68 | Your secret place is a public space?
The bedroom is bathed in the soft glow of the sun, the curtains half-drawn, casting long shadows across the sheets where Luciano sits.
He's propped against the headboard, his shirt off, the doctor's hands careful as they prod the wound on his shoulder, a jagged reminder of the night he almost bled out in my arms.
At first, Luciano didn't want the doctor touching him, but after I said I would refuse to let him hold my wrist through the night, he finally gave in and let the doctor check on him.
I'm standing by the window, watching the scene unfold with a tightness in my chest I can't shake.
The doctor's voice is low, as he declares the wound healing well, no infection, just a fresh bandage needed to keep it safe.
Relief floods me, loosening the knot of fear I've carried since the bullet tore through him.
He's okay, and the thought settles something restless in me, even as my heart still hums with the weight of everything between us.
The doctor finishes, wrapping the bandage with practiced ease, and Luciano nods, his face unreadable but his eyes flicking to me, like he's checking I'm still here.
I am.
I haven't run, haven't pulled away from him.
The doctor packs his bag, murmurs something about rest, and slips out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Luciano shifts, his bare chest catching the light, the bandage stark white against his skin.
He looks at me, his dark eyes steady, and there's a softness there, a vulnerability that still catches me off guard.
"Aurelia," he says, his voice low, deliberate, like he's testing the waters. "Can I take you out on a date?"
My heart skips, a sharp, dizzying jolt that steals my breath.
A date?
The word feels so ordinary, so out of place in the chaos of our world, bullets, blood, a marriage built on lies.
I blink, my hands dropping to my sides, and stare at him, searching for the catch.
"A date?" I echo, my voice tinged with disbelief. "Isn't it dangerous? There are enemies after us, after you."
He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and there's a spark in his eyes, a boyish glint that doesn't match the mafia don I know.
"It's a place nobody knows about," he says, his voice warm, almost conspiratorial. "My secret place since I was a kid. Nobody's been there before, not even my family. It's safe, I promise."
I'm surprised, my brows lifting as I process his words.
A secret place?
Luciano has a place somewhere untouched, untainted by the blood and power that define him?
"What would we do on this... date?" I ask, folding my arms again, trying to keep my voice steady, but there's a tremble in it, a crack he must hear.
He smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips that makes my chest ache.
"The weather's nice," he says, leaning back, his hands behind his head like he's picturing it. "I thought we could go for a swim, maybe. It's by the beach."
I tilt my head, a laugh bubbling up despite myself.
"Your secret place is a public space?" I tease, raising an eyebrow, because the idea of Luciano Costa splashing around where tourists snap photos is absurd.
He laughs, a deep, rich sound that warms the room, and shakes his head.
"Not quite," he says, his eyes dancing with amusement. "It's near the beach. Private, hidden. You'll see."
I study him, the way his face lights up, the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters, and something in me softens, yields.
A date with Luciano.
Not a don, not a husband by obligation, but just... him, offering me a piece of his past, his heart.
My throat tightens, a mix of fear and want, because I'm still scared, scared of loving him, of letting him in, of what it means to be his.
But last night, his touch, his words, they're still with me, pulling me closer, daring me to try.
"Fine," I finally say, the word slipping out before I can stop it, my voice quieter than I mean it to be."I'll go on a date with you."
The moment the words leave my lips, my heart lurches, pounding so loud I'm sure he hears it.
Panic and excitement crash together, and I turn, practically bolting for the walk-in closet, my bare feet slapping the hardwood.
I slam the door behind me, leaning against it, my breath ragged.
The closet's dark, lined with rows of clothes with his suits and my dresses, but it's a sanctuary, a place to hide from the weight of what I've just agreed to.
My hands press to my chest, trying to calm the wild rhythm, but it's no use.
A date with Luciano.
The man who's confessed he'd die for me, who's looked at me like I'm his world, who's terrified me with how much I could feel for him.
I slide to the floor, my knees pulled to my chest, and let out a shaky laugh.
It's just a date, I tell myself, but it's not, not with him.
It's a step, a leap into the fire of us, and I'm not sure I'm ready.
But I see his eyes in my mind and I know I can't run from this, not anymore.
He's offering me something real, a piece of him nobody else has, and I want it, want him, even if it scares me to death.
My fingers brush my lips, imagining his kiss, his touch, and I wonder what it'll be like to swim with him, to laugh, to be just us, away from the others.
I don't know what this place is, this secret he's kept since childhood, but I want to see it, want to know him in a way I haven't before.
My heart's still pounding, but it's not just fear now, it's anticipation, a spark I haven't let myself feel in so long.
I'm really going on a date with Luciano Costa.
────??────
The car slows to a stop, the engine's hum fading into the gentle crash of waves against the shore.
