Chapter Forty-Eight Ella
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ella
Breakfast is scrumptious. As if by magic, an omelet with kale and parsnip appears in front of me. Mario, the cook, serves us.
Isn’t that Rocco’s job?
I glance at Tiero, silently asking the question, but he keeps sipping his coffee, his expression unreadable.
He said no one was injured in yesterday’s blast. Maybe Rocco has different duties this morning.
The explanation feels thin, but I let it settle. I don’t want to start this day by digging for shadows.
We eat in comfortable silence on deck, sunlight warming my skin. The boat is anchored in a small, sheltered bay. Stretched out before us is Tiero’s island, and he watches it with unmistakable pride, one arm draped casually along the railing.
I study the crescent of land nestled in the vast blue expanse of the sea. There isn’t another stretch of land in sight.
Seclusion is the word.
“The island is shaped like a crescent moon,” Tiero explains. “We’re anchored in the belly of it. Protected from the wind.”
“Is the boat staying here?”
“No. They’ll head back out to sea and return for us on Saturday. They’ll stay within range in case we need to leave earlier.”
I tilt my head, looking at him, unable to hide my hopeful smile. “Are you telling me we’ll be on this island without your security team?”
“I wish. Santino and Alonso are staying. But don’t worry, we won’t see them. Their huts are on the opposite side. They’re under strict orders not to disturb us.”
Under strict orders. Something about the phrasing makes my pulse skip, though I can’t quite explain why.
“How big is this island of yours?” I ask, letting my gaze drift over the sandy shoreline backed by lush green trees. A wide section has been cleared, and a hut-style house with an enormous pool glinting in the sun blends into the landscape as if it belongs there.
“Not very big. You can walk around it in about two hours.”
“That’s bigger than mine,” I tease, rising from my seat and settling onto his lap.
My hands slip into the pocket of my bathrobe, my fingers brushing over the small black box I bought yesterday.
It feels right to give it to him now.
“I have something for you,” I say, pulling out the box and holding it between us.
Surprise crosses his face.
“What is it?”
“A present.” I extend it toward him. “And no, it’s not an engagement ring,” I add lightly.
A faint smirk curves his mouth as he takes it and opens the lid.
His expression shifts instantly.
For a moment, he simply looks at it.
“I saw it in a shop in Syracuse yesterday,” I say, suddenly aware of how exposed this feels. “It practically demanded to be bought.”
Inside, the lion’s head gleams against the velvet cushion. Tiny compared to the one inked across his back, but unmistakably similar. Two sapphires form its eyes, catching the light in sharp blue flashes.
“The eyes reminded me of your tattoo,” I say quietly.
He lifts the tie pin with surprising care, turning it between his fingers as though it’s something far more significant than metal and stone.
“This is magnificent,” he says.
When his gaze returns to mine, it’s different. Softer. More open than I’ve ever seen it.
“I will treasure this.”
He bends and kisses me. “Thank you, angel.”
Before I can respond, he lifts me into his arms and carries me down the hallway and back toward the bedroom.
To thank me properly.
An hour later, I follow Tiero down to the lower deck.
Three jet skis are lined up at the stern, engines already idling. Tiero swings onto one with easy confidence and holds out his hand for me.
I take it and climb on behind him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist.
I’ve never been on one of these before.
How exciting.
Santino and Alonso mount the other two and tear off toward the shore almost immediately.
I watch Giuseppe, the skipper, and Mario as they load our bags and supplies into a smaller vessel.
They move efficiently, practiced. Everything about this operation feels seamless. Though Rocco is not here again.
The roar of our engine pulls my attention back to Tiero as we surge forward, skimming across the water. My heart pounds in time with the vibration beneath us.
We head straight toward the island, but just before reaching it, Tiero veers sharply right, guiding us along the shoreline instead.
“Let me show you my island,” he calls over the wind and engine noise. “We’ll go around.”
He slows slightly so I can take it in. White stretches of sand. Dense clusters of trees. Rocky edges where waves break in bursts of white foam. It feels untouched.
Before long, we reach the far side. Through gaps in the trees, I spot a handful of huts spaced evenly among the trees.
That must be where the others are staying.
Even from here, it’s clear they’re far enough away to be invisible unless we go looking.
A few minutes later, we circle back. This time Tiero guides the jet ski straight up onto the sand.
