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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Ava

The waves kiss the shore in a gentle rhythm, foam-edged and perfect. I stand at the window of our beachfront villa, watching palm trees sway in the tropical breeze, hardly believing this moment is real.

"Are you ready?" Angela asks, her voice stronger than I've ever heard it. These last few months of recovery have done wonders for both her and Stefano. Her hair is growing back in soft curls, and today she's radiant in the pale blue bridesmaid dress we chose together.

"Almost," I say, turning to face her. The simple white dress I'm wearing catches the light, making the delicate lace overlay shimmer. Nothing extravagant or princess-like—just elegant, comfortable, and entirely my choice. The complete opposite of the cream-colored prison uniform from our first "wedding”.

Angela smiles, her eyes suspiciously bright. "You look beautiful. Stefano's going to lose his mind when he sees you."

I laugh, smoothing my hands over the gentle curve of my stomach. The pregnancy weight is coming off slower than I had hoped. We had to adjust my dress a little. "I think your brother's seen me in more flattering states."

"You look beautiful," she says again. She reaches up to adjust the single white hibiscus flower tucked into my hair. "This time you're choosing him. That means everything to him."

Her words hit me with unexpected force. She's right, of course. The first time, there was no choice—just desperation, fear, and the cold calculation of survival. This time, standing on a perfect beach in the Bahamas with no threat hanging over our heads, it's entirely my decision. My choice. My heart leading instead of my fears.

A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

"Come in," I call, expecting the wedding coordinator or perhaps Tony.

Instead, Alessia Rega enters, looking more present and alive than I've seen her since we met. Island life has been good for her—the sunshine bringing color to her cheeks, the slower pace helping her find her way back from grief's shadow.

"Oh, Ava," she breathes, eyes widening as she takes me in. "You're a vision."

She crosses the room to take my hands in hers, squeezing gently. "I brought something. If you'd like to wear it, that is." From her pocket, she produces a delicate gold bracelet, tiny charms gleaming in the sunlight. "It was given to me on my wedding day. And my mother's before me."

"Alessia, I..." Emotion clogs my throat as she fastens it around my wrist. This woman, who has lost so much, offering me a piece of her history, of her family legacy. "Thank you."

"My son has loved you since you were children," she says simply. "I'm grateful I lived to see you become his wife. His real wife." Her smile turns mischievous. "And the mother of my perfect grandson."

The mention of Gianni makes my heart swell. Our beautiful baby boy, born seven weeks ago, with Stefano's shocking blue eyes and my dark hair. The most perfect thing I've ever seen—and miraculous for having survived everything we went through.

"Where is the little prince?" I ask, suddenly needing to see him.

"With his father." Alessia's smile softens. "He’s teaching him important wedding duties, I believe."

The mental image of fierce, dangerous Stefano Rega carefully instructing our infant son makes me laugh. He's taken to fatherhood with the same intensity he brings to everything—completely, obsessively, with every ounce of his being.

"It's time," Angela says, checking her watch. "Tony's waiting to walk you down the aisle."

I take a moment for one final glance in the mirror. The woman looking back at me is so different from the one who walked into The Silk Rose all those months ago.

No longer running. No longer afraid. No longer alone.

"I'm ready," I say, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

The beach has been transformed. White chairs are set up on either side of a simple aisle strewn with flower petals. An arch of tropical blooms frames the endless blue of the ocean. Nothing extravagant—we both wanted simplicity—but it’s perfect in every way that matters.

Tony stands at the path leading from our villa to the beach, dressed in a light linen suit, looking so grown up that my breath catches. The past few months have changed him too. Sobriety looks good on him. So does the acceptance letter to the architectural school that came last week.

"Wow, sis," he says, eyes widening as I approach. "You're gonna give the old man a heart attack."

I swat his arm playfully. "The 'old man' is only thirty-five."

"Ancient," he teases, then his expression turns serious. "You're happy, right? This is really what you want?"

I take his arm, squeezing it gently. "More than anything I've ever wanted in my life."

He studies my face, then nods. "Good. Because if he ever hurts you?—"

"You'll what?" I arch an eyebrow. "Take on the Monster of Chicago?"

"If I have to." The response is immediate, without a trace of the fear that would have colored it months ago.

I lean up to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Tony."

"Love you too, sis." He clears his throat, clearly embarrassed by the emotion. "Now let's go before your fiancé sends out a search party."

The soft strains of music reach us as we approach the aisle. Not the traditional wedding march—nothing about our relationship has been traditional—but a gentle acoustic melody that reminds me of waves and wind and new beginnings.

And then I see him.

Stefano stands beneath the flower arch, tall and imposing even in the casual elegance of his linen suit. His hair has grown longer during his recovery, curling slightly in the humid air. The scars from the warehouse fight are barely visible now, just a thin white line at his temple, another peeking from his collar.

