81 | Are you happy?
A week has passed, and New York's chill greets us like a slap as we step off the plane, the spring's wind biting through my coat, so different from Sicily's warmth.
Two therapy sessions with Dr. Navarro have left me raw but steadier, her words still heavy but less terrifying, because she's coming with us, her promise to be my full-time psychologist a quiet comfort, like a safety net for the chaos in my head.
Luciano's hand is in mine, his ring glinting against my own, and I hold on tight, anchoring myself to him as he leads me to a black SUV waiting on the tarmac.
My heart's a mix of nerves and hope, because we're here to hunt the person sending me those videos, to end the pain they're carving into me, but with him beside me, I feel like we can face anything.
The car ride is an hour, the city's lights blurring past, and Luciano's thumb traces circles on my hand, his touch a silent vow that keeps the cold at bay.
I lean into him, my head on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to my hair.
"You okay?" he murmurs, and I nod, because with him, more than I've ever been.
The mansion looms as we pull up, its stone facade grand and familiar, but it feels like a lifetime since I was last here, back when I was drowning in doubt, thinking he could never love me.
Now, everything's changed, we're together, bound by love, by rings, by a fire that's dark and consuming, and it makes the world feel new, even if the walls are the same.
Luciano steps out first, circling to open my door, his hand extended, and I take it, stepping outside the car.
He doesn't let go as we climb the stairs, the heavy doors swinging open, and the foyer greets us, marble, chandeliers, untouched, like time froze here. But it's different, because he's mine now, his arm around my waist, his presence a shield against the ghosts of my past.
"Let's eat," he says, his voice soft but edged with hunger, not just for food, and my pulse quickens as he leads me toward the dining room, his hand never leaving mine.
But he's not content with just holding me, his lips find my neck, a brush that sends shivers down my spine, then a peck on my lips, quick but searing, like he can't help himself.
I laugh, my cheeks flushing, and he grins, pulling me closer.
By the time we reach the dining room's doorway, we're lost in each other, his hands on my face, my fingers in his hair, our mouths crashing together, desperate, consuming, like we're starving for this.
His body presses against mine and I'm drowning in him, in the heat, the love, the need that's as dark as it is beautiful.
Suddenly a throat clears and I freeze, Luciano's lips still hovering over mine, his arm tightening around me, keeping me close, like he's daring anyone to pull us apart.
I turn, my heart stuttering, and see Nico, Luciano's right-hand man, standing by the dining table, his scarred face unreadable but his eyes glinting with amusement.
Beside him is Gabriele, the Chicago underboss, his gaze raking over me in a way that makes my skin crawl, shit, I'd forgotten about him, the man who disrespected me a month ago.
And Franco's there too...
He's sitting near a chair, his eyes on me.
My stomach twists, the heat of Luciano fading under their stares, but his hand on my waist steadies me, his presence a wall between me and them.
Luciano's face darkens, his jaw clenching, and his voice is a low growl, lethal.
"What the fuck is Gabriele doing here?" he demands, his eyes narrowing at Nico, ignoring the others, his body angled to shield me, like he senses my unease.
Gabriele's smirk widens, but there's a flicker of nerves beneath it, and he raises his hands, mock-innocent.
"Nico dragged me here," he says, his voice smooth, too smooth, like oil on water. "Said you wanted to talk."
Luciano's sigh is heavy, frustrated, and he glances at Nico, who shrugs, unapologetic.
"Needed to sort this now," Nico says, and I know it's about the videos, the enemy we're chasing.
Luciano's eyes meet mine, softening for a moment, and he leans down, pressing one last kiss to my lips,like a claim in front of them all.
"Stay here," he murmurs, his voice just for me, thick with promise. "I'll handle this."
I nod, my heart racing, and he turns, his face hardening again as he jerks his head at Nico.
"Take Gabriele to my office," he orders, his voice cold, final. "Now."
Nico moves, grabbing Gabriele's arm, and they disappear down the hall, the underboss's smirk faltering as he's led away.
Franco stays, his eyes still on me, and the air shifts. It'sawkwardbecause it's just us now, me and a man who once meant something.
Franco shifts, his chair creaking, and I brace myself, my hand tightening on the ring, because I don't know what he wants, what he'll say.
Franco stands up, his frame lean but tense.
"You and him," he says, nodding toward the hall where Luciano disappeared with Nico and Gabriele. "You're together?"
"Yeah," I say, meeting his gaze, unflinching. "We are."
His eyes drop to my ring, then flick to my lips, lingering there, and I see the flash of something raw, something like pain, before he masks it.
He steps closer, just a fraction, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his voice softens, almost hesitant. "Does he make you happy? Are you happy?"
The question catches me off guard, and I think of Luciano, his tears for me, his vows, the way he kisses me like I'm his salvation, the way he would turn the world upside down for me.
A smile curves my lips because it's not just happiness, it's everything, a love so dark and consuming it's rewritten my world.
"Yes," I say, my voice warm, sure. "He does."
Franco nods and his eyes soften, like he's letting something go.
"That's all that matters," he says, his voice quieter now, resigned but not bitter, and I believe him, because there's no venom there, just a man trying to find his own way out of the shadows.
He pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen, and his jaw tightens, a decision settling over him.
"I need to go," he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket, his eyes meeting mine again, distant, like he's already halfway gone.
I blink because I thought he'd stay, thought he'd linger in Luciano's orbit like always.
"Are you not staying?" I ask, a flicker of concern rising, because Franco was a soldier in the mafia.
He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I quit," he says, the words simple but heavy, like they've been waiting a long time to be spoken.
My brows lift, shock mingling with curiosity, because quitting the Costa mafia isn't just walking away, it's a choice, a risk.
"Oh," I say, my voice catching. "Why?"
He exhales, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment, he's not the soldier, not the man who once looked at me with hope.
"I'm moving away, starting over," he says, his voice warming slightly.
I nod, processing, because it's big, bigger than I expected.
"You worked hard to be a soldier for the Costas," I say, my voice gentle.
He shrugs, his smile bittersweet.
"I know," he says, his eyes drifting to the window, to the city beyond. "But... I just want a break, you know? Maybe reunite with my dad or my family?"
"Be happy, Franco," I say, my voice soft but firm, meaning it, because he deserves that, deserves to find his own happiness, like I've found mine with Luciano.
"Thanks," he says, his voice low, and he steps past me, his shoulder brushing close but not touching, a deliberate distance that says he's letting go for good.
I don't move, don't run after him, because I see the hurt in his posture, the way he's carrying something I can't fix, something I caused when I let him hope for more than I could give.
I won't do that again, won't offer false promises or chase him for closure we don't need.
He deserves to move on, to heal, and maybe one day, when he's better, when the wounds aren't so fresh, he'll reach out, not as a lover, but as someone who knew me before I was Luciano's.
For now, I let him walk away, the dining room door swinging shut behind him, leaving me alone with the echo of his footsteps.