Chapter Thirty-Four
Cooper
The decision to go to Greece had been spontaneous—or at least, that’s what I let Allegra believe. In truth, I’d been planning it for weeks, knowing we both needed time to heal away from Paris and its memories. Santorini, with its whitewashed walls and endless blue horizons, proved to be exactly what we needed. But as I watched Allegra sleeping peacefully beside me, I knew it was time for the next step in our journey.
It had been hard keeping it a secret, but luckily I had a lawyer in my court—Colton had been overseeing it all. Property lawyers, real estate agents, endless paperwork—all while I maintained the illusion that we were simply enjoying an extended vacation in Greece.
As if sensing my thoughts, Allegra stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Morning,” she murmured, a sleepy smile spreading across her face.
“Morning, beautiful,” I replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “How are you feeling today?”
It had become our morning ritual, this check-in. Over our time in Greece, I’d watched the shadows slowly fade from her eyes, the tension ease from her shoulders. But I knew the trauma of her kidnapping wasn’t something that would disappear overnight.
“Better,” Allegra said, stretching languidly. “I think I slept through the night without any nightmares.”
Pride and relief surged through me. “That’s great, angel.” I hesitated for a moment, then added, “How would you feel about a change of scenery?”
She propped herself up on one elbow, curiosity lighting her features. “What kind of change?”
“I was thinking...Italy?”
The way her eyes lit up told me I’d made the right choice. “Really? Where in Italy?”
“I thought we could start in Tuscany,” I said casually, though my heart was racing. “Maybe explore some of the hill towns, visit some vineyards...”
“Oh, Cooper, that would be amazing!” Allegra sat up fully now, excitement radiating from her. “I haven’t been to Tuscany since...” Her voice trailed off, a shadow crossing her face.
“Since your grandparents passed?” I finished gently.
She nodded, a wistful smile touching her lips. “Their vineyard was in Tuscany, you know. Near Montepulciano.” She sighed softly. “It broke my heart when I had to sell it.”
I pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Tell me about it again? The vineyard?”
Allegra settled against my chest, her voice taking on the dreamy quality it always did when she spoke of her childhood memories. “It was the most beautiful place I’ve ever known. This old stone villa with weathered blue shutters, surrounded by rows and rows of vines that seemed to stretch forever. The kitchen always smelled like fresh bread and herbs from the garden. And the view from the terrace...” She closed her eyes, lost in the memory. “You could see all the way to Montepulciano on clear days, the town rising up from the hills like something from a Renaissance painting.”
“It sounds perfect,” I murmured, holding her closer.
“It was.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “I used to dream about living there again someday. Silly, really.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Not silly at all.”
The breeze off the Aegean carried the scent of salt and wild flowers as Allegra and I sat on our villa’s terrace in Santorini, enjoying our last night here. She was sketching in her notebook, something she’d taken up during our weeks of healing here. The Mediterranean climate seemed to help with my leg injury. Most days I could get by without the cane now, though I kept it close—a reminder of both how far I’d come and how quickly things could change. Allegra had continued her magic, working through exercises with me faithfully every morning, watching the sunrise over the Aegean as I worked to keep my mobility.
“What are you up to?” I asked, setting down two glasses of wine.
She looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just some ideas. Being here, seeing how the locals use traditional healing methods alongside modern medicine...it’s got me thinking.”
I settled beside her, glancing at her detailed drawings. “About? ”
“A different kind of physical therapy practice. Something that combines traditional rehabilitation with holistic wellness approaches.”
Her eyes sparkled as she explained, gesturing to her sketches. “Imagine a place where patients could heal not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. Therapeutic gardens, meditation spaces, traditional therapeutic techniques passed down through generations...”
“Like a wellness center?”
“Exactly.” She bit her lip, suddenly self-conscious. “I know it sounds idealistic—”
“It sounds perfect,” I interrupted, an idea beginning to form in my mind. “The kind of place that could really help people heal.”
Allegra smiled, leaning into me. “It’s just a dream right now. But someday, maybe...”
I pressed a kiss to her temple, already making mental notes.
Someday would come sooner than she thought.