He keeps saying he’s going to cover the scars with new tattoos, commemorating his survival. We decided last night that I will get some art to cover my own scars that will help me remember that we survived, that we are so lucky to be here.

His expression as he sees me steals my breath. Raw emotion transforms his features—love, wonder, disbelief—all the carefully maintained control stripped away, leaving only the man. My man.

And in his arms, dressed in a tiny white outfit, is our son. Gianni's little face turns toward me as if he senses his mother, his perfect rosebud mouth forming what might be a smile or just gas, but it doesn't matter.

The sight of them together—the two most important people in my world—makes my heart feel like it might burst.

Each step down the aisle feels significant. Meaningful. A journey I'm making by choice rather than necessity. A path toward the future I never dared to dream of.

When we reach the altar, Tony places my hand in Stefano's, his expression serious as he says, "Take care of her."

Stefano nods, the simple gesture carrying the weight of a solemn vow. "With my life."

The officiant—a cheerful local woman with kind eyes—begins the ceremony, but I barely hear the lilt of her words. I'm lost in Stefano's gaze, in the solid warmth of his hand holding mine, in the precious weight of our son nestled between us.

This small gathering is our family now. Tomasso stands as best man, his usual stoic expression softened with rare emotion. Angela and Tony flank us like bookends, the siblings who have been through so much. Alessia watches from the front row, tears tracking silently down her cheeks.

No Fiori family. No criminal empire. No guns or threats or fear. Just love, binding us together more securely than any forced vows or legal documents ever could.

When it's time for our vows, Stefano hands Gianni to his grandmother and takes both my hands in his.

"Ava," he begins, his voice rough with emotion. "I have loved you since we were children, since you showed me your knife trick behind the Venere gardens and made me believe in magic." A smile touches his lips at the memory. "I searched for you for ten years, never knowing if I'd find you again. And when I did, I made every mistake possible trying to keep you."

He takes a deep breath, his thumbs tracing circles on my knuckles. "I tried to cage you, to control you, to force you to be mine. And in doing so, I nearly lost you forever."

I blink back tears, remembering those desperate days—the forced wedding, my attempts to run away, the warehouse showdown that nearly cost us everything.

"I promise you now," he continues, "that I will never cage you again. That I will earn your love every day for the rest of our lives. That I will protect you and our son without suffocating you." His voice drops lower, meant only for me. "That I will follow you anywhere, just like I promised all those years ago."

Tears spill freely down my cheeks now. I start to speak, but it takes a moment to find my voice.

"Stefano," I finally manage, "I have spent most of my life running. From my family legacy, from connections, from anything that felt like it could trap me." I squeeze his hands, drawing strength from his solid presence. "I ran from you too. From what I felt for you. From the life I was afraid to want."

The ocean breeze carries my words, lifting them like prayers. "I'm done running. Today, I choose to stay. To build a life with you. To love you through the darkness and the light." My lips curve into a smile. "To even love the Monster of Chicago, because he's part of the man I adore."

Soft laughter ripples through our small gathering.

"I promise to be honest, even when it's hard. To trust you with my heart, my fears, and our future. To raise our son with love rather than fear." I take a shaky breath. "And I promise that no matter where life takes us, I'll always find my way back to you."

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of rings and promises and finally, finally, a kiss that feels like sealing our fate. Not the desperate, claiming kisses of our earlier days, but something deeper. Sweeter. A promise of the life we're choosing together.

As we turn to face our family—our small, unlikely, precious family—Gianni lets out a delighted squeal from his grandmother's arms, as if adding his approval to the proceedings.

"Mrs. Rega," Stefano murmurs against my ear as we walk back down the aisle, "at last."

I lean into him, savoring the solid strength of his arm around my waist. "Second time's the charm," I tease.

His laughter is light, free in a way I rarely hear. "I'd marry you a thousand times if that's what it took."

The beach villa has also been transformed for our reception—simple elegance with tropical flowers, fairy lights, and tables set for an intimate dinner. As Stefano and I take our seats at the main table, Alessia approaches with Gianni in her arms.

"I believe this little gentleman would like to congratulate his parents," she says, gently transferring my son into my waiting arms.

Gianni blinks up at me with those startling blue eyes—Stefano's eyes—his tiny hands reaching for my face with perfect infant curiosity. My heart clenches with love so fierce it's almost painful. This miracle we created, against all odds. This perfect blend of us both.

"He's getting so big," Angela says, leaning over to tickle her nephew's cheek. "And more handsome every day."

"Takes after his father," I say, glancing at Stefano with a smile.

"His mother's nose, though," Stefano counters, one finger gently tracing the tiny feature in question. "Thank God."

