyond. “Ours.”
“Good.” He pauses at the threshold, framing my face with hands that have built as much as they’ve destroyed. “Because I’m not interested in sharing you or what we’re creating. Not with ghosts from the past or obligations to organizations that aren’t ours.”
“Possessive.” But I’m smiling, rising on my toes to brush my lips against his jaw where the scar catches afternoon light. “I like it when you’re possessive.”
“I know.” His smile turns dangerous, predatory. “I also know you’ve been sitting at that laptop for six hours straight, building our empire one contract at a time. And while I appreciate your dedication...”
“You think I need a break?” I arch an eyebrow, challenge clear in my tone.
“I think you need to remember that we didn’t survive everything we survived just to spend every waking moment working.” He scoops me up with fluid grace, and I laugh—bright and genuine and free in a way I never was before. “Sometimes you need to just... exist. Enjoy being alive.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” As if I don’t already know, don’t already feel the heat building between us like it has every day since we arrived in Sicily and claimed this life as ours.
“I have some ideas.” He carries me through the terrace doors into the late afternoon sunlight that paints everything gold. The pool stretches before us—infinity edge overlooking the sea, water so blue it rivals the sky.
“The pool?” I thread my fingers through his silver hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp in a way that makes his grip tighten. “We have a perfectly good bedroom.”
“We’ve used the bedroom.” He sets me on the pool’s edge, hands already finding the hem of my sundress. “Multiple times. Very thoroughly.”
“And the kitchen. And the office. And the terrace at sunset.” I lift my arms, letting him pull the dress over my head to reveal the bikini I’m wearing underneath—emerald green that matches my eyes. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you.” His gaze travels over me with heat that’s become familiar but never loses its edge. “Three months and I still can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Good.” I slide into the water, gasping slightly at the temperature contrast. “Because I’d be concerned if domesticity had dulled your interest.”
“Never.” He follows me in, water rising to his waist as he stalks toward me with predatory grace. “Domesticity just means I get to have you in new and creative locations.”
“How romantic.” But my breath catches as he reaches me, hands spanning my waist and pulling me flush against him.
“I have my moments.”
His mouth finds mine, and I moan against his lips—three months and this still feels like discovery. Like I’m learning the shape of him with every kiss, every touch, every time he sinks into me and makes me whole again.
“Regina.” My name on his lips is a prayer, a curse, a claim. “You’re everything.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, arching against him as his hands explore wet skin, finding all the places that make me tremble.
This is what we survived for—not the money or the revenge or the satisfaction of destroying monsters.
This. Afternoons by our pool in Sicily, where the only danger is drowning in each other.
His cock fills me in one smooth thrust that makes us both gasp, water buoying us as I rock against him, finding a rhythm that’s familiar and new each time. His hands grip my hips, guiding movements that build pleasure in waves that threaten to overwhelm.
“You feel—” He breaks off, forehead resting against mine as I tighten around him. “Christ, Regina. You always feel like coming home.”
“Home.” The word catches in my throat, emotion warring with physical need. “I never had one before you.”
“You do now.” His thrusts deepen, claiming me with a possessiveness that still thrills me even after months. “You have me. This. Whatever we’re building—it’s ours.”
Pleasure builds, coiling tight and hot as his thumb finds my clit, circling with focused pressure that makes my vision blur. I’m close—so close—and when his mouth finds that sensitive spot below my ear, teeth grazing skin, I shatter with his name on my lips.
He follows me over with a hoarse cry, his release flooding me as we hold each other in the cooling water, both breathing hard, both thoroughly wrecked.
We stay like that for a long time—tangled together in the quiet afternoon, the gentle lapping of the pool the only sound. Peace surrounds us. It feels like a warm and thick blanket. It’s fragile but real.
“I could get used to this,” I murmur against his skin. It tastes like salt and chlorine and contentment.
“Three months in and you’re still not used to it?” His hand traces lazy patterns down my spine, mapping territory he’s explored countless times but never seems to tire of.
“I’m used to the sex.” I lift my head to meet his eyes, finding them soft with something that looks like forever. “I’m still getting used to the peace. The normalcy. Waking up without wondering if today’s the day someone tries to kill us.”
“No one’s trying to kill us.” His correction is gentle. “Sabino’s dead, his organization dismantled, the bounties expired. We’re just two people running a legitimate business in a country that doesn’t care about our history.”
“Two people who occasionally have sex in their pool on Saturday afternoons.” I trail my fingers through the water, watching light fracture into rainbows. “Very normal. Very domestic.”
“Exactly.” But there’s something shifting in his expression—nerves, maybe, or anticipation that makes my pulse quicken despite the languid satisfaction.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He starts to move us toward the shallow end, but I catch his face, forcing him to look at me directly.
“Mauricio. What?”
