The Beretti of His Dreams

14. A New Reality

A New Reality

Nichole

Morning comes softly, the golden light stretching across the vast room, warming the silk sheets wrapped around me.

But I’ve been awake for a while.

Sleep had been restless, my thoughts looping back to the night before, to the tension that crackled beneath the surface of every interaction, to the way Antonio’s gaze lingered on me, assessing, weighing.

A part of me still isn’t sure what to make of him.

Of any of this.

I push the covers back and step out of bed, stretching as I make my way toward the balcony.

The air is crisp as I step outside, the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the distant salt of the sea.

The Beretti estate stretches out before me—immaculate, sprawling, every inch of it radiating power.

And yet, somehow, I don’t feel suffocated by it anymore.

I exhale slowly, gripping the cool iron railing.

Am I actually starting to feel like I belong here?

The thought unsettles me more than it should.

I spent so much time resisting this place, this family, this name. But the longer I stay, the harder it is to ignore the way it’s already shaping me, how easily I’m slipping into the rhythm of it all.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I call.

The door opens, and Valentina steps inside, already dressed in an effortlessly chic outfit, her hair tied into a sleek ponytail. She holds up two coffee cups, one in each hand, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Figured you’d need this."

I take the cup from her with a grateful sigh. "You’re a lifesaver."

She plops onto the chaise near the window, crossing her legs as she studies me. "You look… different."

I arch a brow, sipping my coffee. "Different how?"

She tilts her head. "Relaxed. Less like you’re about to bolt at any second."

I let out a small laugh. "Maybe I’m just accepting reality."

Valentina hums. "Or maybe the reality isn’t as bad as you thought it would be."

I don’t answer.

Valentina exhales, tucking her legs beneath her on the chaise, fingers drumming lightly against her coffee cup. "I talked to my boss this morning," she says, voice laced with resignation. "If I don’t come in today, I’m fired."

I blink, setting my coffee down. "Seriously?"

She gives a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, well, the bills aren’t going to pay themselves." She leans her head back against the cushion, sighing. "And I have class tomorrow. My professor doesn’t allow make-up work, so if I miss it, I’m screwed."

I frown. "Val—"

She holds up a hand. "I get it. I do. This has been nice, but I can’t just hide out here forever, waiting for the world to stop spinning." She shakes her head, determined. "I have to get back to my life."

I study her for a moment. I understand what she’s saying—really understand it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried.

She’s trying to act like things can just go back to normal, but they can’t.

I reach into the bedside drawer, fingers curling around the small metal device Antonio had given me earlier. When I pull it out, I hold it up between us.

Valentina arches a brow. "What’s that?"

"A tracker."

Her eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

I smirk, shaking my head. "Relax. It’s a GPS tracker, the size of a dime." I turn it over between my fingers, showing her the subtle button on the top. "If you ever feel like something is off, just click it. It’ll send an alert straight to my phone with your exact location."

Valentina’s expression flickers, a mix of surprise and something unreadable.

I press the small device into her palm. "Download the app—it’s already linked to mine. I have one, too, and I synced it to yours so we’ll always know where the other is. Just in case."

She’s quiet for a beat, staring at the tracker in her hand.

Then, finally, she nods. "Okay."

A silent promise.

And for the first time since this all started, I feel like I can breathe.

The estate feels quieter after Valentina leaves, the absence of her presence heavier than I expected.

I push my coffee aside, my fingers tapping idly against the wooden tabletop.

I should feel relieved that she’s going back to her normal life. That things are settling down.

But instead, something unsettles me.

Maybe it’s the realization that I’m still here.

That I don’t know when I’ll be leaving.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. Before I can answer, Antonio steps inside, his gaze immediately finding mine.

"You’re thinking about leaving too," he says, more observation than question.

I cross my arms, tilting my head. "Am I not allowed to?"

His expression remains unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze—something calculating. "You can do as you wish," he says simply. "But it wouldn’t be safe."

I exhale, already expecting this argument. "Antonio—"

"If you return to your apartment," he cuts in smoothly, "I will have no choice but to assign guards to watch over you."

I blink. "What?"

He clasps his hands behind his back, stepping forward.

"Out of respect for your privacy, I have not had anyone watching you closely while you’ve been here.

" His gaze sharpens. "But that was under the assumption that you were staying within these walls. If you leave, I can’t protect you the same way. "

I stare at him, my mind working through his words.

He isn’t asking me to stay.

He’s telling me the logical consequences of leaving.

And damn it, he’s right.

As much as I hate to admit it, the idea of going back to my apartment suddenly doesn’t feel safe.

Antonio watches me, waiting.

Finally, I let out a slow breath. "Fine," I say. "I’ll stay."

His lips twitch slightly, not quite a smirk, but close enough. "A wise decision."

I shift my weight. "But what about my things?"

