Page 34 of Italian Mafia Boss's Virgin Lover

She’s so beautiful.

It’s all I can think as I watch her, grazing in the garden. Pale dress fluttering in a late summer breeze, and one palm to her swelling belly. The tall grass dances against her bare feet, and she is so beautiful, and she is everything, and she is mine.

I’ll never forget what a fool I was, that first night. Not seeing her, not truly.

My wife is beautiful. She’s soft and quiet. Her body has only ever been mine, and only ever will be. Her curves are even more supple now, with our baby growing within her. Her smile is warm; and when I’m stern, she’s patient; and when I’m rough, she forgives me. I nearly lost her that day—I don’t ever forget. Not even for a moment. It makes every moment with Dani more precious.

That day. It still fills me with black rage to remember it.

She was so small, folded into my arms as I left Gregorio’s body in the library. She’d lost so much blood, and was slipping in and out of consciousness. It was then I truly realized my feelings for Dani. Until then, they’d been potential, hypothetical. I’d kept them at arm’s length. But seeing that knife, held against her stomach, seeing my own enemy threaten her life—it gave me the perspective I needed.

The police were swarming by the time I got to the drive. I got her into an ambulance. I fought the officers when they tried to detain me. I wasn’t going to leave her side.

In the end, they allowed me to climb into the ambulance with her, and I held her hand the entire time. Pale and bloodless, affixed to tubes and wires. One of the medics attempted to see to my own injuries, but I didn’t let them touch me. Not until she was safe.

It was bad. The doctors warned me she might not make it. She’d lost far too much blood; it was a miracle she’d even lasted this long. The wound was already hissing with infection, and the makeshift tourniquet she’d made, while it had done its job, had cut off the circulation long enough the doctors threatened amputation.

I paced, bandaged and seen to, up and down the hallways. I waited for what felt like an eternity, but was only a few hours. They warned me she might not pull through, but though I’d seen the ruin Gregorio made of her body, I didn’t believe them. Not for an instant.

The Dani I knew was resilient and resolute and made of steel. She hid that bravery, but it was there. I’d seen it time and again. She’d weatheredmewith that bravery. She fought Gregorio, and nearly killed him, and lived to tell the tale.

And she pulled through. As staunchly as I’d believed she would, it still felt like a miracle.

And so did the following days, and weeks, and months. She was home within one, and we were married within three. And ever since, we’ve been inseparable. The courts quickly ruled the invasion as what it was, and my men and I were exonerated. All of our weapons were legal, and it had all been self-defense. Still, the proceedings took months to pass, and every time the phone rang or a knock sounded at the door, Dani jumped.

It’s all behind us now, and all that matters is what’s ahead. Our future. Our family. All that matters is that we’ve survived, and now we are together.

She spots me watching her and smiles. She has a bouquet of mountain wildflowers clasped in her hands, and her eyes glitter in the gold of the setting sun. I wait for her to call my name. I could just go to her, but I like to hear her say it.

“I’ve been thinking,” she tells me, when I reach her. She twirls in her dress, and settles on the grass, tugging me down beside her. Her skin is aglow, the pregnancy humming like a hearth fire inside of her. She looks like she needs to be made love to. She looks like she’s asking for it. “About names, for the baby.”

“Mm,” I say, but I’m barely listening. I’m entranced by the shape of her lips, by her broken Italian, spoken with more and more deftness every day. I wrap a hand around her waist and tug her against me, savoring the sound of her delighted giggle. “And? What have you come to, my wife?”

“Victoria, for a girl,” she says, resting her body against mine. She burns, brilliant with life. The girl I carried out of this castle last year has vanished; in her place, a resilient, powerful woman. My wife. “And for a boy—what would you think of Vittorio?”

My heart clenches. I lean back, gazing down at her. Warm rose colors her face, and she smiles, ever bashful, eyes averting. Her dark lashes brush her cheeks, soft summer wind rushing over the hills, dancing through her hair.

A son? Named after my brother?

I tip her chin up with my knuckle, and meet her deep, glittering eyes. I say nothing, because I can’t find the words. How to tell her that she fills me with joy every day? That I’m more grateful for her than I can quantify? How to thank her, for seeing in me a good man when I couldn’t? For fighting to stay by my side? For bringing my child into this world, and helping me rebuild the great family that once thrived in these lands?

I can’t. My gratitude is immeasurable, as my love is, as my hunger is for her. So I pull her against me instead of speaking, and tell her with my lips against hers. Her breath hitches, and I savor the fact that she still shivers at my touch, that even after so much time together, and so many nights in one another’s arms, I still drive her mad. I still get under her lovely skin.

“Are we lucky?” she whispers, running her hands down my chest. Her palm stops against my heart, and I sense that she’s feeling it, savoring every beat. “So many people were lost…”

Tears fill her eyes, and I kiss her again, appreciating her femininity, her alternating fragility and strength. “We have to be happy,” I say, and I mean it. I truly, actually mean it. “Or it was all for nothing, my love.”

She smiles through her tears, gently running her hands into my hair. The sun is setting, and the green sea of the hill dances against us. What would Vittorio think, I wonder? If he knew how happy I’ve been able to become? If he knew what I had, what this woman has given me? If he knew I’d found more reason to live than my own black inferno of hatred?

“You’re right.” Tears shine in her lashes, and she pulls me down against her, kissing me deeply. Everything in me arches toward everything in her, wildflower to sunlight. “Some days, I feel too lucky. Like it’s all a dream. A fantasy that will disappear if I touch it.”

“Disappear?” I repeat, pressing my lips to her jaw, and she laughs, a soft sound caught and carried on the wind. “It’s not a dream, Dani. It’s not a fantasy.” I draw her wrists together and pin them gently above her head. “It’s real. This is real.” I kiss the arch of her throat. “This is real.” Her collarbone. “This is real.”

I brush aside the collar of her dress, and press my lips to her living, beating heart.

“This is real,” I whisper.

And she smiles down at me, with my baby inside of her, with so much love in her eyes, and I believe it too. Sudden and true and final.