Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
VIOLA
We arrive at the villa just as the sun is beginning its slow descent toward the Pacific.
The driver turns off the main coastal road onto a private, winding path carved into the cliffs of Malibu.
The house appears gradually. A stunningly modern estate perched on the edge of the world.
It seems to be made entirely of glass and warm stone, with sweeping ocean views that make my breath catch.
It’s the kind of place only the extremely rich can disappear to.
It is completely private, surrounded by high walls and lush landscaping, and with no other properties in sight.
The air smells of salt and wild rosemary, and the breeze is cool against my skin after the flight.
I feel like I’ve stepped into another world.
A discreet staff member comes out to greet us and leads us inside.
The moment we enter the suite, I’m blown away. The interior is gorgeous, breathtaking actually.
Our room is open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that frame the endless blue of the ocean like a living painting.
There is a king-sized bed with crisp white linens.
But what really steals my breath is the private infinity pool just outside on the terrace, its water merging seamlessly with the horizon.
The late afternoon light dances across the surface, turning everything golden and dreamlike.
I’m instantly itching to go outside, to feel the ocean air on my skin, to dip my toes in that water and let the sound of the waves wash over me.
But when I turn to Ricci, I see the exhaustion in his eyes.
It’s there in the slight slump of his shoulders, the faint shadows beneath his whiskey gaze, the way he rubs the back of his neck like the weight of the world is still pressing on him.
He’s been running on empty for days now, and even though he tries to hide it, I can read him now. I don’t hesitate.
“Come on,” I say softly, taking his hand. “Shower with me.”
He doesn’t argue and lets me lead him into the luxurious bathroom.
The water is hot and steamy as it cascades over us, and for a while we just stand there under the spray, his arms wrapped around me from behind, my back against his chest. I feel the tension slowly melt from his body.
Then I wash him, my hands gentle on his shoulders, down his back, over the hard planes of muscles that carry so much.
He does the same for me, his touch reverent, lingering on every curve like he’s memorizing me.
We don’t speak much. We don’t need to. The water, the steam, the quiet closeness… It’s enough.
We dry off and crawl into the huge bed together, wonderfully clean, limbs tangled. Sleep comes fast for me, deep and dreamless, wrapped in each other’s warmth with the sound of the ocean in the distance.
When I wake, the sky has turned a soft twilight purple, and he is awake and just looking at me.
“What?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he whispers back, then he smiles. That rare smile. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit.
“Good. We have reservations.”
We get dressed then. I choose a green off-the-shoulder dress that clings to me like a second skin, the color rich and vibrant against my skin.
It drapes beautifully, falling in soft waves to the floor, the fabric cool and sensual as it moves with me.
I catch Ricci watching me in the mirror as I slip it on, his eyes dark and hungry, unable to look away.
He looks devastating in a simple, black button-down and tailored trousers, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. I can’t take my eyes off him either.
He takes my hand, his fingers warm and sure as they lace through mine, and leads me out of the villa toward the cliffside restaurant.
The short walk feels almost dreamlike, the path winding gently through manicured gardens where night-blooming jasmine plants climb the low stone walls, filling the air with their heady perfume.
The evening breeze is warm and velvety against my bare shoulders, carrying the salty scent of the ocean that grows stronger with every step.
Soft lanterns line the path, their golden glow flickering gently, casting dancing shadows across the pale stone path beneath our feet.
I can already hear the ocean, its low, constant rhythm of waves rolling in and breaking against the rocks far below.
The restaurant terrace is spectacular.
Intimate tables are scattered along a wide, open-air deck that seems to float right on the edge of the cliffs, offering an unobstructed view of the Pacific stretching out endlessly into the night.
The ocean is dark and shimmering under the moonlight.
The waves crest with silver as they crash against the rocks, producing a rhythmic, soothing roar that rises up from the beach below.
The sound is constant, powerful, yet somehow peaceful, mingling with the soft murmur of other diners and the faint clink of crystal glasses.
Overhead, strings of lanterns and delicate fairy lights create a soft, romantic canopy of warm golden light that sways lazily in the breeze, making everything feel magical, almost otherworldly.
Part of me feels as if I am in a dream. If I pinch myself I will wake and find that Salvatore is still alive and I am still married to him.
