Chapter 10
The door shuts behind Elena, Rocco, and Gianna. And I hate it. I shouldn’t. She’s safe. She’s with family. She’s with a bodyguard I handpicked myself—one of the best. But the second I can’t see her; something shifts under my ribs. A tight, restless ache I don’t want to examine too closely.
I make it to my office. Sit down. Try to breathe. Try to work. I stare at the paperwork for five seconds before I’m pulling out my phone.
ME:
Status?
It takes Rocco two seconds to respond.
ROCCO:
She’s good, Boss. Just got into the car. Headed into the city. Nico is driving.
I put the phone down. Pick up a pen. Sign a document. Five minutes later, I’m texting again.
ME:
Everything okay?
ROCCO:
All good. She’s quiet. Listening to Gia talk.
I try to focus on the port reports. On Simon. On the thirty-percent hike. On everything that matters. But all I can picture is Elena stepping out of her room in nothing but a towel. Her lips parted. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes wide. Her mouth under mine—
Fuck.
I scrub a hand over my face. She’s going shopping. With my cousin. With a trained guard. She’s fine.
I last twenty-eight minutes before texting again.
ME:
Update.
ROCCO:
Just got to the Mall. Gia is dragging her to different styles of clothes. She looks happy.
Happy.
The word hits me in the chest harder than I expect. I toss my pen aside and stand abruptly, grabbing my jacket. Enough pretending I’m working. I make my way through the house, step into the SUV, and tell my driver where to go.
Dante opens the door before the guard can reach it. He raises a brow.
“Look who’s here. The newly married man himself.”
“I’m here to see Sofia,” I say immediately. “I missed my princess.”
Dante smirks. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.”
“I did.”
“And you definitely didn’t come because you’re missing your wife who’s been gone for?” He checks his watch.
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter.
Dante claps me on the back, laughing. “You’re obsessed. I love this for you.”
Sofia is in the living room with Isabella, going over floral arrangements. She sees me, grins wide, and opens her arms.
“Zio Sando!” she squeals.
I scoop her up easily, spinning her once. “How’s my princess?”
“Better now that you’re here,” she beams.
Behind me, Dante coughs loudly.
“Who’d you assign to Elena?” Dante asks once Sofia returns to her magazines.
“Rocco.”
“That’s good,” Dante says, nodding. “Smart. Loyal. Quick.”
“He better be,” I say, jaw tightening. “I’m getting updates.”
“Every hour?”
I glare.
Dante bursts out laughing. “Oh my god. Every thirty minutes?”
I don’t answer. Which is an answer.
“Jesus Christ. You’re worse than I am with Isabella.”
I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but Dante waves me toward his office.
“Come on. Sit with me while I find a guard for Isabella.”
I pause. “I thought she refused.”
“She did,” he grumbles. “So I need someone who can follow without being noticed.”
“That’s impossible,” I say flatly.
“With Isabella,” Dante sighs, “everything is impossible.”
He spreads out files, photos of potential guards, resumes.
I sit across from him, helping him eliminate the ones who are too loud, too noticeable, too stupid.
He trusts my judgment. Always has. But every thirty minutes, my phone buzzes.
ROCCO:
All good.
She’s smiling.
She found a dress she likes.
Having some kind of cheese tray now.
Trying on shoes.
Everything’s fine, Boss.
Every message eases something in me. Every message tightens something else. Because every time I see her name— I want her back in our house.
In my space. Near me. And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
I help Dante narrow down his options for Isabella’s guard, though we both know she’ll fight him every step of the way. She’s stubborn, emotional, and reckless — everything Elena isn’t.
But when I think of Elena’s innocence, her softness, the way she looked at me this morning…I don’t want her to ever be like Isabella.
Not because stubbornness is bad — but because Elena deserves a world without sharp edges. A world I want to build for her.
When Sofia wanders in to ask Dante if he wants tea, I stand and scoop her up kissing her cheek.
“Good to see you, Princess.” I carry her back into Isabella.
Sofia beams. “Come back soon. And bring Zia Elena. I didn't get to talk to her at the wedding.” Sofia pouts and I know I'll be bringing Elena to her sooner rather than later.
Isabella smirks from the couch. “I want to meet her too. She looked terrified at the wedding.”
“She was.”
And that bothers me more than it should. I turn to say goodbye when my phone vibrates.
ROCCO:
[Image Attached]
I open it. And everything in me stills. Elena is leaning against a wall of the boutique, head tipped back, laughing.
Laughing. Her whole face lit up. Her eyes bright.
Her lips curved soft and unrestrained. Gia is holding up the ugliest shirt I’ve ever fucking seen — bright, neon, floral monstrosity — probably on purpose.
But none of that matters. Because Elena’s smile—
Christ.
It hits me like a punch to the chest. Hard. Sharp. Undeniable. A ping shoots straight through my heart. I want to be the reason she smiles like that. Not just once. Not just today. Every damn day. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m pulling up a number in my contacts.
My favorite restaurant’s owner answers instantly. “Mr. Moretti.”
“I need a table for two,” I say. “Private room. Tonight.”
“Of course.”
I don’t say who it’s for. I don’t need to. I end the call and slip my phone into my pocket, my pulse finally steadying.
I’m taking my wife on a date.