19. Sal
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Sal
The garden was quiet at this hour.
Late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the stone paths. The fountain burbled softly in the center of the courtyard, water cascading over moss-covered rocks into a pool where koi fish swam lazy circles.
This was where we’d walked together, those first uncertain days.
Where she’d grieved her old life and slowly, tentatively, started building a new one.
Where I’d watched her laugh with my men and cry over her family and transform from a broken woman in a ruined wedding dress into something fierce and beautiful and utterly unstoppable.
This was where I’d fallen in love with her.
And this was where I was going to ask her to marry me.
The box in my pocket felt heavier than it should. A small thing, velvet covered, containing a ring I’d had made specifically for her. I’d spent days working with the jeweler, rejecting design after design until we got it right.
I was nervous as shit.
Me. Salvatore Fiore. The man who had killed without hesitation, who had built an empire on blood and fear, who had stared down enemies and never once flinched.
Nervous. Over a woman. Over a question.
Fuck.
I stopped at the fountain where the flowers grew wildest. Roses and jasmine and something purple I didn’t know the name of, all tangled together in a riot of color and scent. She loved this spot. I’d seen her here a dozen times, sitting on the stone bench, her face tilted toward the sun.
Footsteps on the path behind me.
I turned.
Camellia was walking toward me, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a simple sundress that made her look like she belonged here. In this garden. In this life. With me.
“You wanted to see me?” She stopped a few feet away, her head tilted, curiosity in her dark eyes. “Pedro said it was urgent.”
“It is.” My voice came out rough. I cleared my throat. “I need to tell you something.”
Her expression shifted. Worried now. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing happened. I just...” I took a breath. “I know it’s fast.”
“What’s fast?”
“Us. This. Everything.” I ran a hand through my hair, a nervous gesture I hadn’t made since I was a teenager. “I know we started as a deal. A transaction. You needed revenge, I needed leverage, and we both got what we wanted.”
“Sal...”
“Let me finish.” I held up a hand. “Please. I need to say this.”
She nodded. Waited.
I reached into my pocket. Pulled out the box. Watched her eyes widen as she realized what it was.
“I don’t want this to be a deal anymore.” I opened the box.
The ring was simple. A single stone, set low and secure, designed for a woman who used her hands. Nothing like the gaudy three-carat monstrosity Logan had given her. Nothing like the flashy status symbol meant to impress other people.
This ring was meant only for her.
“I want forever.” I dropped to one knee. My ribs gave a sharp twinge of protest at the angle, still knitting themselves back together, and I let the grimace show and then ignored it. Some things were worth a little pain.
She made a sound. A soft, strangled noise that might have been a gasp or a sob or both.
“I might be a fool in love.” The words came out easier now, flowing like water, like I’d been waiting my whole life to say them. “I might be rushing through a thousand steps. I know we both need time. Need trust. Need to know each other better.”
Her eyes were glistening. Her hands were pressed to her mouth.
“But I don’t want to let another second go by without making my intentions toward you clear, my fiore.” I held the ring up toward her. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. You make my days better. My nights unforgettable. You brought me back to life.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.
“I’ve rediscovered joy. Hope. Things I thought I’d lost forever, things I thought were burned out of me when I was twelve years old.
You gave them back to me.” My voice cracked.
I didn’t care. “And I want to make you the happiest woman on earth. I want to worship you. Love you. Make you my queen every single day of my life.”
She was crying now. Silent tears streaming down her face, her whole body trembling.
“Because I love you. And I am not letting you go.” I took a breath.
“So please, Cami. Accept me as your husband. Marry me, love. It doesn’t have to be now.
Or in a year. But when you’re ready. When you trust me enough.
When you believe that I will spend every moment of the rest of my life making up for the pain I caused you. ”
Silence.
The fountain burbled. The flowers swayed in the breeze. The world held its breath.
“Say it.” Her voice came out quiet. Steady. “Say it all out loud first.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Everything you are. Everything you’ve done.” She lowered her hands from her mouth. Her eyes were clear now, fixed on mine. “I need to hear you say it.”
I understood.
She needed to know that she was choosing this with open eyes. That she wasn’t making another mistake, wasn’t falling for another man who would hide things from her and lie to her face.
She needed honesty. Complete and brutal and unflinching.
I could give her that.
“I’m a criminal.” The words came out flat. Factual. “I run an organization that operates outside the law. I make money through means that would land me in prison for the rest of my life if the wrong people found out.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I have killed people.” I held her gaze. “With my own hands. Men who threatened me or mine. Men who deserved it and men who were simply in my way. I don’t lose sleep over it.”
“Yes.”
“I am possessive.” My jaw tightened. “Terrifying, according to most people. I broke a man’s arm in two places for speaking to you wrong. I would do it again.”
“Yes.”
“I watched you plan a wedding I knew was a disaster.” This one was harder.
This one still burned. “I had evidence of the affair for months. I could have told you any time. Instead, I waited for the worst possible moment. I timed it for maximum impact. I knew you would be humiliated and I did it anyway because it served my purposes.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I stayed on my knee. The ring glinting in the fading sunlight. My heart pounding against my ribs.
She reached down.
Took the box from my hands.
Pulled the ring from its velvet bed.
And slid it onto her finger.
“Yes.”
I was on my feet before the word finished leaving her mouth. My arms around her, lifting her, spinning her, her laughter ringing through the garden like bells. I kissed her breathless, tasting salt from her tears, feeling her hands fist in my shirt and pull me closer.
“Yes,” she said again, against my lips. “Yes, yes, yes.”
We didn’t make it inside.
