Chapter 45
Finn
I sit up on the bed, the frame protesting quietly from my weight.
I glance at Gianna. She's sleeping so peacefully, her lashes falling gracefully on her cheeks, and her lips are parted slightly, and she looks so beautiful.
My wife is so beautiful. I push back a few strands of hair from her face behind her ear, careful not to wake her.
I slowly peel the blanket off me before stepping onto the floor. Sliding open the glass door to the balcony, I step out into the early morning light. The air hits me like a breath I didn't know I've been holding.
Warm and steady, fresh from the sea. The view is everything I remember it to be from the first time we came here.
The Amalfi coast stretches endlessly before me, and the blue of the ocean blends seamlessly with the sky.
Sunlight spills across the surface like liquid gold, and waves roll in slow, steady rhythm.
The boats and ships on the coast look so tiny from this distance.
Birds dance in the sky, their calls distant but soft.
Below, the narrow cobblestone path leading to the streets of Amalfi and ultimately to the coast itself is still quiet, kissed by the glow of dawn.
The faint smell of blooming hibiscus drifts up from the garden that surrounds the building. Gianna's idea.
Everything is perfect. I lean onto the railing, drawing in a deep breath.
It's been six months since we left New York, and still every morning feels like a fresh start. A quiet reminder that we made the right choice.
After weeks of touring Italy, falling in love with the coast of Amalfi and the calm, Gianna pointed at an old, slightly worn-down villa tucked behind a curve of palm trees and said, "What if we bought that place and ran a hotel?"
At first, I laughed.
But then, I began to see her vision. The boutique hotel, our boutique hotel, sits just behind me. Ten rooms, each one carefully designed with touches of local artistry and Gianna's impeccable taste. From hand-woven rugs to a custom breakfast menu, everything reflects her vision.
We named it Luce e Mare—Light and Sea.
The guests call it magical. A hidden gem. Some even book extra nights just to stay longer, to sip our wine under lantern-lit palms or listen to the waves lull them to sleep. But for me, the real magic isn't the sea or the scenery. It's waking up to her.
Gianna, with her wild hair spread across the pillow, her breathing soft and even. The way she curls towards me in sleep, like her body knows mine even when her mind doesn't. The way she smiles into my chest when I pull her closer. That is peace. She's my peace.
And I didn't know how much I needed that until I got it. This life, away from Hell's Kitchen, our families, the violence, and expectations. We found something that couldn't be bargained for or bought—peace. The kind that soaks into your skin and settles in your bones.
Her scent is the first thing that reaches my nose—soft, sweet, intoxicating—before her hands curl around my waist and I feel the gentle press of her head against my back. A rush of warmth surges through me, like her very presence wraps around my soul.
"Good morning," she says, her voice soft and calm, laced with sleep. It's the kind of sound that could anchor a man in the wildest storms. My lips break into a smile as I reach for her hand, my fingers gently stroking over her knuckles, relishing the feel of her skin.
"Good morning, my love," I murmur, gently taking her hand off my waist to turn toward her.
I wrap her in a full hug, my arms locking her in like I'm afraid she might vanish.
It's like I can't get enough of her, like the space between us is offensive to my body.
I pull away just slightly, enough to cup her face between my hands.
Her skin is cool from sleep, and I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering a little longer than I should.
"Why are you up so early?" I ask, my thumb brushing her cheek as my other hand glides down to rest on her shoulder. The question hangs in the morning hush, but my words falter the moment I fully take in what she's wearing.
She's wearing my shirt. The sight steals my breath.
It hangs off her frame like it was made for her, though loose, it clings in all the right places.
The hem stops a few inches above her knees, revealing just enough of her toned legs to send my thoughts spiraling.
A few buttons are undone, baring a teasing glimpse of her chest, the curve of her breasts, and the soft valley of her cleavage.
"I was looking for your warmth, but you weren't there," she says, her voice innocent, unaware of what she's doing to me... or maybe she knows exactly what she's doing.
My eyes rake over her body with open admiration, a smirk creeping onto my lips as desire builds low in my gut.
My hands find her waist again, and I pull her flush against me, her curves fitting perfectly into mine.
A soft gasp escapes her. I lean close, so close that my lips graze her ear, my breath warm against her skin.
My fingers trail down her smooth skin, starting from her knee, moving in a slow, tantalizing path upward.
"You look really good in my shirt," I whisper, my voice husky with restrained hunger.
Her breath quickens, shallow and uneven, and I can feel the beat of her heart racing through her chest. She's burning in my arms. "You don't know what you do to me," I add, my voice low as I tilt her head back slightly, exposing her neck—soft, delicate, and so kissable.
"I know," Gianna replies, her voice suddenly bold, flipping the moment in her favor.
Her hands move to the back of my neck, fingers light and teasing.
She slowly drags them over the muscles of my back, then to my chest, tracing each contour, each ridge of my abs with slow and deliberate strokes.
Her touch is fire, her smirk wicked, and knowing only fans the flames.
Then, just as my control starts to slip, she pushes off me, stepping back with a playful twinkle in her eyes.
"We can do this later," she says, with a chuckle that makes it almost impossible to be mad. "But right now, we've got to get to work."