She smiled, relieved, and jogged ahead to rejoin Zach, slipping her hand into his like it belonged there.
I exhaled quietly.
If Zach could let the past go with me, I could damn well do the same with the woman he loved.
The dining room was already alive when I stepped in – sunlight spilling across the long table, white linen, flowers in soft pastels for Maria’s birthday. Plates clinked. Someone poured wine. Someone else turned the music down just enough to talk.
I took my seat beside Francesca without thinking.
She leaned into me immediately, shoulder against my chest, familiar and grounding. I wrapped an arm aroundher, pressing a kiss to her hair, breathing her in – jasmine, warmth, home.
Francesca’s fingers laced with mine under the table.
Around us, voices rose and fell. Laughter. Teasing. Easy conversation. Family.
We left Maria’s birthday just as the sun began to sink, the city washed in that soft early-evening gold that made everything feel forgiving. Matteo drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on my thigh, thumb tracing slow, absent circles like he’d done it a thousand times before. The skyline fell away behind us, replaced by bare trees and long stretches of quiet road.
Long Island always felt like a threshold. Between worlds. Between who I was and who I was allowed to be.
My parents’ mansion glowed when we pulled up – every window lit, the house warm and alive against the cool March air. Gravel crunched beneath our shoes as we walked up the steps together. Matteo squeezed my hand once, grounding me.
Inside, everything smelled like home: lemon polish, fresh flowers, espresso lingering from earlier. My parents welcomed us, inviting us to stay for dinner and catch them up on business.
My mother’s voice floated faintly from somewhere down the hall. My father was in the sitting room, standing near the fireplace with a glass of wine, jacket off, sleeves rolled up.
I inhaled.
“Dad… I need to tell you something.”
He turned, brows lifting slightly. “Bene. What is it?”
I glanced at Matteo – just for a heartbeat – then faced my father again.
“Matteo and I… we won’t be splitting up.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
My palms felt damp. “Umm… We’re dating.”
Matteo cleared his throat beside me, just enough to remind me he was more than my boyfriend.
“Well,” I added quickly, words tumbling now, “Actually, we’re engaged, but – ”
“How can you be engaged when you’re already married?”
“We’re engaged for real,” I said, voice firming as I found my footing. “Not for business. Not for the Cosa Nostra. We’re doing it for us.”
“For who?”
“For me and Matteo.”
“You and Matteo, what?”
“We’re in love.”
“Who’s in love?”
“Matteo and I.”