He exhales slowly, and I see him make a decision—that moment when calculation gives way to vulnerability. “I have something for you. Was going to wait until dinner, make it romantic with candles, wine, and proper presentation. But then I got you in the pool and now seems... right.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Something for me?”
“Stay here.” He lifts me onto the pool’s edge with ease, water sluicing off both of us onto warm stone. “Don’t move.”
I watch him climb out and disappear into the villa, dripping water and purpose in equal measure. My mind races through possibilities—a gift, obviously, but what kind? We’ve been buying things for the villa, for the business, practical items that build our life here. This feels different. Personal.
He returns carrying a small velvet box that makes my breath catch and my thoughts scatter.
“Mauricio...”
“Let me do this.” He settles beside me on the pool’s edge, both of us sun-warmed and water-logged and decidedly not dressed for whatever moment this is becoming.
“I had a whole speech planned. Something about building empires and choosing futures and how you make me want things I never thought I could have.”
“That’s a good start.” My voice comes out rough, emotional in ways I didn’t expect.
“But the truth is simpler than speeches.” He opens the box, revealing a ring that catches afternoon light and throws it back transformed—diamond surrounded by emeralds that match my eyes, set in platinum that speaks of quality without ostentation.
“I love you. I want to build this life with you. Not just the business or the villa or the respectable facade we’re constructing.
I want mornings and arguments and lazy Saturdays in the pool.
I want you. Every day. Always and forever. ”
“Mauricio.” Tears prick my eyes, unwelcome but unstoppable.
“Marry me, Regina.” He takes my hand, the gesture surprisingly tentative for a man who’s never shown doubt. “Marry me because you want to. Because what we have is worth making official.”
I stare at the ring, at his face, at the life we’ve built in three short months that feels more real than twenty-eight years of pretending.
Mauricio Barone—dangerous, loyal, arrogant, brilliant—asking me to choose him permanently.
To take a name that’s earned rather than inherited, to build a future that’s ours instead of stolen or forced.
“Yes.” The word comes out before I fully process speaking, pure instinct overriding careful thought. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
His smile transforms his face—joy replacing calculation, vulnerability showing through the careful control he usually maintains. He slides the ring onto my finger with hands that aren’t quite steady, and it fits perfectly because of course it does. He’s meticulous in everything.
“You’re sure?” He needs the confirmation, needs to know this isn’t just aftermath euphoria or post-sex endorphins.
“I’m sure.” I frame his face with both hands, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I survived twenty-eight years waiting to be free. Now I want to spend the rest of my life choosing you, choosing this, choosing us. So yes, Mauricio. I’ll marry you.”
He kisses me then—deep and claiming and full of promise that tastes like future instead of just survival. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, the ring catches sunlight and throws emerald fire across the water.
“We should celebrate,” he says, voice rough with emotion he’s not quite hiding.
“We just did.” I gesture at the pool, at our state of undress, at the obvious evidence of how we’ve spent the afternoon.
“I meant with champagne. Dinner. Calling Simeone and enduring his inevitable ‘I told you so’ about domestication.”
“Later.” I pull him back toward me, fingers threading through still-damp silver hair. “Right now, I just want to sit here with my fiancé and process the fact that I’m getting married. Actually married. To someone I chose.”
“Your fiancé.” He tests the word, smile widening. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good.” I settle against him, both of us sitting on the pool’s edge with legs dangling in water that’s cooling as afternoon shifts toward evening. “Because you’re stuck with me now. Engaged, building a business together, sharing a villa in Sicily. Very domestic. Very permanent.”
“Sounds perfect.” He stands, pulling me up with him. “Now come on. We should probably put on clothes before calling Simeone. Give the man at least a veneer of respectability.”
“Since when do you care about respectability?”
“Since I proposed to the woman I love while we were both dripping wet from pool sex.” His grin is unrepentant. “I’m building new habits. Starting with occasionally wearing pants during important phone calls.”
I laugh—bright and free and full of joy that three months ago seemed impossible. “Fair enough. Though I make no promises about staying dressed once the phone call ends.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He scoops up my sundress, handing it to me with exaggerated chivalry. “After you, future Mrs. Barone.”
“Regina Barone.” I test the name, feeling how it fits. Better than Picarelli ever did. Chosen instead of inherited. Mine. “I like it.”
“So do I.” He follows me into the villa, leaving wet footprints on sun-warmed stone. “Now let’s go shock my best friend with the news that the man who said he’d never marry actually proposed. In a pool. After sex.”
“Romantic.”
“Honest.” His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together with the easy intimacy of three months building toward forever. “And that’s worth more than candles and speeches.”
I squeeze his hand, feeling the weight of the ring—promise and choice and future all wrapped in platinum and emeralds. “You’re right. It is.”