I searched his face, seeing past the powerful crime lord to the man beneath, the one who had washed my wounds with gentle hands, who had come for me when I was taken, who now looked at me as if I held his very life in my hands. In that moment ofperfect clarity, I knew my answer. Perhaps I’d known it since I first looked into his eyes all those weeks ago atThe Gray.
“OK, Dario. I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Belle
I stood in the cavernous foyer of Villa Luca, a cardboard box of Christmas decorations balanced against my hip, surveying the space with the tactical eye of a general planning a campaign. The grand staircase swept upward like a ribbon of marble, perfect for winding with pine garland and twinkling lights. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, ready to be adorned with delicate glass ornaments. The imposing portrait of Dario's father watched me with painted eyes that seemed to ask what the hell I thought I was doing. December had barely begun, but I wasn't waiting another day to bring Christmas to this beautiful, cold fortress.
"This place needs Christmas," I muttered to myself, setting down the box with a decisive thump that echoed through the empty space.
Christmas had always been my salvation. Even in my toughest years, living in that awful studio apartment with the leaky ceiling, working three jobs just to make rent, I'd strung dollarstore lights around my windows and baked cookies on my temperamental hotplate. The Luca family mansion, for all its grandeur, felt just as empty as those lonely apartments had, only on a much grander scale.
I pulled a length of pine garland from my box and approached the staircase. The mansion was quiet this early. The staff were still with their families, the brothers scattered to their morning routines. Perfect for my sneak attack of holiday cheer. I draped the garland along the banister, securing it with hidden wire, then began weaving the string lights through the artificial greenery. Took me an hour of careful work, but the end result was as beautiful as I’d hoped.
"There," I whispered with satisfaction as I stepped back to admire the first stage of transformation. The lights weren't lit yet, but I could already imagine how they would warm the cold marble when evening came.
I was halfway through humming "Silver Bells" when a throat cleared behind me. I nearly toppled off the third step of the staircase, spinning around to find Vittorio standing there, his expression unreadable as always.
"Oh! Good morning," I said, my voice too bright with surprise.
Vittorio's gaze traveled over the garland-draped staircase. "We don't typically decorate for the holidays," he said, his tone neutral.
"Well, you do now," I replied, summoning confidence I didn't quite feel. Living in the Luca household still felt like walking on eggshells some days, even with Dario's ring on my finger. We hadn’t yet had a ceremony, but all the paperwork was filed, an announcement in the local paper made the front page, and Dario had informed me we would have a reception for appearances. If I wanted a big ceremony, he’d gladly fund whatever my heart desired, but he absolutely would not wait to make me his wife.
Something flickered in Vittorio's eyes—amusement, perhaps? "Carry on," he said with a small nod. As he turned to leave, I swore I heard him humming the same carol I'd been working on. He caught himself, stopped abruptly, and straightened his shoulders before continuing down the hallway. I grinned at his retreating back. One Luca brother infiltrated by the Christmas spirit. Four to go.
There hadn’t been anything by way of decoration that I’d been able to find, even with the help of a couple of the older staff members. So I’d used the black credit card Dario had given me and ordered everything. And kept ordering throughout the day as I continued to work. It was an exercise in how to turn a sophisticated estate into an homage to commercialized Christmas.
With the staircase finished, I gathered my supplies and moved through the mansion, a woman on a mission. Each grand room presented new opportunities. I hung wreaths on interior doors, their deep green boughs and burgundy ribbons bringing color to the austere hallways. The formal sitting room received garland across its fireplace mantle, accented with pine cones I'd collected from the estate grounds and painted with touches of gold.
And lights.Lotsof lights.
The marble floored reception hall felt particularly cold, its vastness swallowing even the grandest decorations. I stood in its center, turning slowly, wondering if anyone had ever danced here, laughed here, felt truly at home in this beautiful, intimidating space.
"More to the left," came a precise voice from the doorway.
I turned to find Alessandro leaning against the frame, his tailored suit impeccable as always. "What?"
He gestured to the wreath I'd hung over the fireplace. "It's a few centimeters off center."
I blinked at him. "You can tell that from across the room?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Precision matters."
To my surprise, he crossed to the fireplace and adjusted the wreath himself, his movements careful. When he stepped back, his gaze swept the room. “Looks good.”
I hid a smile as I adjusted the garland to his specifications. "You like what I’ve done?"
He considered it, head tilted slightly. "Maybe. I’m not really sure. We’ve never had Christmas decorations that I can remember. I thought it might make the place feel… cluttered, but I think I might like it.” Coming from Alessandro, this was practically a standing ovation.
By mid-morning, I moved my operation to the kitchen. Here, at least, I felt on solid ground. I laid out ingredients for gingerbread men, the recipe memorized from years of practice. Alongside them, I placed the components for panettone, a nod to the Luca family's Italian heritage. The kitchen staff had given me space, curious but respectful of their boss's wife taking over their domain. Or being in the kitchen at all really.
The room soon filled with the scent of ginger, cloves, and warm butter as I worked. I arranged the first batch of cookies on a decorative plate, dusting flour from my hands as I stepped back to survey my work.
"Don't mind if I do," came Matteo's voice as he seemed to materialize beside me, snatching a gingerbread man from the plate before I could protest.
"Those are for everyone," I said, trying to sound stern but failing. “And you scared the shit out of me, Matteo!”
