I parked the car in a quiet courtyard, stepping out into the fresh, sun-drenched air of Greece. Spring had come alive here. Golden light filtered through thick greenery, bathing everything in a soft, warm glow.
The fountain bubbled gently nearby, its melody blending with the rustle of olive trees swaying in the breeze. The air smelled of jasmine, sweet and heady.
Emily stepped out, shedding her jacket and revealing a white dress with big yellow flowers that mirrored the sunshine. She spun slowly, soaking in the beauty around her, her face lit up with childlike wonder. “This place is beautiful. It’s like something out of a storybook.”
She wandered to the fountain, drawn to the marble statue of a young woman at its center. She was draped in ancient Greek robes.
I joined her by the water, letting the soft sound settle around us before I spoke. “This is the house my father gave my mother as a wedding gift. They got married right here, by this fountain.”
Her head turned toward me, lips parted in awe. She looked around slowly, like she was trying to imagine them standing there, young and in love.
I took her hand and led her toward the house, a small, two-story villa tucked into the greenery. It was nothing like the mansion in Italy. This place was simple, warm, full of light. My mother had designed every inch of it herself, and I’d never changed a thing.
Where the estate back home was all shadows, this place was made of sunlight and soft corners. Ivy curled around stone walls. The rooms were cozy and welcoming. This house had soul, my mother’s soul.
We climbed the old stone stairs to the bedroom on the second floor. Some of her dresses were still in the closet, untouched all these years. Emily walked to the balcony, pushed back the curtain, and stepped out into the sun. She closed her eyes, face tilted toward the sky, pure peace in every line of her body.
I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She leaned into me, her voice barely a whisper. “This house is so beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I murmured. “Because this is your wedding gift.”
She stiffened for a second, then turned to face me. Her eyes were wide, surprised. “But this place is your mother’s. It’s part of her memory.”
“A gift my father gave her out of love,” I said softly. “And now I’m giving it to you, with love, baby.”
Her lips curved into a soft, sweet smile. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Carlo.”
Then, with a slight pout and a hint of sadness, she added, “I feel bad that I don’t have anything to give you in return.”
“That’s not true. Everything I have is yours.”
She hesitated, glancing at the fountain in the courtyard below. “I don’t mean material things. The gifts you’ve given me are so much more than material, they’re meaningful, special.”
For a moment, she stood silently, lost in thought. Then, with newfound resolve, she took my hand and led me back into the room, gently sitting me on the edge of the bed. At first, I thought she was teasing me, but her serious expression said otherwise.
She knelt before me, her face mere inches from my knees. The sight sent heat coursing through me, but the lack of a playful smile or seductive look told me this moment was about something deeper. So I didn’t embarrass myself by reaching for my zipper.
She took my hand in hers, kissed it softly, letting the kiss linger, and then looked up at me with a seriousness that stole my breath.
“From this moment on,” she began, her voice steady but laced with emotion, “I dedicate myself to you and to supporting our life together. I will be faithful to you in body and soul. My life belongs to you. My death belongs to you. Whenever you command it, I will give them to you.”
I was speechless. Hundreds of men had sworn the Mafia oath to me, but I’d never heard those words spoken with such heartfelt beauty. Emily had taken that harsh oath and transformed it into a vow of love and devotion. In that moment, I knew I’d burn in the fires of hell to protect her.
I slipped my hands under her arms and lifted her on my lap, my lips crashing into hers in a kiss that carried every ounce of love and gratitude I felt for her.
When I pulled back, I wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek, my voice soft but firm as I said, “There’s one more vow you need to make for me.”
“Anything you want,” she said softly.
“Promise me.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion, her voice hesitant. “What kind of vow?”
“Promise me,” I pressed. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you,” she replied without hesitation. “I promise, I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“Swear that if the day ever comes when you have to choose between me and yourself... you’ll choose yourself.”
