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“Look who’s here!” Ava announced just as Bianca dropped everything and rounded the counter to fly into her husband’s arms.

My chest and throat tightened. Seeing Sandro’s face lose its hard edges and his eyes take on an adoring gaze was difficult to take in. But I stood transfixed as I witnessed his brawny arms wrap around my daughter. Then they drew apart and Sandro cupped Bianca’s face.

“Are you all right?” Bianca asked.

Sandro dropped his forehead to hers. “I should be asking you that.”

Again, it was hard to watch such love and devotion emanate from the pair as if they were the only two people in the world.

Ava came to my side, clasped my hand, and gave it a tug. I glanced at my wife and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Bianca.” I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you show Sandro to the west wing?”

She turned to me. “Are you sure, Dad? Don’t you need help?”

“Your mom and I have got this,” I said. Sandro and I exchanged a look. In the half a second that transpired, I knew the job was done.

Crowe Miller was dead.

I lowered my chin in acknowledgment. “I’m sure you and Bianca have some catching up to do. I told my boys to give you guys a break…”

“Oh, Dad.” Bianca looked unsure, then she glanced at Sandro. Something passed between them and it was Sandro who responded, “Bianca and I want them here. It’s a new beginning for all of us.”

“I’ll call them.” Probably have them pick up more food. “Go. Go get ready. You know your brothers are eager to see you, too.”

When Bianca dragged Sandro out of the kitchen, Ava turned to me. “That wasn’t too hard.”

I shot off a text to our family group chat and leaned a hip against the counter, a smile playing at my lips. “What do you mean?”

I knew exactly what she meant, and Ava knew this. She rolled her eyes and said it anyway, “Finally accepting Sandro.”

“It wasn’t a question about Sandro himself but the family he represented. That problem doesn’t exist anymore.”

Ava stepped into me and hugged me around the waist. “Agree. But admit it, you had a difficult time letting our little girl go.”

“I still do, but a wise fucker once told me that to do what’s best for my daughter, I have to love her less.”

Ava laughed. She’d heard me grumble about Sandro’s words before. But hearing my wife laugh and seeing her eyes twinkle lightened the somberness of the thought of letting Bianca go.

I dragged Ava into my arms. “Don’t think it’s going to work with you,” I muttered.

“What?” she teased. “Loving me less?”

“Yeah.” I searched her face. “I love you more and more each day. You know that, right?”

“Thirty years,” she whispered.

“That’s ten thousand nine hundred fifty days, give or take,” I informed her.

Her eyes flashed as our faces grew closer. “Wow, I’m feeling warm.”

A strangled groan rumbled up my throat before I crushed her lips and tasted the sweetness that had fueled the addiction for my wife day after day, year after year. After four children, and one grandchild, with another on the way, my life with Ava was only getting better.

I swept her up in my arms.

“Cesar! We can’t,” she scolded, knowing full well what I was up to. “The kids will be here any moment, and we have to cook.”

“Cooking can wait,” I muttered, marching out of the kitchen. “I told Matteo to pick up something from Eamonn’s.”