Chapter 31 Viviana
I wake up to the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below our villa and the feel of Damon's arm wrapped possessively around my waist. I lie there, processing the fact that I'm Mrs. Lombardi now, that the man beside me is my husband, and that we're alone together for the first time in months without the weight of family expectations hanging over us.
The morning sickness that plagued me for weeks has finally faded, leaving me feeling more like myself than I have since this all began.
Better than myself, actually. There's something about being four months pregnant that's made my skin glow and my hair thicker, and for the first time, I actually look forward to eating breakfast instead of dreading it.
"Good morning, Mrs. Lombardi," Damon murmurs sleepily against my neck.
"Good morning, husband." The word still feels foreign on my tongue, but in the best possible way.
He shifts behind me, and I can feel that he's already hard, pressing against my back through the thin silk of my nightgown.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his hand moving to rest on the small bump that's finally starting to barely show.
"Amazing, actually. The nausea is completely gone, and I feel... I don't know. Energetic. Like I could run a marathon or climb a mountain."
"Or stay in bed all day with your husband?"
I turn in his arms to face him, and the look in his dark eyes makes heat pool low in my belly.
"That definitely sounds like the best option."
It's been three days since we arrived at this private villa on the Amalfi Coast that Damon rented for two weeks. Three days of sleeping late, eating incredible food, and slowly learning how to be married to each other without an audience.
"You're glowing," he says, tracing his fingers along my cheek. "Literally glowing. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"It's the pregnancy hormones. I'm like a walking advertisement for prenatal vitamins."
"It's more than that." His thumb brushes across my lower lip. "You look happy. Really, genuinely happy."
"I am happy." The admission surprises me with its simplicity. "Very much so. Are you?"
"Happier than I thought possible." He leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet at first, then deeper as I respond. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong."
"Nothing's going to go wrong.”
He pulls back to look at me, something like wonder in his expression. "When did you become the optimistic one in this relationship?"
"When I realized I married the man I love instead of some man Papa would’ve arranged for me to marry." I brush a strand of hair away from his forehead. "There's a difference, you know."
"And what would that be?"
"The man I was supposed to marry would have been safe.
Predictable. Approved by my father and perfectly acceptable to everyone in our world.
" I trace patterns on his chest with my fingertip.
"But he wouldn't have challenged me or made me feel alive or given me butterflies every time he looked at me. "
"And the man you love?"
"The man I love is dangerous and complicated and makes me want to be braver than I actually am. He saved my life and turned my world upside down and gave me a future I never could have imagined."
"Which one am I?"
"You're both," I say simply. "You're the man I was supposed to marry because our families needed this alliance. And you're the man I love because I can't help myself."
He kisses me again, rolling me onto my back and settling between my thighs. I can feel how much he wants me, and my body responds immediately, arching against him.
"I love you," he says against my lips. "I love you and our baby and this life we're building together."
"Show me," I whisper.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing the silk nightgown higher, and I help him pull it over my head.
The morning light streaming through the windows illuminates my changing body—my fuller breasts, the curve of my belly, the way pregnancy has softened my edges in some places and made me more sensitive in others.
"God, you're beautiful," he says, his hands mapping every inch of newly discovered territory. "And unbelievably perfect for me."
I should be self-conscious about the changes, about the fact that my body isn't the same as it was when we first made love. Instead, I feel powerful. Radiant. Like a goddess of fertility.
"Touch me," I tell him, guiding his hands to where I need them most.
He does, fingers finding me already wet and ready for him. The pregnancy has made everything more intense—every touch, every sensation amplified to the point where I feel like I might shatter from pleasure.
"Please," I gasp as he teases me, building the pressure until I'm trembling beneath him. "I need you."
"I know what you need." His voice is rough with want, but there's a new tenderness there too. "I'll always give you what you need."
When he slides inside me, we both moan at the sensation. Everything feels different now, more connected, like our bodies were made specifically for this moment.
He moves slowly at first, mindful of the baby.
"I won't break," I tell him, wrapping my legs around his waist. "The doctor said everything is fine. More than fine."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. I need you, Damon. All of you."
His control snaps, and he starts moving with the passion I remember from our first night together. But this is different—deeper, more meaningful, tinged with love and commitment and the knowledge that we're building something permanent together.