I step out, my sandals sinking into the warm sand, and the sight of the Italian beach steals my breath.
It's beautiful, golden sand stretching toward a turquoise sea, cliffs rising in the distance, the sky a perfect blue.
My red dress sways in the breeze, the red bikini beneath it a secret I'm suddenly hyper-aware of, knowing Luciano's eyes are on me.
I glance around, expecting crowds, laughter, the chaos of a public beach, but it's... empty.
A few seagulls wheel overhead, but there's no one else, just the vast, quiet beauty of the place.
I turn to Luciano, my brow furrowing. "Where are the people? There's no one here."
He's stepping out of the car, a woven basket in one hand, his dark swim trunks low on his hips, showing off the lean, muscled lines of his body.
The sight makes my cheeks heat, a flush I can't hide, but I force myself to focus on his face, his sharp jaw, his dark eyes glinting with something soft, something just for me.
"Not many people come here," he says, his voice low, a hint of pride in it, like he's sharing a treasure. "It's off the beaten path. Always has been."
I nod, still taking it in, but my gaze catches on the bandage peeking out from his shoulder, stark white against his tanned skin.
"Hold up," I say, stepping closer, my voice firm. "You can't swim with that wound."
He raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"I can a little bit," he says, shifting the basket to his other hand, like he's already planning to dive in.
"No," I say, crossing my arms, my tone leaving no room for argument. "No swimming for you, Costa. We can find a shaded place and have a nice picnic instead."
His smirk softens into a real smile, warm and unguarded, and my heart does a traitor's flip.
"Fine," he says, his voice laced with mock surrender. "You win,Principessa."
The word,princess,lands soft, and I duck my head, hiding my blush as he gestures toward the beach.
We walk side by side until we find a spot tucked under the shade of a gnarled olive tree, its branches curling like a canopy.
Luciano sets the basket down and spreads a blanket, his movements easy, like he's done this a hundred times in his mind.
I glance back toward the car and spot them, guards, discreet but unmistakable, stationed at a distance, their eyes scanning the horizon.
I know he's done this for me, for us, layering security to keep this moment safe, and it settles something in me, a reminder that he's not just taking me on a date, he's carving out a world where we can breathe.
We sit, the blanket soft beneath us, and I tuck my legs under, my dress pooling around me.
I look at him, and he's watching me, his dark eyes warm, tracing my face like I'm a painting he's trying to memorize.
"What'd you bring for this picnic?" I ask, my voice lighter than I feel, trying to ground myself in the normalcy of it all.
He grins, a boyish flash that makes my chest ache, and opens the basket, pulling out treasures one by one.
"Let's see," he says, his tone teasing as he sets out a spread, fresh figs, their purple skins glistening; a loaf of crusty bread; soft cheeses wrapped in wax; prosciutto sliced thin; a bottle of chilled white wine, two glasses catching the light.
"And these," he adds, revealing a small box of pastries, dusted with powdered sugar. "Cannoli, because I know you love them."
I laugh, surprised he remembered, and the sound feels foreign, free.
Is it bad that I can laugh this easily? That I can drink without having the need to forget anything?
"You've been planning this," I say, half-accusing, half-wondering, because this isn't just a picnic, it's him, showing me he sees me, knows me.
"Guilty," he says, pouring wine into a glass and handing it to me, his fingers brushing mine.
The contact sparks, a quiet thrill, and I don't pull away.
I take a sip, the wine crisp and cool, and he tears off a piece of bread, offering it to me with a look that's almost shy.
I take it, our fingers brushing again, and my heart skips, because this is different, soft, easy, a first date that feels like a beginning, not an end.
"How'd you find this place?" I ask, glancing at the empty beach, the cliffs framing it like a secret kept from the world.
He leans back on one elbow, his swim trunks shifting, and I try not to stare at the way his muscles move, the strength he carries so effortlessly.
"Used to come here as a kid," he says, his voice quieter now, reflective. "When things got heavy, my father, my family, I'd sneak out, find this spot. It was mine, you know? No expectations, no blood. Just... peace."
I tilt my head, studying him, the boy he was lingering in the man he is.
"And now you're sharing it with me," I say, the words soft, heavy with what they mean.
His eyes meet mine, intense, unwavering.
"Yeah," he says, his voice low, a vow. "Only you, Aurelia."
My breath catches, and I look away, focusing on the figs, the way their sweetness bursts on my tongue as I take a bite.
He watches, a smile playing at his lips, and we eat in comfortable silence, the sea our soundtrack, the shade our shelter.
I steal glances at him, his dark hair catching the breeze, his bandage a reminder he's healing, his eyes never straying far from me.
I take a sip of wine, the glass cool against my lips, and set it down, my fingers trembling slightly as I gather the courage to ask him a question.