Two days later, we were on Steele’s jet, flying to Florence. Allegra dozed against my shoulder as the Mediterranean coastline gave way to the Italian peninsula. My phone buzzed with a message from Colton: Everything’s ready. Keys are waiting at the hotel in Montepulciano. Good luck, brother.
We spent our first few days exploring Florence, wandering through the Uffizi, eating gelato by the Arno, getting lost in the narrow streets. Allegra came alive in a different way here—not the peaceful healing we’d found in Greece, but something deeper, more connected to her roots.
On our fourth morning, I suggested a drive through the countryside. Allegra agreed eagerly, her face lighting up at the prospect of showing me her beloved Tuscany. She didn’t question when I took the road toward Montepulciano, assuming I was following her casual suggestions for a wine-tasting tour.
The landscape unfolded before us like a living masterpiece—rolling hills striped with vineyards and olive groves, cypress trees standing like exclamation points against the vibrant blue sky. Weathered towns crowned distant hills, their stone walls glowing golden in the morning sun.
Allegra pointed out landmarks as we drove, her voice growing more animated with each familiar sight. But as we turned onto a cypress-lined drive I knew she must have walked countless times as a child, she fell silent.
“Cooper,” she said slowly, recognition dawning on her face. “This is...”
“The road to your grandparents’ vineyard,” I finished softly. “I know.”
She turned to me, her eyes wide with confusion and something like hope. “But why? I told you it was sold years ago.”
“It was,” I agreed, bringing the car to a stop in front of the old villa. It looked exactly like her descriptions—the weathered blue shutters, the climbing roses around the door, the ancient stone walls warmed by centuries of Tuscan sun. “Until this morning.”
Allegra’s hand flew to her mouth, tears already gathering in her eyes. “Cooper...what did you do? ”
Instead of answering, I got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Taking her trembling hand, I led her toward the house. The gravel crunched beneath our feet, and the scent of sun-warmed herbs and ripening grapes filled the air.
Allegra moved as if in a dream, her fingers trailing over familiar stones, her mind taking in every detail.
I pulled an ancient iron key from my pocket—the original, the real estate agent had assured Colton—and pressed it into her shaking hand.
“Cooper,” she whispered, tears now flowing freely. “Please tell me you didn’t...”
“Open the door,” I urged gently.
With trembling fingers, Allegra inserted the key into the lock. It turned with a satisfying click, and the door swung open. The interior was exactly as she’d described—terracotta floors worn smooth by generations of footsteps, exposed wooden beams overhead, walls the color of harvested wheat.
She moved through the rooms like someone in a dream, touching door frames, window ledges, walls—as if confirming it was all real. In each room, memories spilled from her lips in broken whispers.
“Here’s where Nonna taught me to make pasta...This is where Nonno would read to me during thunderstorms...The mark on this door frame—that’s where they measured my height every summer...”
In the kitchen, she stopped abruptly, her hand going to a worn spot on the marble counter. “I used to sit here,” she said softly, “watching my grandmother bake bread. She’d let me knead the dough sometimes, even though my hands were too small to do it properly. ”
Allegra turned to me then, her face a symphony of emotions—joy, disbelief, love, and something deeper, more profound. “Cooper, I can’t believe you did this. But...why?”
Taking both her hands in mine, I led her to the French doors that opened onto the terrace. The view was spectacular—rolling hills covered in vineyards, olive groves, and cypress trees, all bathed in the golden light of late morning. In the distance, Montepulciano rose from the hilltop, tying it all together like oil on canvas.
“Because I love you,” I said simply. “Because this place is part of who you are, and I want to be part of who you’ll become.” I took a deep breath, then dropped to one knee. Allegra’s eyes widened, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Allegra,” my voice was rough, stripped bare of any pretense. I ran a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to look away from the intensity in her gaze. “I’ve spent my whole life in the shadows, doing whatever the hell it took to survive. Then you...” I let out a shaky breath. “You saw right through every wall I put up. Every mask. Every bit of bullshit.”
My fingers trembled slightly as they traced her cheek. “You know what I am. The blood on my hands, the darkness I carry. And you still look at me like... like I’m worth something.” My voice cracked. “I can’t promise it’ll always be easy. But I can promise you this—every breath in my body, every beat of my heart, belongs to you.” I pulled out the ring box, my heart in my throat. “Marry me.”
