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A lump rises in my throat. I swallow it down with a breath, leaning back against his shoulder.

The faucet drips. The water laps gently at the sides of the tub.

And he just… holds me.

No demands. No expectations.

Only hands that glide over my skin with reverence. Only a kiss pressed to the top of my head like a benediction.

"You know," I say, after a long stretch of silence, "I never thought I’d find this."

He hums. "What’s this?"

"A man who doesn’t want me to be smaller. Softer. Quieter. Someone who sees what I carry and doesn’t try to take it from me."

"I love you, Nerissa. Not some version of you that anyone else thinks should exist. You ."

"I love you too, Nesto."

"I know, sweetheart, that's why we're getting married."

Yes, that's why we're getting married.

No contracts. No plans or power grabs. Just a marriage of two people whose lives are better for having the other one in it.

ERNESTO

I wake to the scent of coffee which explains why Nerissa is not in the bed beside me.

Turning, I bury my face in her pillow and inhale her scent. My morning wood morphs from biological to turned on in a heartbeat. But Nerissa isn't here and I'm not about to jack off when the sexiest woman walking this earth is somewhere nearby.

I get up and pull on a pair of gray sweats. I have no idea why, but Nerissa replaced all my flannel pajama pants and black sweats with gray ones.

I don't care what color my sweats are or if I have pajama pants, or not. Mostly, around Nerissa, I prefer to be naked.

I find her in the kitchen. Barefoot in one of my white button-downs, sleeves rolled, hem brushing her thighs. Her skin glows against the fabric, dark and soft and perfect.

She turns, a beautiful smile on her face. "Coffee?"

"Yeah." I grab one of the pastries on a plate in the middle of the table. "When did you get these?"

More importantly, how did she get them? Nerissa is not dressed to go out, or receive deliveries.

"Delivery." She stirs a splash of cream into my coffee and hands me the mug.

Frowning, I take it, but I don't bring it to my lips. "You got a delivery? Dressed like that?"

"Relax, caveman. I had one of my crew leave it outside the door. No one got to ogle my legs."

"Good. I didn't want to have to start the day by blinding one of your brother's soldiers."

"They're my soldiers too."

"Just like all the soldiers working under me are mine too, but ultimately, they're Domenico's men."

"Does it bother you? Being an underboss?"

"Domenico doesn't structure his crew like that. There's no official second-in-command in the cyber division."

"But all the men know to come to you when Domenico isn't available."

"That's because I'm his favorite," I joke.

"It's because he trusts you implicitly like my brother trusts me." An old hurt flits across her face, but it doesn't stay there.

Salvatore and Nerissa argued over Bianca. My lover did not trust the other woman when she showed up in the capo's life out of nowhere. Nerissa naturally did a deep dive into Bianca's background. I helped her.

Unfortunately, what we came up with was not as it seemed and she nearly lost her job as Salvatore's second over her need to protect him from himself.

Bianca insisted on him reinstating Nerissa and is one of her closest friends now.

I'm proud of my girl for how she handled it all, but I damn near killed her brother for hurting her the way he did.

I had already approached Domenico about taking my grievance to the don.

I planned to ask for permission to confront the capo for his treatment of his sister based on family ties and her place in my life.

It would have been a physical confrontation because words were never going to cut it.

The audience with the don became unnecessary and Nerissa will never know how close I came to killing or maiming her third favorite man alive. I'm the first. And that still fucking blows my mind. Her dad's the second.

But she loves her brother with fierce loyalty that is only one of the reasons I love her.

"Eggs?" she asks, holding up a pan.

I shake my head, anticipation thrumming through my veins. Not for anything in particular. Just the anticipation of spending time with my woman.

She puts the pan down and saunters over to where I'm sitting. "What do you want then?"

Grabbing her wrist, I tug her down, but instead of sitting on my lap, she shifts so she's straddling it, the hot apex of her thighs pressed against my morning wood. She rocks a little and hums her approval.

I offer her a bite of my pastry and she takes it, not bothering to lick the icing from her lips after.

