I roll my eyes at his theatrics. “Found any unfortunate women to charm tonight, Valerio? Or have the bridesmaids learned to run?”
He has the audacity to feign shock. “What kind of man do you take me for? Me? Schmoozing women at a wedding of all places? Never.”
“It would be odd if you didn’t, Valerio.”
He tuts at Matteo before clinking their glasses. “Seems I’m the last man standing. Both my closest friends, whipped and fathers-to-be. Where did my life go so wrong?”
“I’m sorry you have to be a man-whore all on your own now,” Matteo teases, then turns to me with a soft touch to my arm. “Mi amore, I need to speak to Marcello. Sit for a bit; I’ll come find you.”
“Leave her with me, boss.” Valerio downs his whiskey in a single swallow and deposits the empty glass onto a waiter’s tray. “I think a dance would do her good. I read in a book somewhere it helps with labor.”
“I’m five months along,” I deadpan. “I’m far from labor.”
“Might as well get a head start.” Before either Matteo or I can stop him, Valerio catches my hand and pulls me away from my husband. He looks over his shoulder, tossing a grin. “Excuse me while I steal your wife, boss.”
I glance back. Matteo stands rigid, carved from stone, but there’s no true anger in him—only that watchful possessiveness he never quite hides.
Valerio guides me onto the dance floor, pulling me in with just enough space between us to be respectable, yet still playful.
Over the past few months, he’s grown on me. In the beginning he was cold, closed-off, protective of his inner circle, and I understood why. I had barged my way into his friend’s life, a stranger bringing danger without meaning to. To them, I was unknown, unpredictable. A risk.
“Your dancing has improved since the wedding,” Valerio says lightly. “My toe still twitches from your assault.”
I snort. “I told you I needed to lead. You didn’t listen.”
We had danced at my wedding—well, I danced, and he tolerated my attempts. I may have stepped on him a few times, or five, but he’d insisted on leading despite my warnings.
“I can’t believe I managed to steal you from your shadow,” he teases, eyes gleaming.
“You did it just to irritate him,” I say, shaking my head. “One day he’ll put a bullet in you for provoking him so much. You know how Matteo gets.”
Valerio moves us across the floor with effortless grace. “That’s exactly why I do it. It’s all in good fun. Besides, I’m the only one who can get away with it. After you, I’m his favorite person. Look at him. He adores me.”
I glance toward the edge of the dance floor, where Matteo lingers, his gaze locked on Valerio with hawk-like precision.
“Sure,” I mutter.
We both laugh, gliding to the rhythm. I feel Matteo’s eyes on me the entire time—not oppressive, not possessive in the wrong way, but steady, grounding, protective.
For the first time, I realize I don’t feel observed. I feelheld. Covered.
Safe.
And in that quiet truth settling beneath my ribs, I begin to think that maybe everything that broke, every moment ofdarkness, every painful turn, had to happen to lead me exactly here—into his hands, his life, his love.
21
MATTEO
I’ve stared down barrels, walked into ambushes, and survived things that should have put me in the ground. I never blinked. Never flinched.
But sitting beside my wife in this medical room has my pulse hammering like something is trying to break out of my chest. We’ve had appointment after appointment, and still the same knot tightens every time we walk in.
Beatrice feels it immediately. Her hand clamps around mine, and when I look at her, she’s smiling like she already knows I’m fighting myself.
“You need to stop looking like you’re about to pass out,” she says softly. “Everything is okay.”
She says it every time, but experience tells me nothing is guaranteed. Not life. Not safety. Not this.