I didn’t really ask. I wouldn’t take no for an answer, no matter what she said .
I opened the box, revealing the ring I’d had custom made in Florence—a vintage-style design featuring a cushion-cut diamond surrounded by smaller stones, set in rose gold. It reminded me of the antique jewelry she’d described her grandmother wearing in old photographs.
“Yes,” she breathed, then louder, through her tears, “Yes, Cooper. Of course I’ll marry you.”
My hands were shaking slightly as I slipped the ring onto her finger, but as soon as it was in place, Allegra pulled me to my feet and into a passionate kiss. I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, our laughter echoing through the old house.
When we finally broke apart, both breathless and giddy, I rested my forehead against hers. “I have one more surprise,” I murmured.
“Cooper,” she laughed incredulously. “How could there possibly be more?”
“The house, the vineyard...it’s yours, Allegra. It’s in your name. But…I’d like to be a part of it. I want to live here with you, if that’s what you want.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak, her hands clutching mine as she tried to process my words. The breeze carried the scent of rosemary and sun-warmed stone, the same scents that had filled her childhood summers. In the distance, a church bell tolled, its sound carrying across the valley just as it had for centuries.
“This is where you grew up,” I continued softly. “Where your roots are. It should never have left your family.” I cupped her face in my hands, wiping away her tears with my thumbs. “And I have plans, if you’re interested. ”
“Plans?” she managed to ask, her voice thick with emotion.
I nodded, gesturing to the surrounding vineyards. “The vines are still healthy—they’ve been well-maintained. We could restart production, maybe even add that wellness center we talked about in Greece. A place for healing, for new beginnings.” I paused, considering how to tell her the rest. “I’ve already started transitioning my other businesses. The art galleries in Paris and London are completely legitimate now, and the import and export company only deals in legal goods. Steele’s been helping me clean everything up, making sure it’s all above board. No more weapons, no more dangerous games. Just wine, art, and helping people heal.” I looked into her eyes, seeing my future reflected there. “What do you think?”
Allegra’s smile was radiant as she threw her arms around my neck. “I think,” she said between kisses, “that I can’t wait to build a life here with you.”
As we stood there on the terrace of what was now our home, the Tuscan sun warming our skin, I felt a peace I’d never known before. Looking out over the vineyard, I could see our future stretching before us like the neat rows of vines. A place of our own, far from the darkness of my past. A business built on healing rather than harm. A life filled with love and purpose and the promise of new beginnings.
“I love you,” I murmured, pulling Allegra closer. “More than I ever thought possible.”
She turned in my arms, her engagement ring catching the sunlight. “I love you too, Cooper,” she whispered. “Always and forever.”
As we stood there, planning our future amid the vines her grandparents had planted, I knew with absolute certainty that this was exactly where we were meant to be. Greece had been our healing place, but Tuscany—this was our home. This was where we would build our future, in the place where Allegra’s past held its deepest roots.
I had another surprise planned for Allegra that evening. After everything we’d been through—the shooting, Viktor, her father—this felt like the right moment. Time to show her that her faith in me had paid off.
When she came out to the villa’s terrace, she froze at the sight of the motorcycle waiting in the drive. A sleek black Ducati—not my old one from Paris, but the same model. I had it delivered this morning while she was at the market.
“Remember our first goal?” I asked, watching her face. “Back when you were just my physical therapist, and I told you what I missed most?”
She stepped closer to the bike, awe written across her features. “Your motorcycle. You said you wanted to ride again.”
“Thanks to you, I can.” I held out a helmet. “Want to see the sunset from the coast?”
For a moment, she hesitated, and I could see her therapist’s instincts warring with her heart. “Are you sure your leg—”
“Is strong enough,” I finished. “The time in Greece and your expertise made sure of that.”
The smile that lit up her face was worth every grueling therapy session, every setback, every moment of frustration. She took the helmet, then surprised me by stretching up to kiss me softly.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispered against my lips.
Minutes later, we were winding along the coastal road, Allegra’s arms wrapped tight around my waist. The Mediterranean stretched out beside us, painted gold by the setting sun. My leg held steady, strong, as we leaned into each curve. No pain, no weakness—just freedom, speed, and the woman I loved holding onto me like she never wanted to let go.