Leaning forward, I do it for her.

We go back and forth, feeding each other and taking sips of coffee from each other's mug. I don't know why it always tastes better when it's hers, but it does.

After feeding me most of another pastry and only letting me give her a couple of bites, Nerissa rests her forehead against mine. "I’ve never had someone take care of me like you do. You make me feel so safe, I forget I’ve got a knife under the pillow."

My lips quirk. "I noticed." I have to move the knife to the bedside table most nights.

Our lovemaking is too energetic to risk an accidental run in with her lethally sharp blades.

"I sleep better now." She pulls back and runs her fingers through my hair. "But you, you carry so much in silence. I see it. I feel it."

"Nerissa—"

"Nope." She kisses me again. "You gave me peace last night. Now I get to give it back."

So I let her.

She pushes my sweats down so my rigid cock springs upward and then grabs it and lowers herself down until the head is at the slick opening of her body. A shudder rolls through her and then she presses down further, rocking her hips until her tight, tight pussy fully envelops my cock.

She takes her time, not rushing either of us and when I come it's as profound as our two souls meshing. And that feels as right as anything ever has in my life.

The woman already owns my heart. She might as well have my soul too.

Afterward, she traces her initials on my chest with the tip of her finger. She doesn’t say I love you like she did last night.

Not because it isn’t true.

But because everything she does says it for her.

NERISSA

Dinner starts off like any other De Luca gathering which is to say, half the room is armed, the wine flows like water, and at least three people are pretending not to watch the exits.

It’s Sunday. The Sunday before Christmas to be precise. Which means a family dinner. My parents, my brother and his wife, my cousins and their wives and now baby Enzo.

We're at Severu and Catalina's. It's not their turn to host, but mere days after Enzo's birth, none of us wanted Catalina to travel, even as far as Miceli and Róise's place.

The dining table is practically groaning from the pasta and meat dishes.

My leg jiggles and Nesto’s hand presses down on my thigh under the table. Subtle, grounding.

I take a deep breath and then another. My heart settles and my need to move dissipates. Nesto squeezes my thigh and I look up from my plate.

He's asking me if I'm ready. I am, so I nod.

It’s time.

I stand and clink my spoon against my glass. Nesto rises to stand beside me.

Conversations falter. Heads turn.

Dad leans back slowly in his chair, watching me with that unreadable stare that’s been intimidating grown men since before I was born.

I lift my hand, the back to the rest of my family so everyone can see the ring.

The room gasps. That's the only way to explain it. Everyone makes a sound of shock. Everyone but my dad and mamma.

Aunt Aria clutches her chest. Cookie squeals. Candi launches herself out of her seat and practically tackles me with a hug. "Finally! I’ve been taking bets with the staff!"

Bianca lets out a soft, "Aw, tesoro! " and reaches for Salvatore’s hand.

I look to Nesto, and joy shines out to me from the depths of his beautiful eyes.

And then… Silence.

The kind of silence that fills a room when everyone is waiting to hear what a dangerous man has to say. Which in this family is every one of them.

But it's dad we're all looking at as he sets down his wineglass and studies my beloved for a long, agonizing moment.

"You ask me for permission?"

Nesto’s jaw tightens. "No, sir."

"Smart." Sal raises an eyebrow. "She'd have kicked both our asses if you did."

A beat.

Then dad lifts his glass to a chorus of laughter. "To the man my daughter chose…and the only one who could ever be worthy of her."

Miceli grins. "Hell just froze over."

Mamma wipes at her eyes, then lifts her own glass. "To love."

"To love," the room echoes.

Ernesto slides his arm around my back, pulling me tight to his side.

"This woman," he says, his voice deep and steady, "is the only reason I know who I am and where I’m going. I don’t deserve her. But I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m the man she deserves."

Someone says, "Swoon." I think it's Candi's mom, Mira.

A smile tickles at the corner of my mouth, but I agree one hundred percent. Nesto Ferrari is as swoony as swoony gets.