41. Sara
Sara
It’s been almost two weeks since we moved to Mount Argentario, a peninsula in southern Tuscany.
Dante claims the cheery little villa belonged to his mother, Dulce, before she got married.
His family used to vacation here, but they never returned after her death.
Since Dulce bought the property with her own money, no one in New York besides his father even knows it exists.
The fact that she used the money she earned from stealing and forging paintings is neither here nor there.
Regardless of how she acquired it, the villa itself is a dream come true, with two stories, an adobe roof, and a buttery yellow facade draped in climbing green ivy and guarded by bright red rose bushes.
The place isn’t as big and extravagant as Dante’s townhome in Manhattan, but the guest house in the back next to the pool is a perfect oasis for Jeremy, and every morning I wake up to the mountains on one side and the sea on the other.
It beats the hell out of brick walls and dumpster alleys.
Pistol’s in heaven too. With the property’s grassy expanse and the coastline’s sandy shores, her days are filled with endless adventures.
I breathe in the aroma of baked zucchini and sit back in my chair on the balcony, admiring how the sun sinks into the ocean’s horizon.
While I didn’t have Dante threatening me this time around, I was just as motivated to get the dish right, and my efforts have paid off.
The scrape of his fork cleaning up his second helping is music to my ears, and I sigh in contentment as I savor both the gorgeous Mediterranean seascape and the view of the beautiful man seated across from me.
I reach across the table to swipe some sauce off the corner of his mouth, wishing I could lick it off instead. There will be plenty of time for that later. “How was it?”
I smirk at his empty plate, unable to resist the urge to tease him over the way he inhaled his food.
He kisses my palm before cutting me a devious look. “Delicious, but I have to say, I kind of miss your squash substitution, tesoro.”
I punch him in the arm, drawing out a deep throaty laugh as he rubs the spot dramatically. “Ouch! All our training is creating a brute.”
Rolling my eyes, I rise to clear the table. He stills me with a gentle hand and gathers the dishes himself. I pour us more wine, and by the time he returns, the sun sits low on the horizon, the sky aflame with vibrant oranges and reds.
I can do this. He was going to propose once before, so really, this is his idea. Right?
Right.
Even as I reassure myself, an influx of nerves leaves me jittery.
Come on. It’s now or never.
Ignoring the deepening furrow over his nose, I sink to one knee by his chair.
“You taught me to find beauty in the mess rather than try to fix the broken pieces. I’m not perfect, Dante, but neither are you.
And I want to spend the rest of my days experiencing this beautiful, imperfect life with you.
Dante Christiano Argento, my cucciolo, will you marry me? ”
Dante’s eyes mist as he slides onto his knees before me.
He reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a platinum band anchored by a massive princess-cut diamond.
It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, and my eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of my head as he slips the ring onto my finger.
“I want to spend the rest of my life creating new memories with you.” He meets my eyes. “Will you let me?”
It’s not lost on me that Dante has managed to steal my thunder, but I don’t fault him for it. Instead, I drape my arms around his neck and lift myself to press a kiss to his lips. His mouth parts, and his greedy, needy tongue teases my own.
Dante’s fingers tug at the thin straps of my blue summer dress, and the Mediterranean air caresses my bare skin as he strips me.
He shifts so he can look at me, his eyes sparkling with a light I haven’t seen in years.
Still kneeling, he grasps me by the waist and hoists me into his lap, my thighs wide around his hips
I grind against him, drawing a low groan from his chest…
one that repeats when I sink my teeth into his lower lip.
His hands find purchase everywhere, grabbing and squeezing until our fingers tangle in our efforts to liberate him.
When his cock springs free, I perch up on my knees to position myself over him, but he stops me and takes my left hand in his, the diamond catching the final rays of the sun.
Dante kisses the stone before grasping my face, watching me as he coaxes me down. I savor every inch of his length as he slowly buries himself to the hilt.
A long moment stretches where we just breathe each other in.
I can’t believe how far we’ve come, and the corners of my eyes prickle with emotion.
Wrapping my arms around his neck again, I start rocking.
Every time I attempt to build up speed, he stops me and waits for our breathing to even out and my hips to lose their desperation.
I sink into the sound of his voice, warm and as dark as molasses and coffee. With only the night sky to anchor us, he calls me his treasure over and over again until all that’s left is him, me, and the happiness that should have been ours all along.
Later, Dante and I lie entangled and exhausted in a four-poster bed in the primary suite.
The open balcony doors let in the balmy breeze, and outside, Jeremy’s laughing with some friends he made at his college orientation last week.
At Dante’s urging, he’ll soon be moving to campus at the Sapienza University of Rome to earn his degree in computer engineering.
Dante convinced him that the degree would better enable Jeremy to assist with their newest venture.
I’ll miss having my brother nearby, but the space will be good for him, and he can always come home on the weekends.
My eyes flutter shut, and I’m close to drifting off when Dante’s cell phone chimes with a notification. Beneath me, his body stiffens.
Before we escaped the US, Dante and I both ditched our old phones.
His new one has all sorts of security features in place that I don’t quite understand, though Dante and Jeremy seemed extremely enthusiastic about those privacy measures.
From what I’ve gathered, his new cell is a secure channel that only Giovanni and Marco have access to.
He clicks on the app, and Marco’s voice fills the bedroom. “I don’t have a lot of time to get into details, but Papà’s dead.” The emotionless statement bears no resemblance to the Marco I know, though I suppose that’s to be expected under the circumstances.
“The Council is blaming you for Enzo’s death and insists Giovanni helped you flee.
With Papà gone, they’re demanding more retribution for your actions, but since you’re out of their grasp…
” Marco pauses, his breathing loud over the speaker.
“It falls to me. I’m…” Another pause follows.
“They want me to marry Bianca. Bianca Conti—”
As the transmission cuts off, I sit up with the sheet clutched to my chest, outraged on Marco’s behalf.
Those bastards would have killed Enzo anyway, for breaking the Code.
This is all just an excuse to exert more control over my family.
“How can they force him to marry someone? What are we going to do?”
I was an idiot to think that our problems couldn’t find us here. The Council’s not done with us by a long shot, and who knows how far they’re willing to go to punish us for trying to escape their intricate web in the first place.
I’m halfway out of the bed—to do what, I don’t know—when Dante tugs me back into his arms. “We’re not going to do anything, tesoro. Marco’s a big boy. If anyone can handle the Ice Princess, it’s him.”
Burying my face against his chest, I relax as he traces the length of my spine with his fingers. “Your dad—”
“Gave us this second chance knowing damn well what it would cost. And Marco is plenty capable of doing what needs to be done. It’s long past time he took some responsibility for his role in this family.” Dante searches my expression. “I don’t plan on wasting this opportunity. Do you?”
“No.” I huddle closer in his arms, letting that familiar scent of sandalwood and spice surround me. I finally know where I belong, and I don’t intend to surrender the peace I’ve found anytime soon. Not without a fight.
“I’m not going to waste another moment.”
The End
To be continued…