The casual banter, the easy affection, the sense of family—it all feels foreign yet somehow right. Like stepping into a role I was always meant to play, if only I'd allowed myself to believe it possible.

Dinner unfolds with laughter and stories, toasts and tears. Tomasso surprises everyone with uncharacteristic emotion in his best man speech. Tony teases me mercilessly about my "criminal-to-soccer-mom transformation". Angela presents us with a scrapbook she's been secretly creating, documenting Gianni's first weeks.

As the evening progresses, Alessia corners me during a quiet moment, her expression thoughtful.

"I've been thinking," she says, looking out at the pristine beach, the endless horizon. "About staying here on the island."

I blink in surprise. "Permanently?"

She nods, a serene smile softening her features. "I feel...lighter here. Like I can breathe again." Her eyes find Stefano across the room, holding court with Tomasso and Tony. "My son has his own family now. His own life to live. And I think...I think I might be ready to find mine again."

"Have you told him?" I ask gently.

"Not yet." She sighs. "He'll worry. Try to protect me, even from happiness."

I laugh softly, knowing she's right. "I'll help you tell him. He just wants you to be happy, Alessia."

"I know." She squeezes my hand. "You make him happy, Ava. Happier than I've seen him since he was a boy. That's all a mother wants for her son."

Before I can respond, Stefano appears at my side, his hand finding the small of my back in that possessive yet gentle way that's become so familiar.

"Stealing my wife, Mother?" he teases, though the word “wife” holds a reverence that makes my heart skip.

"Just sharing mother-in-law secrets," Alessia replies smoothly. "Very classified information."

He arches an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

"Always," I quip, leaning into his side. "Keeps you on your toes."

His laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against me. "I have something for you," he says, suddenly serious. "A wedding gift."

Alessia slips away discreetly as Stefano guides me to a quiet corner of the veranda. Gianni has been passed to Angela, who's showing him the twinkling lights strung across the palm trees with all the enthusiasm of a devoted aunt.

"A gift?" I ask, surprised. "Stefano, this whole wedding—the island, the villa—it's already too much."

"Nothing is too much for you." He pulls out his phone, tapping the screen a few times before passing it to me. "For us."

I look down at the image displayed, uncomprehending at first. A sprawling ranch house with a wraparound porch. Rolling hills stretching to distant mountains. A barn and acres of open land.

Montana.

"Is this..." My voice fails me as understanding dawns.

"Yours," he says simply. "Ours. If you want it."

My hands tremble as I scroll through more photos. The interior of the house is rustic yet modern. A nursery is already set up with a crib and rocking chair. There are views of mountains and meadows and endless sky.

"You remembered?" I whisper, thinking of the handful of times I’d mentioned my dream of Montana all those months ago.

"I remember everything you've ever told me, Ava." His voice is low, intense. "Every dream. Every hope. Every fear."

Tears blur the images as I continue to scroll. This is it—exactly the life I'd described. The fantasy I never thought possible. The escape I've been chasing for years.

"Can we..." I swallow hard, afraid to hope. "Can we actually live there? Full-time? What about the family business? Chicago?"

Stefano takes the phone gently from my shaking hands, setting it aside to cup my face. "Tomasso's been handling most of the legitimate operations for months. The rest..." He shrugs, as if the empire he's built means nothing. "I'm ready to walk away. To be the man you and Gianni deserve, not the monster Chicago created."

I can't speak, can't find words adequate to describe the emotion overwhelming me. This man—this fierce, possessive, impossible man—is offering to give up everything he's built. For me. For our son. For the chance at a normal life together.

"Say something," he murmurs, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"Yes," I manage through my tears. "Yes to Montana. Yes to our ranch. Yes to everything with you."

The smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise—brilliant and transformative. He pulls me into his arms, lifting me off my feet in a kiss that tastes like promise, like future, like dreams I never dared believe could come true.

Our family cheers in the background, but I barely hear them. In this moment, there's only Stefano and me and the life we're choosing together. A life beyond violence and fear. A life where our son can grow up free from the shadows that haunted both our childhoods.

As Stefano sets me back on my feet, his hands linger at my waist, reluctant to let go even for a moment. "I have one condition," he says, his voice pitched low for my ears only.

"What's that?" I ask, breathless from his kiss and the future unfurling before us.

"Our bedroom needs to have a very large, very comfortable bed." His eyes darken with intent that sends heat spiraling through me. "For all the making up we still have to do."

I laugh, leaning into him, into the safety and heat and promise of his embrace. "I think that can be arranged, Mr. Rega."

"Good." His lips brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Because I plan to thoroughly enjoy my wedding night with my real wife."

