"Stop watching her like she's going to jump," Alessandro says, his hand finding the small of my back. The touch still sends electricity through me, even after everything.
"She's been avoiding me for three weeks."
"She's been avoiding everyone." He presses a kiss to my temple, careful of the fading bruises. "Give her time."
But Sofia's already walking toward us, two glasses of wine in her manicured hands. Her oversized sunglasses hide her eyes,but her chin is lifted in that distinctly Rosetti way—pride even in penance.
"Emma." She offers me one of the glasses. "The good stuff. The 1947 Château d'Yquem. Figured if I'm going to do this, might as well do it right."
"Do what?" I accept the wine, noting how her hand doesn't shake. Steel spine, even now.
She removes her sunglasses, and I see the shadows under her eyes, the weight she's been carrying. "I don't do groveling. But I owe you a debt I can never repay." She takes a sip of wine, gathering herself. "You bled for my mistake. You almost died because I was too proud to see the truth. Because I wanted to be the one who saved him."
"You were protecting your family," I say.
"No." Her laugh is bitter. "I was protecting my ego. There's a difference." She pulls down the shoulder of her sundress, revealing a fresh tattoo over her collarbone—a small dagger through a heart. "Had this done last week. So I never forget what my pride cost."
Alessandro's hand tightens on my waist. "Sofia—"
"I need to say this." She looks directly at me now. "I brought those monsters to our door. I gave them the keys to our kingdom because I was so desperate to prove you were the enemy that I became one myself. You took a bullet meant for my brother after everything I did to you. That makes you more family than I've been."
"We all made mistakes," Alessandro says, and I hear the guilt in his voice. "I should have told you the truth from the beginning. About Emma. About who she really was."
Sofia's smile is razor-sharp and sad. "Would I have listened? Or would I have just found another way to prove myself?" She touches her throat where faint bruises still mark her fightwith the Russians. "Our secrets, brother. We all pay for them eventually."
I sip my wine, feeling the sun on my skin and the gentle rocking of the boat.
Alessandro is the one who breaks the silence.
"To be fair, Sofia, my wife has a talent for making even the most observant people miss the obvious. She had me convinced she was boring for almost three whole hours. Still my record for being wrong about someone."
Sofia smiles, genuine and bright, and is like a second sun shining through.
"Enough heavy talk!" Marco calls from the helm. "Nico's about to burn the steaks, and I'm not eating charcoal because you three want to have a therapy session."
The tension breaks, and we move toward the others. Luca takes the tongs from Nico with exaggerated disgust. "This is what happens when you let children near fire."
"I'm literally two years younger than you," Nico protests.
"In experience? You're an infant." Luca flips the steaks with practiced precision. "Faith, tell him about proper meat preparation."
Faith laughs, rubbing her belly. "I'm seven months pregnant with your psychotic spawn. I'm not getting in the middle of your weird sibling dynamics."
We settle around the massive deck table as the sun starts its descent toward the horizon, painting the lake gold and crimson. The steaks are perfect—Luca's disturbing tendencies apparently extend to culinary precision. Conversation flows easier than it has in weeks, the open water and warm weather loosening something that's been wound tight since the attack.
Marco stands, raising his glass. "Before we eat, a toast." His dark eyes find mine. "To Emma Rosetti. Who proved that family isn't about blood or birth certificates. It's about choosing tostay when leaving would be easier. It's about taking a bullet for someone who lied to you."
"To Emma," Valentina adds, "who showed us that strength doesn't always roar."
Dante signs something, and Ana translates with a grin: "To the only woman brave enough to call Alessandro an idiot to his face. Multiple times."
"To someone actually interesting," Luca says, that unsettling smile playing at his lips. "You'd be surprised how boring most people are when you really look inside them. But you… you're full of surprises."
Faith shivers slightly at her husband's words but raises her glass. "To the woman who showed me that strength comes in different forms."
"To better aim," Nico adds with a wink. "Next time, dodge the bullet instead of catching it, yeah?"
"To my sister," Ana says softly, adjusting Antonia against her shoulder. "Who understands what it means to fight for your place at this table."