I hop off, my feet sinking into the water. It’s refreshingly cool against the heat already building in the day.
“I assume there’s going to be enough food and water for a few days?” I ask, the practical side of me surfacing. The thought of being stranded here without provisions flashes briefly through my mind.
Tiero laughs, completely unbothered. “Of course, princess. The kitchen’s fully stocked. We could stay here for weeks and not run out of anything. And if we needed more, we’d have it flown in.”
He gestures toward the treeline. “There’s a heliport on the island.”
Of course there is.
I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. He doesn’t do anything halfway.
We walk up a wide path toward his dwelling.
Off to one side of the beach sits a cabana-style hut in the same design as the main house.
Beneath its roof is a large daybed draped in gauzy mosquito nets, tied back with azure ribbons.
The fabric lifts and flutters lazily in the breeze.
Cushions in every shade of blue are scattered across the head of the bed.
I want to throw myself onto it immediately.
Could this be any more perfect?
A bed by the sea, on a private beach, on a secluded island. I’m fairly certain my vacation standards have just been permanently ruined.
A laugh bubbles up, and I have to physically stop myself from squealing. I settle for bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet instead.
This is not just a getaway.
It’s an escape.
I pull out my phone and make Tiero pose halfway up the path. Rhia is going to lose her mind when she sees this.
The house itself is smaller than I expected. Given Tiero’s personality, I imagined something grand and imposing. Instead, it’s thoughtfully designed to blend into its surroundings rather than dominate them.
The thatched roof is layered with thick reeds, and the structure feels almost tropical.
With a burst of childlike excitement, I hurry past him and jog up a few shallow steps into the courtyard.
The enormous swimming pool I spotted from the boat stretches across the center, the water shimmering in the sunlight.
Another cabana sits to my right with a second oversized daybed and low wooden tables flanking it. A hot tub occupies the opposite side of the deck.
I can already picture it at night.
Stars overhead. No artificial light. Just the sky and the sea and us.
This time I do squeal and clap my hands together.
I check my watch, calculating how long until sunset. Too long. More than half a day still to go. Never mind. There’s plenty to explore in the meantime.
Tiero slides open a set of bi-fold glass doors, and I step inside.
The interior is bright and airy. High ceilings with dark exposed timber beams draw my eye upward. Warm wooden floorboards run through the open-plan space, which curves gently, mirroring the crescent shape of the island itself.
To the left sits a kitchen with granite countertops and sleek appliances. Two overflowing fruit baskets rest on the breakfast bar: bananas, mangoes, pineapples, citrus fruits. Abundance without effort.
In the center, a sofa anchors the space, flanked by three armchairs and a low timber coffee table.
What strikes me most is what’s missing.
There’s no television.
Instead, floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with books line the walls.
This is so him.
Almost without thinking, I drift toward them, running my fingers over the spines. A few thrillers. But mostly Italian and European history. Mythology. Strategy. Stories of empires rising and falling.
Some of the books are worn, clearly read more than once.
It really is his sanctuary.
And I’m falling in love with it too.
And far more dangerously, I’m falling for the man who built it.
A door beside the bookshelves opens into a large bedroom. At its center stands a king-size four-poster bed draped in sheer white muslin. Another door leads to the adjoining bathroom.
And that’s it.
“That’s the whole house?” I ask, turning back to him. “Only one bedroom. This isn’t exactly a party villa.”
He chuckles softly. “This is where I come to recharge. Other than Mateo, no one comes here.”
“No one?” I tilt my head. “You don’t bring women here?”
He studies me for a moment, something unguarded flickering in his eyes.
“No. Never. You’re the first.”
The air shifts.
I’m not sure what to say.
My heart stumbles, then swells so hard it almost hurts. And the butterflies in my stomach are having a field day.
He steps closer, drawing me into his arms. His gaze holds mine, steady and searching, as though he wants me to understand what this place means to him.
And what it means that I’m standing here.
I melt into him, into the warmth of his chest, into the intensity of his eyes until the edges between us blur.
“Let’s test the bed,” he murmurs, his voice low as he walks me backward until the back of my knees touches the mattress. “If I remember correctly, it’s very comfortable.”
I laugh softly against his mouth as he lowers me onto the bed and covers me with his body, kissing me slowly this time.
Can life get any better?