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When it became real.

Because we wanted it.

Not because we were forced into saying our vows.

We had discussed having kids, but agreed to wait until the organization was more stable. I had a feeling Sandro wanted to build a fortress before starting a family.

My husband turned from his spot at the French doors. He had a phone to his ear, but ended the call immediately when he spotted me.

His gaze traveled from my face down to my bare feet and then up again and then at the shoes in my hand.

“Need help?”

I grinned at him sheepishly and held out the shoes. I was wearing black satin leggings that hit mid-calf. The heels on my ivory shoes were five inches made easier by one-and-a-half-inch platform, but still.

Sandro grabbed the shoes and went down on a knee to put each one on. “Are you sure you’re not gonna break your neck in these?”

I put my hand on the counter to balance myself. “They’re comfy, don’t worry. Besides, they’re cute.”

He gave a shake of his head and I caught the flash of teeth in his grin. When he got up, he didn’t need to lean too far to give me a kiss.

“I thought we were just going to the Jabbin’ Java family opening?”

“Well, the girls and I may want to catch up later.”

“The girls, huh… How about us men?”

I fiddled with his navy-blue tie. He was wearing a white dress shirt for a change. I was slowly adding more variety to his wardrobe other than black. He didn’t appear to mind. He even seemed amused at my attempts to add color to his clothes…well, white for now.

“Well, the boxing gym is just across the way. Maybe you all could work out your frustrations some more.”

Sandro touched his jaw. “Nico has a mean left hook.”

My brothers and Sandro had sparred a couple of times. A healthier alternative for sure than beating the hell out of each other outside the ring and without gloves. Jabbin’ Java’s grand reopening was tomorrow morning, but Renz was excited for us to try some of his new espresso creations.

The Italian side of our family, of course, thought anything other than straight espresso or a cappuccino was blasphemy.

As for me, I was in the mood for his bacon-and-egg brioche. It had been too long since I had a fix. I grabbed my mini bucket purse that matched my ivory heels. “Come on, let’s go. I want to catch the brioche as it comes out of the oven.”

I tugged Sandro’s hand, but he didn’t budge.

I shot him a questioning gaze. “Is there something askew with my clothes?” Aside from the leggings, I was wearing a scooped neckline. Nothing too revealing. I wanted to show off my boxy-heel platform Jimmy Choos with the flared knotted straps over the toes. It was so girly, I couldn’t stand it.

He let go of my hand and dug into his suit’s inner pocket. “Before you go out with the girls tonight, I have a request.”

He set down a jewelry box.

I was more baffled when he slipped the diamond ring from my finger.

“Taking someone’s ring off is bad luck.”

Sandro’s face didn’t change expression, but I could just imagine his internal eye roll.

“I’m serious. It means we’re going to fight.”

He put the ring on the counter and picked up the box and opened it.

Nestled against creamy satin was an obnoxiously huge stone that put the wordostentatiousto shame.