She pulled back first, just enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “How did you get here? Do you have a place to stay?” I asked, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.
Her breath trembled, but she lifted her chin. “He lost it when I told him I had proof. Hit me. Then, like that could fix it, he put a million dollars in my account. Told me it was an apology, that we’d get through this if I just kept quiet.”
My stomach twisted. “And?”
“The day I left, I drained it. Moved it somewhere safe. I’ll be okay for a while.” Her voice was steady now, her eyes sharper than I remembered.
I swallowed hard. “What do we do now?”
She reached for my hand, gripping it tight. “We fight. We survive. But this time, we do it together.”
59
MELANIE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
“I’ll have that right out,” I said, flashing a smile at the couple before hurrying back toward the kitchen.
From the corner of my eye, I caught my mom standing at the prep station, leaning in as Bianca guided her through the pasta-making process. Flour dusted her fingers, her brows knitted in concentration as she mimicked Bianca’s movements.
“Yes, just like that,” Bianca said, her thick Italian accent smoothing over the words. “A little at a time. And add the flour as you go.”
Mom nodded, biting her lip, her hands clumsy but determined.
I grabbed extra silverware for one of my tables, unable to help the small smile creeping onto my face. Two weeks in, and she was finally getting the hang of things. Nick teased her constantly, just enough to make her roll her eyes, but not enough to push her patience. I tried to go easy on her, letting her find her rhythm. She hadn’t worked in over a decade, and yet here she was, standing in the middle of our family business, flour on her hands, learning something new.
A sharp smack landed on my ass, making me jump.
“Hey, princess,” Nick’s voice was full of amusement.
I spun around, scowling. “Stop doing that.”
“Hell no,” he said, completely unrepentant. “You’re my wife. I’ll never stop smacking what’s mine.”
His smirk was impossible to resist, the playful glint in his eyes daring me to argue. I bit my lip, fighting back a smile—and losing.
“Who would’ve thought that beneath all that muscle and bravado, the big, tough soldier was just a possessive, love-drunk softie?”
“Only with you, princess,” Nick murmurs, pulling me in. His arms lock around my waist, his hands settling possessively on my ass.
I smirk. “You just love grabbing that thing.”
“Of course,” he says, his voice low, rough with adoration. “I just love touching you. I just love… you.”
I freeze.
Not because I don’t know—God, I do. I’ve known for a while now. But hearing the words from his mouth? Feeling the weight of them settle over me like a warm embrace? It’s something else entirely. A power rush. A revelation. And for the first time in my life, love doesn’t feel like a weapon waiting to hurt me. Nick’s love isn’t a blade—it’s the thing that’s healing me.
A slow smile spreads across my face. “I love you too, soldier.”
“Save it for the bedroom, lovebirds,” Sophia quips as she saunters through the kitchen doors. “I sat your first table outside. Lucky for you, they’re both here for salads and a nice glass of wine. They look like they could use a burger down the street, but hey.” She throws her hands up in mock surrender. “Who am I to judge?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be right there.”
“I can take this one,” my mom says, shrugging. “It’s just salads.”
I narrow my eyes. “You sure?”
