Page 37

SALVATORE

T he courtyard spreads before me in the dying light, stone stained with blood that pools beneath three kneeling figures.

Emilio Costa, his son Victor, and their loyal dog Rocco wait for my word.

Their clothes are torn, faces swollen from the beating my men delivered.

Zip ties bite into their wrists behind their backs. They know what comes next.

I stand with Gianni at my right shoulder and Bruno at my left, both armed, both ready. Twenty more of my soldiers form a semicircle around the prisoners. The silence feels absolute as I prepare myself to give the order that will end this war once and for all.

But then I hear her voice behind me, desperate and breaking.

"Let me go!"

I turn to see Rosaria struggling against one of my men who tried to prevent her from entering the courtyard. Her face is streaked with tears, her dark hair wild around her shoulders. She breaks free and rushes forward.

"Uncle, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Emilio's gaze finds hers across the distance. For a moment, his expression softens. Then it hardens again, colder than winter stone.

"You chose this," he says quietly. "You chose him over family."

"I didn't choose anything!" Tears stream down her face as she looks between us. "I never had a choice!"

"There's always a choice, Rosaria. You made yours."

The accusation cuts through the air between them. I watch this exchange with growing tension, my finger resting on the trigger of the pistol at my side. These men came to my home with weapons and threats. They would have taken her from me, taken our child. They deserve what's coming.

Rosaria turns toward me, pressing her palms against my chest as she looks up at me with those dark eyes that have haunted my thoughts for months.

"Please. Please don't do this. They're my family."

I look down at her—pregnant, exhausted, still trying to save the men who would have destroyed her to preserve their own power. My expression remains cold, empty of the mercy she seeks.

"They threatened you. Threatened our child."

"I'm begging you." She trembles against me, shaking so hard that tears don't even come anymore. Her voice breaks on every word. "Please."

The desperation in her voice reaches places inside me I thought were sealed off years ago. But I can't let that matter now. Not when the stakes are this high.

"So am I," I tell her, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm begging you to understand why this has to happen."

I signal to my men. The guns click as safeties are released. The sound echoes across the courtyard with terrible finality. Rosaria flinches at the noise, her hands clutching at my shirt.

But then she does the one thing I didn't expect. She pulls away from me and drops to her knees beside her uncle and cousin, positioning herself between them and my soldiers' weapons.

"If you kill them, you kill part of me too," she says, her voice steady despite the tears. "Is that what you want for our child? To be born from blood and revenge?"

I stare down at her kneeling there in the courtyard, protecting the men who would have taken everything from me. The image burns itself into my memory—her courage, her loyalty, her refusal to let me become the monster this situation demands.

The courtyard falls silent except for the sound of her ragged breathing. My men wait for my command. Emilio and his family wait for death. And Rosaria waits for me to choose between the violence that built my empire and the woman who could destroy it.

Slowly, I raise my hand. My soldiers lower their weapons.

"Get up," I tell her.

She rises unsteadily, never taking her eyes from mine. "You're letting them live?"

"On conditions." I turn to address Emilio directly. "You will step down from the opera board immediately. Every position, every influence, every connection you have built in Rome's cultural sector—gone. You forfeit all claim to Rosaria's career and to her unborn child."

Emilio says nothing, but I see understanding in his eyes.

"Furthermore, you will sign documents making this arrangement legal and binding. Rosaria will become my wife, legitimizing the truce between our families. Our child will be raised in my household, under my protection, carrying my name."

"And if we refuse?" Victor asks through split lips.

"Then we return to the original plan." I gesture toward my armed men. "But if you accept these terms and honor them, you live. Violate them in any way, and I will raze every Costa asset from here to Sicily."

The silence reigns between us while Emilio considers the offer. He has no other choice and he knows it. Finally, he nods once.

"We accept."

Gianni produces the documents from his jacket—papers I had prepared for this possibility. He cuts their bonds and hands Emilio a pen. The older man's hand shakes as he signs, then passes the papers to Victor and Rocco.

When all three signatures are complete, I help Rosaria to her feet. She leans against me, exhaustion finally claiming her.

"There's one more thing," Emilio says as my men prepare to escort them away. "The moment I learned you were pregnant, I was coming to save you, not harm you."

Rosaria looks at him with doubt in her eyes. "It doesn't matter now."

She's right. Whatever his intentions were, they died the moment he brought violence to my door. When she turns back to me, pressing closer to my side, I understand that she has made her final choice.

The Costa men are escorted from my property in vehicles that will dump them at the Rome city limits. I watch their taillights disappear before leading Rosaria back toward the house.

"Thank you," she whispers as we walk.

"Don't thank me yet. Thank me after our wedding if you still feel grateful."

Her hand finds mine in the darkness between us, and for the first time since this war began, I allow myself to believe we might actually have a future together.