Page 140 of Fire and Silk

Severo brushes his mouth against my shoulder, the kiss light but lingering.

Then he speaks.

“Mico sent another letter.”

I don’t move. Don’t tense. I’ve had time to train myself out of that.

He waits, arms never shifting.

“He’s still in Italy,” Severo continues quietly. “Living in the house your father left him, from what Nero’s boys say. He’s been trying.”

I scoff, tilting my head back just slightly. “Trying what? To get under my skin?”

Severo hums. “To reach you.”

I close my eyes.

“Let him rot,” I murmur. “That was his price. He tried to take me like I was property. That’s what he pays—silence.”

“You never opened any of them,” he says softly.

I shrug. “And I never will.”

He doesn’t push. Never does.

“I’ll keep them,” he says after a pause. “Tucked away. If you ever change your mind.”

“You’re sentimental,” I murmur, and he chuckles, nose brushing my temple.

“You’re cold.”

I grin.

He shifts beneath me, pressing a kiss into my wet hair. “Let’s visit your mother and brother tomorrow.”

The breath leaves me slowly.

Two years. Every performance, every concert, every city… he’s made sure I never forget. He grounds me. He drags me to that small plot of stone and dirt, where the names Chiara and Marco Falco are carved clean and solemn. He never speaks there. Just waits with flowers and stands beside me in silence.

I turn in the water until I’m facing him. My arms loop around his neck. His hands settle on my hips.

“You’re wonderful,” I say.

He tilts his head, eyes burning.

“I love you,” he says.

The words land heavy.

He pulls me closer. “You realize,” he says, voice low, “that’s the first time I’ve said it?”

His mouth lifts, the barest curve. “I own your heart.”

I smile. “I love you.”

Our lips meet—slow, open, full. His hands travel up my spine, and I shiver. The kiss deepens. Water laps softly against porcelain. My fingers thread through his hair.

He rests his forehead against mine, noses brushing.