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Then Bea storms in behind Riccardo like a woman possessed.

“You moron!” she shouts, eyes blazing. “I told you to come ten minutes ago!”

Riccardo drops the banner and bolts, stumbling over his own feet as he scrambles backward toward the hallway.

“Bea, wait—”

“I will end you, Riccardo Tavano!”

He yelps and runs.

“Run, my brother!” Enzo’s voice rings out somewhere down the corridor. “For the love of your eyebrows, run!”

The sound of rapid footsteps and Bea’s furious threats echo down the hall, accompanied by the chaos of laughter, the thud of something being thrown, and Riccardo’s muffled plea: “It wasn’t even my fault!”

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.

Vieri’s arms curl tighter around me, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck. He watches me with that look—the one that says I’m his gravity, his storm and his shelter all at once.

His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching the last tear still clinging there.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice low and full. “For making unworthy men feel like kings.”

I meet his gaze, heart stammering.

“You’re not unworthy,” I murmur.

His eyes flicker, dark and tender. “I was. Until you.”

I press my forehead against his, his nose brushing mine.

“Then I guess we both saved each other.”

His lips find mine again. And somewhere in the background, Riccardo screams, “She’s got a spatula!” and Alfio yells, “Not the china, Bea!”

****

Away from the noise, we sit on a thick woven mat laid across the cool stone floor, half-wrapped in each other, surrounded by shadows and moonlight. The breeze is warm but carries the faint kiss of midnight chill—just enough to make his arms around me feel like the safest place on earth.

I’m tucked back into his chest, legs curled sideways, my bare feet resting against his thigh. His arms circle my waist, lazy and strong, fingers drawing idle lines over my skin beneath the fabric of his shirt—his shirt, the one I borrowed after the bath and never gave back.

A bowl of grapes sits in his lap, already half-eaten, their sweetness still lingering on my tongue.

The ring sits snug on my finger. I can’t stop staring at it. My chest is full—of shock, of happiness, of heat that hasn’t gone out since he slipped it onto my hand.

He presses his mouth to my head and kisses me softly.

“Look,” he says, voice low and a little amused.

I glance up, turning my face toward the far end of the corridor.

Two figures stand in the moonlight, silhouetted by the glow from the garden. They haven’t seen us. They’re too lost in each other.

Bea leans forward against the stone railing, her dress bunched around her waist. Her legs are spread, heels barely touching the ground. And Riccardo—he’s on his knees before her, his face buried between her thighs, hands gripping her hips as he devours her like a man starved.

I gasp. Then press a hand to my mouth.

He chuckles, chest shaking behind me. “A happy ending, I guess. She might be able to give Carmela a cousin at this rate soon.”