We’re led to our reserved table. It is actually the best one, positioned right at the very edge of the terrace.
Ricci pulls out my chair for me, his hand lingering on the small of my back as I sit, his touch warm through the thin fabric of my dress.
The moment we’re seated across from each other, the candle in the center of the table flickers between us, casting soft golden shadows across his face.
It highlights the strong line of his jaw, the intense warmth of his whiskey eyes.
I stare at him. His dark hair falls just slightly across his forehead.
He looks devastatingly handsome, and for a second, I can’t look away.
I gaze into his eyes, and the realization hits me all at once.
We are truly both, for the first time in our lives, tasting freedom.
Real freedom. Not the kind you buy with money or take with power, but the kind that comes from choosing someone and being chosen back, completely and without reservation.
The kind that lets you breathe deeply for the first time.
It makes the world feel bigger and brighter and full of possibility instead of constant threat.
The realization makes me worry for the future.
What if things change? What if this fragile happiness shatters?
What if he dies like Salvatore did? The last thought creeps in, cold and sharp, like a blade sliding between my ribs.
It sours the magic of the moment, turning the warm glow of the lanterns and the soothing sound of the waves into something fragile and breakable.
I try to push it away, to focus on the beautiful man sitting across from me, but it lingers at the edges of my mind, like a dark demon.
The waiter arrives. He is polite and professional in his crisp white shirt.
He carries menus in his hand, and his voice is smooth as he greets us and asks for our drink orders.
I give him a small smile, and order something I barely register, but inside I’m already pulling back, the worries crowding in, tightening my chest until it’s hard to breathe properly.
Ricci notices immediately. He always does.
The waiter leaves after taking our orders, and Ricci leans forward slightly, his hand reaching across the table to cover mine. His thumb strokes slow, soothing circles over my knuckles, warm and steady, grounding me.
“What is it?” he asks quietly, his voice low and gentle, those intense eyes locked on mine with complete focus.
I hesitate, staring down at our joined hands for a long moment.
His fingers are strong and warm around mine, the contrast of his tanned skin against my paler one beautiful in the candlelight.
I promised myself I would open up to him.
No more hiding. No more walls. So I take a deep breath and tell him the truth.
“I was just thinking…” My voice is soft, almost hesitant, the words feeling vulnerable as they leave my lips. “I wonder if all of this is just a dream that we’ll wake from.” I swallow hard. “It’s hard not to think this way, given the lives we lead.”
His eyes are locked on mine, patient and intense. The candle flame flickers between us, casting shifting light across his face as the waves continue their endless rhythm below. Then he squeezes my hand gently, his thumb still moving in those slow circles.
“I could decide to leave this life.”
The words hit me like a shockwave. I stare at him, genuinely stunned, my heart stuttering in my chest. He’s thought about this. He’s actually thought about walking away. The realization settles deep inside me, warm and scary all at once, filling me with a hope so bright it almost hurts.
I try to find my voice. “You’re thinking of leaving? How? I heard it is impossible.”
He nods slowly, no hesitation. “Yes, it is impossible if you are still attached to the perks. Not easy. At first, it was about the money for me. Pure survival. But when you came into my life, I knew I had to explore the option to walk away from this.”
I look around. This conversation could be dangerous, even here, even with just the two of us. But he sees the worry in my eyes and leans closer, his voice low and sure. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. And when the day comes when it is time, we will both have a way out. I promise you that.”
The relief and joy hit me so fast I feel lightheaded. I’m instantly happy, ecstatic, a bright smile breaking across my face as I lift my glass of wine. We clink our glasses together, the soft ring of crystal cutting through the sound of the waves.
I know now, without any doubt, that I am so completely in love with him. And I’m not going to fight it anymore.
We continue talking as the night deepens around us.
He tells me more about his childhood, the streets, the foster homes, the terrible rage that kept him alive.
His voice is steady but open in a way I’ve never heard before.
I do the same, sharing pieces of my own past that I’ve kept buried for years.
The arranged marriage, the loneliness, the quiet rebellions no one ever saw.
By the time our food arrives and the candle burns lower, I can’t believe it. The marriage I once thought was nothing more than a means to an end has ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.
And sitting here with him, the ocean whispering below us, I finally let myself believe it might last.