This isreal. Whatever else is happening, what’s between us is real.
I feel it in the way he holds me afterward, his heartbeat gradually slowing against mine. In the way his fingers trace idle patterns on my hip, gentle and caring. In the way he whispers my name.
“Gigi,” he murmurs against my hair. “I?—”
He stops, and I feel tension coil through his body again.
“What?” I ask quietly, shifting so I can see his profile. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Nothing.” The lie is obvious from the lines tightening around his eyes. “Just—thank you. For today. For giving me this.”
That’s not what he was going to say. I know that with absolute certainty, but I don’t push because I don’t want to ruin this moment.
So instead, I just hold him tighter and try not to think about tomorrow when real life hits me again.
Try not to wonder what happens now that I’m officially Mrs. Marchetti.
But as I lie there in Luca’s arms, watching the city lights twinkle through floor-to-ceiling windows, one thought keeps circling through my mind:
I’m falling for him. Despite everything, I’m falling for Luca Marchetti.
And I’m terrified of what that means.
For both of us.
18
LUCA
The morning light filters through the gauzy curtains of our bedroom—ourbedroom, because Gigi hasn’t slept in her old suite since the wedding two weeks ago—and I find myself feeling something I haven’t felt in three years.
I’m content.
Not just satisfied or temporarily distracted from grief. Actually, genuinely content in a way that feels foreign after so long living with rage as my constant companion.
Gigi is still asleep beside me, her dark hair spread across the pillow, one hand curled near her face. She looks peaceful in a way she didn’t when she first arrived—the constant tension gone from her features, replaced by something softer. Trusting.
The trust is what kills me.
I ease out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her, and pull on pajama pants before heading to my study. It’s barely six a.m., but sleep has been elusive lately. Too many thoughts crowding my head, too many contradictions I can’t reconcile.
My phone shows a missed call from Viktor Torrino. I stare at the screen, remembering the conversation we had three days after the wedding—the one that should have felt like victory but instead sat in my stomach like lead.
Ten Days Ago
“Luca.” Viktor’s voice through the phone carries satisfaction I can practically taste. “Congratulations on your marriage. Your bride was absolutely charming at the reception.”
“Thank you.” I’m in my office, reviewing shipping manifests, trying to focus on anything other than the woman sleeping nearby who I was supposed to be planning to eliminate.
“The alliance is secured,” Viktor continues, getting straight to business in that way I always appreciate about him. “My people have already begun coordinating with yours on the North Side operations. The monopoly we discussed is within reach. Chicago will be ours within six months.”
Success. Complete, total success. Everything I’d been working toward for the alliance, handed to me on a silver platter because I’d played my part perfectly. Because Gigi had played hers, making everyone believe our marriage was real instead of a lie.
Except itwasreal now. More real than anything else in my life.
“Excellent,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the way my chest constricts. “I’ll have Danny coordinate the territorial divisions.”
“One more thing.” Viktor’s tone shifts slightly and he almost sounds…admiring. “Your wife mentioned some innovative ideas about money laundering through veterinary supply chains during our conversation at the reception. Quite brilliant, actually. You should listen to her input more often. A wife with business acumen is a rare gift.”
