Chapter Seventeen #2
I stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by cookies cooling on racks and the rich smell of baking panettone, suddenly overwhelmed by the scale of what I'd taken on.
This wasn't my tiny apartment where a single string of lights made all the difference.
This was a mansion that had resisted warmth for a generation, filled with men who had forgotten or never known what Christmas could mean.
But the memory of how the men in this household responded to my continued assault on their private domain made me think that, maybe Christmas magic worked even on mafia families. And maybe, just maybe, I belonged here after all.
I lit the last candle, its warm glow joining dozens of others scattered throughout the grand entrance of Villa Luca.
Twilight had fallen, and the Christmas lights twined through garlands and wreaths cast magical patterns across marble floors and vaulted ceilings.
Christmas lights provided the only illumination, creating a truly magical scene.
The scent of pine, cinnamon, and vanilla hung in the air, fighting back against the mansion's usual austere coldness. I wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans and glanced at the ornate grandfather clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. Dario would be home soon. The thought sent butterflies swirling through my stomach. Not the good kind that appeared when he touched me, but the anxious, fluttering kind that reminded me how much his opinion mattered, how desperately I wanted him to approve of my transformation of his ancestral home. And that I’d done this without checking with him.
Oh well. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
The sound of the door opening had me jumping slightly. He didn’t usually come inside through the grand entrance, but I’d had the staff direct him this way. Maybe not the smartest move, but I wanted his immediate reaction.
I smoothed down my hair, tucking stray strands behind my ears, suddenly wishing I'd taken time to change out of my flour-dusted sweater.
Too late now. The front door opened, and Dario stepped into the foyer, stopping abruptly as the full impact of the decorations hit him.
His expression froze somewhere between shock and confusion.
His piercing blue eyes swept across the garland-draped staircase, the twinkling lights, the wreaths and candles transforming his home into something warmer, softer.
"Belle?" he said, my name emerging as a question.
"Um, surprise?" I offered, voice higher than normal. "I thought... it's December, and the house could use some Christmas spirit." The words tumbled out nervously as I studied his face for any sign of approval.
Dario moved further into the hall, his footsteps silent on the marble floor.
The transformation extended in every direction—ribbons adorning the doorways, candles flickering on tables, even the crystal chandelier above sporting delicate glass ornaments that caught the light.
He reached out to touch a pine garland, rubbing the needles between his fingers.
"You did all this today?" His voice revealed nothing.
I nodded, fingers twisting together. "Your brothers helped. Well, Gabriel helped. Alessandro supervised. Matteo stole cookies. Vittorio pretended he wasn't watching." I was rambling, nervous energy making my words rush together.
Dario's eyebrows rose slightly. "Vittorio participated?"
"He hummed a Christmas carol," I admitted. "Then pretended he hadn't."
Something in Dario's expression shifted, the stiffness in his shoulders easing almost imperceptibly.
He walked further into the house, pausing to examine a bowl of handmade ornaments I'd placed on a side table.
His fingers brushed one made of twined ribbons.
"My mother used to make these," he said so quietly I almost missed it.
My heart squeezed. "Gabriel mentioned she loved Christmas."
Dario nodded once, his gaze continuing around the room. I followed a few steps behind, watching as he took in each detail. The wall of resistance I'd felt when he first entered was slowly crumbling, replaced by something I couldn't quite name, not quite joy, but perhaps the remembrance of joy.
"I've never seen the house look like this," he said finally. "Not since I was very young."
"Is it too much?" I asked, worrying my lower lip between my teeth.
Dario turned to me, his expression softening as he took in my nervous stance.
"No. It's..." He seemed to search for the word.
"I think it’s just about perfect." Relief flooded through me, making my knees weak.
I closed the distance between us, reaching for his hand. "There's only one thing missing.”
“A tree," I said, gesturing to the corner of the grand hall where I'd left space for what I'd imagined would be a modest evergreen. "I thought we could get one tomorrow."
Dario's mouth quirked, a smile threatening at the edges. "If we're doing a Christmas tree," he said, his voice deepening, "we're doing it properly."
