“They won’t. I’ll see to it myself.”
She doesn’t smile. She just exhales and rests her forehead against mine, as if that promise settles something in her. As if, for the first time tonight, she can finally breathe.
When the water begins to chill, I lift her from it and wrap her in thick towels, drying every inch of her skin with careful attention. She shivers despite the warmth of the crackling fire, exhaustion finally catching up with her.
I carry her to the bed and she curls against my chest, her head tucked under my chin. Her breathing evens out, but I know she's not asleep, even when I flick off the lights and the only illumination is from the fireplace.
"He'll never touch you again," I say into the darkness.
She's quiet for so long I think she might not answer. Then I hear her whisper softly, "Promise me."
"I promise you." My arms tighten around her. "On my life, on my name, on everything I am—he will never lay a hand on you."
This time, when she says she believes me, I hear the truth in her voice.
28
ROSARIA
Idon't want to leave this bed. The sheets are twisted around my legs, warm from our bodies, and Salvatore's hand rests across my stomach with a possessiveness that should frighten me but doesn't. His breathing is steady against my shoulder, each exhale brushing against my bare skin.
For the first time in months, I feel suspended. Protected. The weight of his arm anchors me to this moment, to this feeling of safety that I've never experienced before. Not with Emilio watching my every move, not with the opera board controlling my career, not with the constant scrutiny that has defined my entire life.
Here, in this bed, I am not The Rose of Rome. I am not a Costa. I am not a pawn in anyone's game. I am simply Rosaria, wrapped in Egyptian cotton and morning silence with a man who looks at me like I belong to him and him alone.
The knock at the door destroys everything.
Three sharp raps against the wood, followed by the turn of the handle. I sit up immediately, clutching the sheet to my chest as the door swings open. Salvatore is already moving, his bodycoiled and alert as he rolls out of bed and grabs his shirt from the floor.
Gianni steps into the room without waiting for permission. His eyes find Salvatore and stay there, never once glancing in my direction. There's a courtesy in his blindness that I appreciate, but it doesn't stop the heat from flooding my cheeks as I look at Salvatore's nude backside and cover my chest with the sheet.
"We have a problem," Gianni says, his voice flat and businesslike.
Salvatore pulls his shirt over his head, the fabric settling across his shoulders as he moves toward the door. He's barefoot, his hair mussed from sleep, but there's nothing vulnerable about him now. The man who held me so gently moments ago has disappeared, replaced by the boss who commands fear and respect in equal measure.
"What kind of problem?" Salvatore asks.
Gianni's jaw tightens. "Emilio knows about the baby."
The warmth drains from my body, leaving me cold and hollow. My hand moves instinctively to my stomach, fingers splaying across the barely-there curve that has become the center of my world.
"How?" Salvatore's voice is deadly quiet.
"The maid..." Gianni's eyes flick to meet mine. "Found the test in the trash."
My heart sinks as I realize they've gone through my things since I ran out again.
"What else does he know?" Salvatore moves closer to Gianni, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow makes it more menacing.
"Everything. The dates, the timeline. He's putting the pieces together."
My throat closes. The room tilts sideways, and I grip the sheet tighter, using it as an anchor to keep myself from fallingapart. Emilio knows. He knows about the baby, which means he knows about Salvatore and me. He knows that his control over me has slipped, that I have betrayed everything he taught me about loyalty and family.
"What do we do now?" The words come out barely audible in the heavy silence.
Salvatore turns to me, his green eyes softening for just a moment. "You let me handle it."
"Salvatore—"
