Page 13 of Obsidian Devotion (Empire of Sin & Blood #3)

The Sicilian sun warms my skin as I stand on the balcony of our villa, cradling my swollen belly. Six months pregnant and I've never felt more alive, more complete.

Behind me, I hear Lorenzo's footsteps.

"You're supposed to be resting," he says, his arms encircling me, hands coming to rest protectively over mine on my stomach.

"Tell that to your daughter," I reply, tilting my head back against his chest. "She's practicing her kickboxing again."

Lorenzo chuckles, the sound reverberating through my body. "Already fighting. She's definitely a Bellanti."

I turn in his arms, studying the face I've come to know better than my own. The scar above his left eyebrow is new, a permanent reminder of the night I shot Carlos. The night I chose Lorenzo over wrongful vengeance. Truth over lies.

His eyes, though—they're softer now when they look at me. He still looks at everyone else like he wants to kill them, but with me, there's tenderness. With us, there's hope.

The nightmares still come sometimes. Carlos's face contorted in shock as my bullet found its mark.

The spray of blood. The sound of his body hitting the floor.

In my dreams, sometimes he gets back up.

Sometimes, he reaches Lorenzo before I can stop him.

Sometimes, it's my brother's face I see falling instead of Carlos's.

"What are you thinking about?" Lorenzo asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"How we got here?" I answer honestly. "How close we came to losing everything."

Lorenzo's jaw tightens momentarily, then relaxes. The past six months haven't erased the betrayal, but they've transformed it into something else. Something stronger.

"I didn’t lose the both of you,” he says simply. "That's all that matters."

I shake my head. "It's not that simple, Lorenzo. I drugged you. I lied to you. I came to destroy you."

"And stayed to save me." He presses his lips to my forehead. "I'd say that balances the scales."

Inside, voices rise in laughter. The Bellanti siblings have gathered here in Sicily for the weekend, a tradition that now includes me—the woman who infiltrated their family with vengeance in her heart, only to find herself irrevocably part of it.

"Come," Lorenzo says, pulling me gently back inside. "Matteo's threatening to tell embarrassing stories from my childhood again."

The villa's room is bathed in golden afternoon light. Matteo’s sitting on the couch. He was the last to accept me after learning the truth, but his forgiveness, when it came, was complete.

"There she is," Matteo says, raising his glass as we enter. "The woman who tamed the beast."

Isabella elegantly sprawls across a chaise, holding a wineglass, while Olivia sorts through a stack of ultrasound photos with childlike enthusiasm.

"So, Sofia," Matteo says, his tone light but his eyes serious, "has my brother been behaving himself? Or do I need to remind him that pregnant women are always right?"

I smile, settling onto the sofa next to Lorenzo. "He's learning. Slowly."

"Ah, the woes of creating a family," comes a drawling voice from the doorway. Angelo Bellanti, the youngest sibling and notorious playboy, saunters in with a bottle of expensive champagne. His dark hair is artfully tousled, his smile effortlessly charming.

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow. "Don’t you think it’s time for you to create one for yourself, too?”

Angelo shakes his head dramatically. “What the fuck, man? I’m only twenty-five. Besides, only a fool will get married. No offense to you all.”

Matteo throws a pillow at him. "You're a disgrace to the family name."

"On the contrary," Angelo retorts, dodging the pillow. "I'm upholding our finest traditions of hedonism and selective commitment."

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Ignore him, Sofia. He's just bitter because his latest conquest dumped him for a yacht captain in Monaco."

"She did not dump me," Angelo protests, uncorking the champagne with a loud pop. "We mutually agreed to pursue other opportunities." He pours glasses for everyone except me, then raises his in a toast. "To my future niece—may she have her mother's lethal aim and her father's black card?"

The room erupts in laughter, and even Lorenzo cracks a genuine smile. These moments still feel surreal—sitting among the most feared crime family in New York, sharing jokes and ultrasound photos as if we're just any ordinary family.

Later, when the siblings disperse to freshen up for dinner, Lorenzo leads me to the terrace overlooking the sea.

"I've been thinking about Michael lately," he whispers, his eyes on the horizon.

I take his hand, saying nothing. This is rare—Lorenzo volunteering information about his murdered best friend. The best friend that I didn’t even know existed till that day.

"He was more than my friend—he was my brother in everything but blood," Lorenzo continues, his voice low. "When I saw his dead body... Chopped up like that, it broke something in me."

I tighten my grip on his hand, feeling the tension in his body. The rage still simmering beneath the surface.

"Michael and me were all the rage at sixteen. We were racing motorcycles through the back streets of the city; staying up all night talking about our dreams; covering for each other when one of us got into trouble." He shakes his head. "The weight of his absence hits me all over again sometime."

The pain in his voice is raw, unfiltered. This is Lorenzo without his armor—the man beneath the monster.

