Chapter Eleven #2
Ana clapped her hands together, radiating pure triumph, before turning her sharp gaze toward the other end of the table. "Salvatore! Andre!" she called out over the noise. "Valentina and I will be collecting our winnings by the end of the week. Wire transfers are acceptable."
Valentina offered a sharp, smirk from her seat. "I believe the exact phrasing of the wager was a hundred thousand Euro on the Capo. And yet, Dante is currently dining alone in Naples, while the Don sits with the prize."
Roselia’s head snapped back and forth. The sheer absurdity of the conversation momentarily short-circuited her brain. "Wait. Hold on," she demanded, her voice cutting through the laughter. "You placed wagers? You placed financial bets on my love life?"
Salvatore groaned, rubbing his temples as he looked at his empty wallet’s future. "We did not bet on your life, stella mia. You are priceless."
"They bet on Renzo’s patheticness," Enzo clarified helpfully, leaning over his plate. "Sal and Uncle Andre thought you would make him suffer for a decade and run off with Dante. The women bet on Lorenzo’s desperate capacity to grovel and convince you to give him a chance."
"It was a calculated risk on your stubbornness, Ro," Marco added with a wicked grin. "And you cost Papa a small fortune."
Roselia sat back in her chair, staring at the collection of mafia bosses and matriarchs who had apparently turned her emotional vulnerability into a high-stakes casino game. She looked at Renzo, expecting him to be furious that his family had mocked his desperation.
Instead, Renzo was laughing. It was a deep, rich sound that echoed from his chest—a sound he hadn't made in years. He reached under the table, finding her hand and lacing his fingers securely through hers, anchoring her to him.
Roselia shook her head, a brilliant, helpless smile breaking across her face. "You are all insane. Every single one of you."
"Yes," Andre boomed from the end of the table, raising his glass of Barolo. "But we are family. And the Don is finally awake. Salute!"
"Salute!" the table roared back.
***
Hours later, the estate had settled into the deep, quiet rhythm of the night. The sea breeze rattled the windowpanes of the west wing, carrying the scent of salt and blooming jasmine through the dark corridors.
Renzo walked down the quiet hallway, his jacket discarded, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He had just finished a grueling, two-hour phone call with the dock masters in Palermo, and his mind was buzzing with logistics, tariffs, and syndicate politics.
He pushed open the oak doors to his private study, expecting to find the room empty, the desk lamp waiting to illuminate another hour of paperwork.
Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The study was bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Pushed up against the glass, bathed in silver light, was a large, deep Chesterfield sofa.
Roselia was fast asleep on the leather cushions.
She was curled onto her side, one arm tucked beneath the throw pillow, the other resting elegantly over the edge of the cushions. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, framing a face that was stripped of its tactical armor, leaving only breathtaking peace.
Sprawled on the Persian rug directly beneath her dangling hand was Bruno. The beast was dead to the world, his sides rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence, his blocky head resting protectively over her boots.
Renzo stood in the doorway, the sheer, crushing weight of his own fortune hitting him so hard he had to place a hand against the doorframe to steady himself.
He felt a bone-deep peace settle into his marrow.
The frantic, buzzing anxiety that had plagued him for years was gone.
He looked at the woman he loved—the woman who had chosen to stay, who had chosen to forgive him—guarded safely by the dog he had raised.
It was, without question, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life.
He moved silently across the room, stepping carefully over Bruno’s tail.
Renzo leaned down, sliding one arm beneath Roselia’s knees and the other behind her back. With effortless strength, he lifted her from the leather cushions. She stirred slightly at the movement, a soft, sleepy murmur escaping her lips as her head naturally fell against his shoulder.
"Shh," Renzo soothed, his voice a low, dark velvet rumble in the quiet room. "I have you, cara. Sleep."
He sat down heavily on the center of the sofa, keeping her cradled securely across his lap.
He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a long, reverent kiss into the crown of her head.
Roselia let out a quiet sigh, her hands instinctively clutching the fabric of his shirt as she settled back into a deep sleep, anchored against his chest.
On the floor, Bruno opened one dark eye. The dog lifted his head, letting out a low, questioning huff, assessing the shift in positioning.
Renzo looked down at the Cane Corso. He reached out, his long fingers scratching the beast exactly where he liked it behind his cropped ears.
"You are the finest animal to ever walk this earth, Bruno," Renzo whispered into the darkness, a quiet vow. "You will forever be hers. Because she will forever be with me. We are not going anywhere."
Bruno let out a soft, vibrating grumble of satisfaction. The dog lowered his chin back onto his paws, closed his eyes, and drifted back to sleep, content with the hierarchy of his world.
Renzo leaned his head back against the leather sofa, closing his eyes as he held his entire universe in his arms, finally, awake.