"Luciano," I say. "Where were you those days after you saw the video of Ciara... with Nate. I thought—" I pause, my throat tightening, because saying it feels like exposing a wound. "I thought you were going to divorce me."
His face changes, a flash of hurt crossing it, raw and unguarded, and it's like I've struck him.
He sets down the piece of bread he was holding, his hands stilling, and for a moment, he just looks at me, his eyes searching mine like he's trying to find the right words.
"Those days," he starts, his voice low, rough, "I was locked in my father's study. I couldn't face you, Aurelia. I was afraid, terrified,that when you looked at me, you'd want to leave me. Want to divorce me."
I blink, his confession sinking in, heavy and sharp.
"Both of us thought the other was going to leave," I say, shaking my head, the irony twisting my lips into a smile. "Isn't that funny?"
He exhales, a sound that's half-laugh, half-sigh, and leans back on his elbows, his swim trunks shifting against the blanket.
"It is," he says, his voice tinged with a wry amusement, but his eyes are serious, deep with something heavier. "But it's also tragic, don't you think? We don't communicate properly. We let fear talk for us."
His words hit closer than I expect, a truth I've been dodging for too long.
I pull my knees to my chest, my red dress pooling around me, the bikini beneath it a reminder of the vulnerability I'm carrying today.
"I know," I admit, my voice softer now, laced with regret. "It's my fault, mostly. I always run, hide in closets, act childish, push you away when things get heavy. I'm... I'm trying not to do that anymore."
"I'm glad you wanted to go out with me," he says, his voice low, fervent, like a vow. "This means more than you know."
I stare at him, and it's like the world narrows to just us, the sea, the shade, the blanket fading into nothing.
I want to kiss him, want to close the gap and taste him, feel him, let myself fall without the dread that it'll hurt.
It's a first, this desire untainted by panic, and it's thrilling, terrifying, a spark I'm not sure I can control.
"There's something else that I want to know," I blurt out, my heart pounding. "That night... after I found out you were engaged to Ciara. I need to ask—"
I swallow, the words sharp in my throat, brutal but necessary. "Did you sleep with her a lot? I mean, how many times?"
His brow furrows, surprise flickering across his face, and for a moment, I think he'll dodge, but he doesn't.
"I only slept with her once, Aurelia. That's it."
I blink, the words slamming into me, and my breath catches.
"Holly shit," I murmur, my mind racing, piecing together a truth I hadn't dared to face. "That means... That night Ciara invited someone else into her bed. She fucked someone else."
Luciano's eyes narrow, confusion etching his features.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice sharper now.
I laugh, a short, bitter sound, because it's so absurd, so painfully clear now.
"The night I got back from working on the cruise ship," I say, my voice steadier as the memory sharpens, "And I found out you were engaged to her.
I was wrecked, couldn't face anyone, so I went to my room to sleep.
But hours later, I heard it, I heard herin her room, the sounds of.
.. you know, fucking.I thought it was you, thought you were with her, and it broke me all over again. "
He stares at me, and then unexpectedly, he laughs.
"I didn't fuck her," he says, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and regret. "I left early, Aurelia. I wasn't even there."
My jaw drops, and I let out a shaky, "Oh, shit."
The realization hits like a wave, cold and clear.
"I should've just opened her door," I say, half to myself, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "I would've caught her with another man, and maybe... maybe everything would've been different."
He leans back, his laugh fading, but his eyes stay on me, warm, searching, like he's seeing the weight I've carried all these years.
"Do you have anything else on your heart?" he asks, his voice softer now, an invitation to unburden myself, to let him in.
I look at him, really look, and my chest aches with the truth.
"I have so many things," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, raw with everything I've held back. "Feelings, fears, memories that still hurt. But... Right now, I only want to focus on this date with you."
He nods, like he understands, and his hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through my own with a gentleness that makes my heart stutter.
I think of that night, the pain of believing he was Ciara's, and it stings less now, softened by his honesty, by the way he's looking at me like I'm his only truth.
"Luciano," I say, testing his name, and his eyes light up whenever I call him by his name, a spark that makes my pulse race.
"I spent so long thinking you were hers, thinking I was nothing to you. And now you're here, saying you love me, and it's... it's a lot. But I'm glad you weren't with her that night. Glad it wasn't you."
His smile is small, radiant, and he squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing my wrist, feeling my pulse like he always does.
"I was never hers," he says, his voice low. "I'm yours, Aurelia, if you'll have me."
My breath catches, because it's so simple, so raw, and I want to believe it, want to believe in him, in us.
I lean closer, my shoulder brushing his, and the contact is electric, a promise I'm scared to make but can't resist.
"I'm here," I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "I'm not running anymore."
He exhales, like he's been holding his breath, and pulls my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles softly, reverently.
We sit there, tangled in each other, the beach our secret, and I think maybe, just maybe, we're finding our way to one another.