I come apart beneath him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over me. He follows seconds later, burying his face in my neck as he shudders through his release.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers stroking through my hair.
"I have something to tell you," he says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
"What?"
"I bought us another villa."
I lift my head to look at him. "You what?"
"A villa. Well, technically it's an estate. Private, secure, with enough space for a big family."
"You bought us a house without telling me?"
"I bought us a house as a wedding present. There's a difference."
I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. "Damon, you can't buy major real estate without discussing it with your wife."
"I can if I want to surprise my wife with the perfect place to raise our children."
"Children? Plural?"
"Well, yeah. You don't think we're stopping at one, do you?"
The casual way he talks about our future with multiple children makes tears come to my eyes.
"Keep going," I say. “I want to hear more.”
"Six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a library, a music room for when you want to play piano again. There's a nursery with windows that face east so the baby will get morning light. And the master suite has a fireplace and a balcony that overlooks the gardens."
"Gardens?"
"Formal Italian gardens. I thought your mother might like to help design them. You told me once that she likes flowers."
I stare at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. "You really planned this out."
"I've been planning this since the day after our engagement was announced. I wanted everything to be perfect for when we start our married life."
"And if I hate it?"
"Then we'll find something else. But you won't hate it." His confidence is absolute. "It's perfect for us, Viviana. I know it is."
"When do I get to see it?"
"When we get back from our honeymoon. It should be finished being furnished by then."
I lie back down beside him, processing this new information. Our own villa. The place where we'll raise our children and build our life together.
"There's something else," he says.
"What now? Did you buy me a private jet too?"
"I talked to your father about you finishing your education."
That gets my attention. "What do you mean?"
"You wanted to be a teacher, right? There's no reason you can't still do that if you want to.”
I turn to stare at him. "You talked to Papa about me going back to school?"
"I talked to him about you having choices. About this marriage being the beginning of your life, not the end of it."
"And what did he say?"
"He said it was up to you. And up to me to support whatever you decide."
Tears prick at my eyes. Throughout all of this—the pregnancy, the engagement, the wedding—I never once considered that I might still have options. That being Mrs. Lombardi didn't have to mean giving up everything I wanted for myself.
"Why is this important to you?"
"Because I didn't fall in love with the idea of a perfect mafia wife.
I fell in love with you. The woman who climbs out windows and argues with me and has opinions about everything.
" He cups my face in his hands. "I don't want to change you, Viviana.
I want to give you space to become whoever you want to be. "
"Even if that's someone completely different from what your family expects?"
"Especially then."
I kiss him, pouring all my gratitude and love and hope for our future into the gesture.
"I love you," I whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."
"Good scared or bad scared?"
"Good scared. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and knowing you're about to jump, but trusting that someone will catch you."
"I'll always catch you."
We spend the rest of the morning in bed, talking about the house, about our plans for the baby, about the future we're building together. The conversation flows easily, without the careful politeness that marked our first few weeks of engagement.
For the first time since this all began, I feel like we're truly partners instead of two people trying to make the best of an impossible situation.
"There's one more thing," I say as we're finally getting dressed for lunch.
"What's that?"
"I want to know everything about your business. Not the sanitized version you'd tell any other wife. The real version."
He pauses in buttoning his shirt. "Viviana—"
"I'm serious. If we're going to be partners, real partners, then I need to understand all of it. The legitimate businesses, the not-so-legitimate ones, the risks, the responsibilities. All of it."
"It's dangerous knowledge."
"I'm already in danger by being your wife. At least this way, I'll understand why."
He considers this for a long moment. "It's not pretty."
"I don't need it to be pretty. I need it to be honest."
"Okay," he says finally. "But not today. Today is about us."
As we head down to lunch on the terrace overlooking the Mediterranean, I feel something settle into place. This is our real beginning—not the wedding, not the pregnancy announcement, but this moment when we decided to be completely honest with each other about who we are and what we want.
"Mrs. Lombardi?" Damon offers me his arm as we step onto the terrace.
"Yes, Mr. Lombardi?"
"I think this is going to work out better than either of us expected."
Looking out at the endless blue water, feeling the warm sun on my face and my husband's hand in mine, I couldn't agree more.