The garden had hidden alcoves, tucked away behind walls of ivy and climbing roses, private and secluded and perfect for exactly this. I’d discovered them weeks ago, had filed away the knowledge for a moment just like this one.
I pressed her against an ivy-covered wall, the leaves cool against her back, the ring glinting on her finger in the fading light.
“Wife.” I murmured the word against her neck, testing it. Tasting it.
“Not yet.” She was breathless. Laughing. “You have to actually marry me first.”
“A technicality.”
I kissed her again. Deeper this time. My hands sliding down her body, learning her curves through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Sal.” Her head fell back against the ivy. “Someone could see.”
“No one comes here.” I dropped to my knees. “I made sure of it.”
My hands slid up her thighs, pushing the sundress higher. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The discovery made me groan.
“You knew.” I looked up at her. “You came out here knowing.”
“I had a feeling.” Her smile was wicked. “Pedro seemed very nervous when he delivered your message.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.”
I leaned forward and dragged my tongue through her folds.
She gasped, her hands flying to my hair, gripping tight. I licked her slowly, tasting her arousal, savoring every drop. My tongue traced circles around her clit, teasing, not quite giving her what she needed.
“Sal.” Her voice was already strained. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“More. I need more.”
I gave her more. My tongue pressed flat against her clit, licking in long, firm strokes. She moaned, her hips bucking against my face, her fingers tightening in my hair.
“Say my name,” I growled against her pussy.
“Sal.”
I sucked her clit into my mouth. Flicked it with my tongue.
“Again.”
“Sal.” It came out breathless. Desperate.
I slid two fingers inside her. She cried out, her whole body shuddering. I fucked her with my fingers while my tongue worked her clit, building her higher and higher.
“Again.”
“Sal.” Her voice was cracking now. “Sal, please, I’m going to...”
“Not yet.” I pulled back. Stood up. She whimpered at the loss.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I want to be inside you when you come.” I unzipped my pants and freed my cock, thick and aching and dripping for her. “I want to feel that tight little cunt squeeze me.”
I lifted her against the wall. Her legs wrapped around my waist, the ivy rustling behind her. The ring on her finger caught the light as she gripped my shoulders.
“Ready?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
I pushed inside her.
We both groaned. She was so wet, so tight, her pussy a tight wet fist around me. I held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, letting us both feel it.
“Fuck.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “You feel so good. Always so good.”
“Move.” Her nails dug into my shoulders through my shirt. “Please. Now. I can’t wait.”
I moved.
Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that made her gasp with every thrust. The ivy rustled against her back. The ring glinted on her finger. The whole dark garden held its breath around us.
“Say my name,” I commanded.
“Sal.”
I thrust harder.
“Sal.” Louder now.
Harder still. Deeper. Fucking her against the wall like I was trying to claim her from the inside out.
“Sal. Sal. Sal.” She was chanting it now, her voice growing rougher with each repetition. “Sal, fuck, right there, don’t stop.”
“Never.” I angled my hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her scream. “I’m never stopping.”
“Sal!” Her voice was raw. Strained. “Sal, I’m close, I’m so close.”
“I love you.” I said it into the curve of her neck, never breaking rhythm, the words rough and certain and torn straight out of my chest. “My wife. My fiore. I love you.”
“I love you,” she gasped back. “I love you, I love you...”
“Come for me.” I reached between us, found her clit, rubbed it in tight circles. “Soak me, fiore. I want to feel you come apart.”
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her, her pussy clamping down on me so hard I saw stars. She screamed my name, the sound tearing from her throat hoarse and broken, her whole body convulsing around me.
I followed her over the edge, burying myself as deep as I could go, groaning her name into her neck as I came.
We stayed tangled together against the ivy wall, breathing hard, hearts slamming in sync.
“Sal.” Her voice was barely a whisper now. Rough. Used. She’d screamed my name so many times it had gone hoarse.
“Cami.” I kissed her softly. “My wife.”
“Not yet.” But she was smiling. Glowing. “Soon though.”
I carried her to a soft patch of grass nearby, laid her down gently, and joined her. We lay there tangled together, the stars overhead, the fountain singing its quiet song.
“I want a real wedding.” Her voice was soft. Certain. Raspy from all the screaming. “Small. Just us and people who actually care about us.”
“Done.”
“No church.”
“God no.” I shuddered. “Never a church.”
She laughed. Then grew quiet. Her fingers traced patterns on my chest.
“And please.” She lifted her head. Looked at me. “Say the right name.”
The laugh that escaped me was real and surprised and more joyful than any sound I’d made in years.
“I will get it tattooed on me if it helps.” I pulled her closer. Kissed her forehead. “Camellia Fiore.”
She went still.
“Fiore?” She pushed up on one elbow, staring down at me. “Wait. That’s your last name?”
I frowned. “You didn’t know my last name?”
“You never told me.” Her eyes were wide. “It never came up. Not once. Everyone calls you Sal, or boss, or sir, and I just never knew.” She let out a stunned little breath. “You’ve been calling me fiore this whole time. You’ve been calling me your own last name?”
I smiled. Reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Flower,” I said softly. “It means flower. But yes. I’ve been calling you mine since the beginning. Maybe I knew, even then. That you were always meant to be a Fiore.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she laughed, bright and clear, and dropped back down onto my chest.
“Camellia Fiore.” She tested the name. “It does have a nice ring to it.”
“The best ring.” I held up her hand, the diamond catching starlight. “Literally.”
She groaned. “That was terrible.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, fiore.” I pulled her closer, tucked her against my side, and stared up at the stars. “We were always meant to be.”
And yeah.
She couldn’t argue with that.