Antonio waves a hand dismissively. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll have someone bring everything here today."

I stare at him. "Just like that?"

He nods once. "Just like that."

Because that’s how his world works.

And for the first time, I realize that I’m no longer fighting it.

I’m accepting it.

The house is quiet after Antonio leaves, the kind of stillness that settles in deep, wrapping around me like a weighted blanket.

I sit on the edge of the chaise, staring down at the untouched coffee in my hands, but my mind drifts elsewhere, slipping into memories I haven’t let myself linger on for too long.

I think about my uncle—the man I believed was my father.

The man who raised me, protected me, and loved me.

The ache in my chest is familiar, a dull throb that never truly fades.

Every month, without fail, we would go to the milonga.

It was his favorite night, his one indulgence, a way to let loose outside of work and responsibility.

He always said that tango wasn’t just a dance—it was a language, a connection, a way of feeling without words.

And now, this Saturday, for the first time in ten years, I’ll be going without him.

I won’t dance. I can’t. Not without him. But I’ll still go, because this was our tradition, and if I stop honoring it now, it’ll feel like losing him all over again.

I exhale slowly, pressing my lips together.

I haven’t thought about what I’ll wear, but I know I can’t just show up in anything.

He would’ve wanted me to dress the part, to wear something elegant, something that made me feel like I belonged on that dance floor—even if I wouldn’t be stepping onto it.

A part of me hesitates, because if I go shopping, if I pick out a dress, then it makes everything real.

But maybe that’s what I need.

A moment for myself. A moment to breathe.

I set my coffee aside and push to my feet. Today, I’m going shopping.

The moment I step into the boutique, the cool air kisses my skin, carrying the faint scent of expensive leather and designer perfume. The walls are lined with racks of gowns in every shade imaginable, but my eyes are immediately drawn to the display at the center of the store.

The dress is red—bold, unapologetic, the kind of red that demands attention. It clings to the mannequin’s curves in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. The fabric shimmers under the soft lighting, the delicate beading catching the light just enough to add a hint of mystery.

The high slit teases along the side, promising effortless movement, while the open back adds an undeniable sensuality. It is everything a tango dress should be—passionate, fierce, seductive.

I step closer, my fingertips ghosting over the smooth fabric. Just looking at it makes something stir inside me, a confidence I haven’t felt in a long time. This dress isn’t just for the milonga. This dress is for me.

A saleswoman appears beside me, her practiced smile warm and inviting. “It’s a stunning choice,” she says, tilting her head. “Would you like to try it on?”

I already know the answer.

Minutes later, I stand before a full-length mirror in the fitting room, slipping the last strap into place. The dress molds to my body like it was made for me, hugging every curve in just the right way.

The slit gives just enough of a glimpse to be daring, and the way the fabric moves when I shift my weight is nothing short of mesmerizing.

I look at myself—not just at the dress, but at the woman wearing it.

I feel powerful.

And I like it.

Stepping out of the fitting room, I make my way to the shoe section, scanning the rows of heels until I find them—sleek, red stilettos with a delicate ankle strap and just enough height to elongate my legs. They are the perfect match.

By the time I leave the store, shopping bags in hand, a slow smile tugs at my lips.

I will be the sexiest woman to ever walk through those doors.

And for the first time in a long time, I can’t wait.

The city hums with life as I step out of the boutique, shopping bags swinging at my sides. The afternoon sun is warm against my skin, casting a golden glow over the streets, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel light.

I move through the bustling shopping district at a leisurely pace, weaving between locals and tourists, the rhythm of the city pulling me in. It’s been so long since I’ve done something so simple—so normal.

No bodyguards hovering over my shoulder. No whispered warnings. No weight of expectation pressing down on me.

Just me, the city, and the thrill of finding something beautiful for myself.

I glance down at the bags in my hands, the thought bringing a small smile to my lips. The dress is perfect. I feel perfect in it. Strong. Confident. Untouchable.

The milonga is still a few days away, but the idea of stepping into that room, of honoring my uncle’s memory in the only way I know how, feels right.

By the time I reach the car waiting for me at the curb, I’m not ready to let go of this feeling. I sink into the plush seat, placing my bags beside me, and watch the city blur past as we head back to the estate.

For once, nothing can ruin this day.

When I arrive, the estate is quiet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sprawling driveway. I step inside, the cool air of the grand foyer a welcome contrast to the warmth outside.

And waiting for me—right there in the center of the room—is Antonio.

His sharp gaze sweeps over me, and a slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I take it your shopping trip was successful?"

I hold up the bags, my smile unwavering. "You could say that."

His expression shifts, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes before he nods. "Good." He gestures toward the hallway. "Come. Walk with me."

Still caught in the high of the day, I don’t hesitate.

Whatever he has to say, nothing can touch this feeling. Not today.