“Still dreaming?” she whispered against his mouth.
“Only if you are,” he said, his forehead resting against hers.
His hand slipped under her shirt, his palm a brand as it glided up her stomach to cup her breast. The wet, hot pull of his mouth on her nipple sent a jolt of pure heat low in her belly. Her moan was raw and morning-rough, her hips rocking against him.
“Off,” she whispered, her nails scraping down his back.
Fabric rustled and was kicked aside. Then it was only skin, and the solid pressure of him nudging her entrance, slick with her readiness.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice gravelly with need.
“Inside,” she breathed, her legs wrapping around his waist. “Now.”
He pushed in, and the world narrowed to the feeling of him filling her completely. This was different. Not escape, but a homecoming. A silent conversation of touch and trust. Her body yielded around him as if made for his, every deliberate stroke a seal on the promise they’d made in the dark.
When she came apart, it was with his name on her lips, a broken cry as her body clenched around him. He followed, a quiet groan muffled against her neck as he spilled into her, his own release a shuddering surrender.
They stayed locked together, trembling, the frantic thud of their hearts slowing into one steady rhythm.
Eventually, he eased out and collapsed beside her, pulling her into the safe harbor of his arm. He pressed a kiss to her hair.
He brushed a curl from her cheek. “Dreamed we were on a boat. You, in a yellow sunhat, yelling at me for rocking it.”
“I don’t own a sunhat.”
“You did. Looked ridiculous. Perfect.” His fingers traced a slow line down her spine. She watched his eyes, the warmth in them shifting into something deeper, more unguarded. For a fleeting second, his gaze held a raw, almost wounded intensity that made her breath catch. Then, as if he’d felt a door swing open too wide, he looked away, the moment vanishing behind his usual controlled calm. It was there and gone—a glimpse of a man standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at something that both thrilled and terrified him.
“We drank cold beer, fought over the last sandwich. You pushed me in.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Deserved it.”
“Probably.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Want to do it for real? Small yacht. Some security. Unfortunately, it can never just be us, but we can make them stay below deck.”
“I’d kill you by day three.”
“I’d swim back with a corkscrew in my teeth.”
She tucked her face against his neck, her smile warm against his skin. This was the kind of morning she never thought she’d get with him—soft, stupid, ordinary.
“Stay wrecked a little longer?”
“Always,” he whispered, pulling her closer while the morning waited outside the walls.
An hour later,they were in the operations room. The transition was almost automatic—the calm of the bedroomgiving way to the quiet focus of screens and data. Tonio scanned a logistics report, methodical and precise.
The door opened, and the last vestige of morning peace shattered. Luc and Carlos stepped in, all business—coiled, sharp, carrying the weight of whatever crises had followed them from before dawn.
Sofia felt that old instinct prick at her spine:rise, step aside, disappear while the real decisions were made. But Tonio didn’t glance her way. He didn’t need to. His attention was already on the men, on the task, on what had to happen next.
“Sofia stays,” Tonio said, his voice leaving no room for debate. He dragged out the chair beside him, his gaze locked on Luc—not in challenge, but in unwavering conviction. It was a statement of fact, backed by everything he was.
A beat.
Carlos’s brow lifted. All eyes went to Luc. The Don’s jaw flexed once as he weighed the precedent against the asset. Then he gave a single, sharp nod—not an approval given, but a decision made.
Sofia exhaled without realizing it.
Luc took the seat opposite Tonio, and Carlos leaned against the console behind him, creating a tight, focused triangle.