He pulled his phone from his pocket, typed quickly with his thumb, then slid it back into his jacket. "Done."
"What's done?" I asked, puzzled.
"The tree." His eyes held a gleam that sent a different kind of flutter through my stomach. "It'll be here tomorrow. The biggest one they have."
"How big are we talking?" I asked, suddenly imagining something comically enormous.
"Big enough to make a statement," Dario replied, his attention shifting fully to me now. His gaze traveled from my face down to my flour smudged sweater and jeans, and back up again. "You've been busy."
"I wanted everything to be perfect for when you got home," I admitted, suddenly aware of how rumpled I must look.
"It is perfect," he said, stepping closer. "You're perfect."
The tone of his voice changed, dropping lower, rougher. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "You've brought light into this house, Belle. Into my life."
My breath caught at the intensity in his eyes.
This was still new, Dario expressing emotions so openly, without the calculated control he showed the rest of the world.
The fact that he allowed himself this vulnerability with me felt like the most precious gift.
"You've flour on your cheek," he murmured, brushing it away with gentle fingers.
"Hazard of baking most of the day," I said, my voice unsteady as his touch trailed down my neck.
"Did you save me any cookies?" His question came with a teasing smile that transformed his face, making him look younger, almost carefree.
I laughed. "If Matteo left any. That man has the appetite of three people."
"I'm not hungry for cookies," Dario said, his hands moving to my waist, pulling me against him. The hard planes of his body pressed against mine, instantly igniting the heat that always simmered between us.
In one fluid motion, he bent and swept me into his arms. I gasped, throwing my arms around his neck.
"What are you doing?" I asked, though I knew exactly what that darkening of his eyes meant.
"Taking what's mine," he replied, already moving toward the staircase. "Showing my appreciation for all your hard work."
I nestled against him, breathing in his scent, the expensive cologne, leather, and something uniquely Dario that always made my heart race. He carried me up the stairs as if I weighed nothing, navigating the garland-draped banister with ease as I giggled in delight.
"The rest of the decorations can wait," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple as we reached the landing. "I can't."
We barely made it through the bedroom door before his mouth claimed mine, hungry and demanding. I melted against him, clutching at his shoulders as he lowered me to the bed. His jacket hit the floor, followed by his tie, his movements hurried.
"All day," he said between kisses, his hands finding bare skin beneath my sweater, "I've been thinking about coming home to you."
"And I've been thinking about you coming home to me," I breathed as his lips traced a burning path down my throat.
We somehow managed to get each other naked, both of us in a rush to be skin against skin. Dario covered me with his solid warm frame. When he finally shoved inside me, I gasped his name, clutching at his back.
"I love you," he whispered against my ear, the words still new enough to send a thrill through my heart.
Outside the windows, night had fallen completely, but inside, we created our own warmth, our own light.
And as we moved together, I thought perhaps this was the greatest Christmas miracle of all.
That Dario Luca, the man who had built walls around himself for decades, had let me in not just to his home, but to his heart.
***
I gaped at the evergreen monstrosity being hauled through the double doors of Villa Luca's ballroom the next morning.
When Dario had said "the biggest one they have," I'd pictured something tall, but this.
.. this was something else entirely. The top branches scraped the twenty-foot ceiling as eight burly men maneuvered it inside, their faces red with exertion despite the December chill.
The scent of fresh pine exploded through the space, sharp and sweet and gloriously alive.
Behind me, Dario stood with his arms crossed, a satisfied look on his face as he watched my reaction.
"You said you wanted a tree," he said, not quite hiding his amusement at my stunned expression.
"I was thinking more department store, less national forest," I managed to say, still staring up at the towering evergreen. "Holy shit!"
Dario's laugh echoed through the ballroom, drawing surprised glances from the delivery men.
I suspected laughter wasn't something they often heard from the notorious Dario Luca.
"Where do you want it?" he asked, nodding toward the men who stood waiting for direction, the massive tree supported between them.