"We used to work out at this old gym downtown," he continues. "Every morning at five. He'd always show up with these terrible protein shakes he made himself. Tasted like dirt, but I drank them anyway."

I lean my head against his shoulder, offering what comfort I can.

"We smoked our first cigarettes together behind his father's boathouse. Got so sick we swore we'd never do it again." A ghost of a smile touches his lips at the memory. "We were back there the next day."

"What else?" I ask softly, hungry for these glimpses of the boy who became the man I love.

Lorenzo turns to face me, his eyes distant with memory. "We used to go to this little spot by the lake. We'd talk about what we wanted from life. He always said he wanted something different from what our families had planned. He wanted love—real love."

He gently turns me to face him fully. "He would have liked you."

"How can you be sure?" I ask, searching his eyes.

"Because he always said I deserved someone who would challenge me. Someone brave." He brushes a strand of hair from my face. "Someone who would make me better than I am."

My throat tightens. "Do I? Make you better?"

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “You make me want to become the best version of myself.”

“I found something today,” Lorenzo says later, after dinner. He leads me to his study, a room of rich mahogany and leather that smells perpetually of his cologne and old books.

From his desk drawer, he withdraws a small velvet box. My heart stutters.

“Lorenzo…”

“It’s not a ring,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Though I’m intrigued by your reaction. I thought you wanted to wait to get married after giving birth?”

I roll my eyes, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “Just open it, smartass.”

Inside the box lies a delicate gold charm, with a tiny bell identical to the one on my bracelet.

“I thought perhaps our daughter might like her own someday,” Lorenzo says quietly.

My throat tightens with emotion. “You’re a sentimental fool beneath all that ruthlessness, Lorenzo Bellanti.”

He touches my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Only for you. Don’t spread rumors—I have a reputation to maintain.”

I lean into him, our foreheads touching. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Later that night, when everyone has gone to bed, I find Lorenzo standing in what will become the nursery. His back is to me as he gazes out at the sea, shoulders straight but somehow vulnerable in the moonlight.

“What happens if she asks about her other family someday?” I ask softly, voicing the fear that sometimes keeps me awake. “What do I tell her about my brother? About Carlos?”

Lorenzo turns, his expression solemn. “We tell her the truth. That families are complicated. That people make terrible mistakes.” He crosses to me, taking my hands in his. "That sometimes vengeance leads to love, and love is worth protecting at all costs. ”

“Even when I came to you under false pretenses?” I whisper. “Even when I betrayed you?”

“Sofia,” he says my name like a prayer, “you freed me from years of rage and suspicion. You gave me a future to look forward to instead of a past to avenge. Everything else is just… details.”

I shake my head, marveling at how completely our roles have reversed. “I spent two years planning to destroy you, and now I can’t imagine my life without you.”

His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “That’s the thing about fate, amore mio. It has a way of correcting itself. "

“Is that what we are? Fate?”

Lorenzo’s smile is slow, predatory, and achingly familiar. “We’re whatever we choose to be. Kings and queens of our own kingdom.” His hand drops to my stomach. “And now, parents.”

I laugh softly. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“No matter what comes—rival families, old vendettas, new threats—we face it together. No secrets. No lone-wolf heroics.”

Lorenzo’s brow furrows slightly. “You know who I am, Sofia. What I do.”

“I’m not asking you to change,” I clarify. “I’m asking you to include me. To trust me as your partner, not just protect me as your woman.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I see the calculations behind his eyes—the old instinct to shield me from his world.

“Partners,” he says finally, extending his hand as if we’re sealing a business deal.

I take it, but pull him closer until our bodies are flush against each other. “Partners,” I agree, sealing it with a kiss that promises far more than words ever could.

Outside, the Mediterranean laps gently against the shore. Inside, within the walls of this building, a new chapter begins.

We’ll never be an ordinary family with

white picket fences and Sunday dinners.

The scars on Lorenzo’s knuckles remind me of that. That holstered gun at his back reminds me of that.

The men stationed discreetly around the perimeter of the property remind me of that. The nightmares that still wake me sometimes, memories of that night, with Carlos remind me of that. Our love story is written in blood and bullets, in betrayal and redemption.

But it’s ours. Every dark, beautiful moment of it.

Tomorrow, Lorenzo will return to business calls and territory negotiations. I’ll continue adapting Isabella’s nightclub management strategies to our new venture in Sicily. Our daughter will grow completely aware of what she’ll inherit.

For tonight, though, we’re just a man and a woman standing in the moonlight, learning to trust in a future neither of us saw coming. A future carved from the ruins of vengeance and built on the unlikely foundation of forgiveness.

“I love you,” Lorenzo whispers against my hair.

“I love you too,” I reply, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

And at this moment, that’s enough. More than enough. It’s everything.

THE END

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