“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “Go back to sleep.”
“But your mamma—”
“Let me hold you, please,Cuore mio. I’ll sneak out before morning.” The plea in his voice is almost heartbreaking. “I need to feel you with me. Need to know you’re alive.”
I love him with every fiber of my being.
I don’t speak, just curl deeper into his embrace, soaking in his warmth, his safety.
The next time I wake, I’m alone, but the sheets are still warm, and I can still smell him on me.
If only the peace would last.
33
Irrevocably In Love
I sat under the stars and thought of you last night. The sky doesn’t feel as warm without you here. —Love always, Izzy
Enzo
“Wherearewegoing?”Izzy asks, as I guide her forward.
“You don’t recognize the route?” I glance over my shoulder at her.
Her lips purse, brow furrowing—then she gasps. “Our spot!”
She claps her hands, an adorable skip in her step.
I just nod, savoring the feel of her small hand in mine as we crest the top of the hill. We chose this place because it overlooks the village and the vineyard, far enough from the lights that the stars blaze brighter than anywhere else.
I pull out the old blanket—the same one we used all thoseyears ago. I found it in my childhood room, untouched by time.
Spreading it out, I motion for Izzy to sit. Once she’s settled, I drop down behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her back until her head rests against my chest. I close my eyes. Inhale. Honeysuckle. Izzy. Home.
I could live in this moment forever. No responsibilities. No danger. Up here, I’m not Enzo Russo, not a mafia heir. I’m just a man—completely, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with a woman.
There’s a darkness in both of us. A brokenness that recognizes the other. And yet, the way I love her isn’t messy. It’s not dark. She is my light. My sunshine. She calms the storm in me; smooths out my jagged edges.
We watch the stars and reminisce about our childhood until, eventually, we drift to sleep beneath the watchful gaze of the Italian sky.
Izzy
Over the week, we spend time with Giuliana, we visit the plaza, and we dine at one of our old favorite restaurants—it’s still run by the same owner.
Enzo loses the suits, instead favoring loose-fitting shirts, flared trousers, a woolen overcoat, and chunky sunglasses. He looks like a male model. I love it.
He’s not Mr. Mafia here, he’s just Enzo. I love him in every capacity, but it’s nice to see him relax, for him not to wear the persona that he dons daily for the rest of the world.
“When are we heading back to the city?” I ask him while strolling through the outdoor market, gloved hand in gloved hand. This is one of the few year-round markets I know of. Most run only in the summer months.
His easy-going demeanor changes, a hardness to him resurfacing. I curse my mouth.
“It’s Carina’s birthday, so I need to make a stop in London first. But,” I tense, wondering where he’s going with this, “I was thinking maybe you should stay here with Mamma.”
I pull my hand free, scrunching my nose at him. “No.”
“Iz—”