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of celebration. There are toasts and cake and dancing under the stars. Gianni being passed from one embrace to another, soaking up the love of his unconventional extended family. Promises for visits and plans for the future.

Eventually, our guests begin to disperse. Tomasso takes charge of getting a sleepy Angela back to her villa. Tony heads out with assurances that he'll be fine and we should enjoy our night. Alessia retires with Gianni, insisting that new parents deserve at least one night to themselves.

And then we're alone—really alone—for the first time since saying our vows.

Stefano's eyes find mine across the now-empty veranda, dark with intent that makes my heart race and my body warm in anticipation.

"So, Mrs. Rega," he says, stalking toward me with predatory grace. "Ready to begin our honeymoon?"

The moment Stefano’s hands land on my waist, I feel the heat of his touch sear through the thin fabric of my wedding dress. His fingers tighten, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us, just the electric hum of anticipation. His breath is warm against my ear as he murmurs, “You’ve been driving me insane all day, Ava.”

I shiver, my body reacting instantly to the low, gravelly tone of his voice. “Is that so?” I tease, tilting my head to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart race.

“You know exactly what you’ve been doing,” he growls, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. “The dress. The way you’ve been moving. Every second, I’ve been imagining what I’d do to you when we were finally alone.”

His words send a jolt of desire straight to my core, and I can’t help but bite my lip in response. He notices, of course, and his lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Don’t do that,” he warns, his voice dropping even lower. “Unless you want this to be over before it’s even started.”

I laugh softly, but the sound catches in my throat as he suddenly lifts me off my feet, his hands gripping me firmly as he carries me toward the bedroom. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, and I press my lips to the pulse point just below his jaw, savoring the way his breath hitches in response.

He kicks the door shut behind us, the sound echoing in the quiet room, before setting me down gently on the edge of the bed. His hands are everywhere at once—tugging at the straps of my dress, tangling in my hair—and I can’t help but arch into his touch, craving more.

“Stefano,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching for mine, before leaning in to capture my lips in a searing kiss. It’s not soft or gentle; it’s hungry, possessive, and it leaves me breathless. His tongue slips past my lips, claiming me in a way that sends sparks of pleasure through my body.

His hands move to the zipper at the back of my dress, and I feel the cool air against my skin as he slowly pulls it down. The fabric slides off my shoulders, pooling at my waist, and his gaze rakes over me with undisguised desire. “You get more and more beautiful every day,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

I reach for the buttons of his shirt, my fingers trembling slightly as I work to undo them. When I finally push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest, I can’t resist running my hands over his skin, tracing his scars. Each one is a reminder of the man he is—the man I’ve chosen to spend my life with.

His hands move to my hips again, and he tugs me forward until I’m pressed against him, the heat of his body searing into mine. “Ava,” he growls, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

I don’t hesitate. “You. Always you.”

That’s all it takes. In one swift motion, he lays me back on the bed, his body covering mine completely. His lips trail down my neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, and I can’t help but moan softly in response. Every touch, every kiss, is electric, and I feel myself unraveling beneath him.

His hands move to the hem of my dress, and he pulls it the rest of the way off, tossing it aside without a second thought. His gaze rakes over me, and for a moment, I feel exposed, vulnerable, but the heat in his eyes reassures me. He’s not just looking—he’s worshipping.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up my thighs, spreading them gently as he settles between them. His lips follow the path his hands had taken, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin, and I can feel the tension building inside me with each passing moment.

When his lips finally find their way to my core, I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair as he begins to explore me with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. The pleasure is overwhelming, and I can feel myself teetering on the edge, my body trembling with need.

“Stefano,” I moan, my voice breaking as the sensations become too much to bear. “Please, I need you.”

He doesn’t make me wait. With a growl of satisfaction, he moves back up my body, his hands gripping my hips as he positions himself at my entrance. His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I see everything—the love, the desire, the promise of forever.

And then he’s inside me, filling me completely, and I can’t hold back the cry that escapes my lips. He moves slowly at first, savoring every inch of me, but it doesn’t take long before the pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more urgent, more demanding.

My hands grip the sheets as the pleasure builds, each thrust sending wave after wave of ecstasy crashing through me. His name is a chant on my lips, a prayer, and when I finally shatter, it’s with a cry that echoes through the room.

He follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he spills himself inside me, his lips pressed to my neck in a silent vow. For a moment, we’re both lost in the aftermath, our bodies still joined, our breaths mingling in the air between us.

When he finally pulls away, he gathers me in his arms, holding me close as if he never wants to let me go. “I love you, Ava,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with conviction.

“I love you too,” I whisper, my heart swelling with emotion. “Forever.”

And as I lay there in his arms, I know that this is just the beginning. The promise of forever is ours, and I can’t wait to see what comes next.