“You gave her the illusion of freedom,” he hissed. That made me look at him fully. The ocean roared beneath us.
“No,” I said quietly. “I gave her freedom. I just made sure nobody else got to take it from her.”
Marco stared at me for a long second. Something shifted in his expression. Not approval. Marco rarely approved of anything I did. Concern, maybe. That was worse.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Say it,” I insisted.
He exhaled through his nose. “You’re already in too deep.”
I laughed. The sound came out wrong. Too sharp. Too empty. “She’s been here one night.”
“You killed a man at an altar for her,” he reminded me.
“He was irritating,” I said. “Never liked the poor guy.”
“You kidnapped her from a cathedral. You gave her Angelo’s motorcycle.”
Silence. The terrace changed. Not visibly. The sun still rose. The waves still crashed. The coffee still cooled beside my hand. But the air between us sharpened. Marco noticed. Of course henoticed. He noticed everything I didn’t want him to. That was why I kept him alive. Mostly.
“She needed a ride,” I said.
“A ride,” Marco replied carefully. “You gave her his.”
My jaw tightened. Angelo’s bike had sat untouched for four years. Covered. Maintained. Preserved. Like a corpse nobody buried. Black Ducati. Custom seat. Scratched left handle from the time Angelo tried to impress twins in Naples and took a corner too fast. He’d limped for three days and claimed the motorcycle had started it. Idiot.
Then this morning Aurora Ventura had climbed onto it like it belonged to her. Like she belonged to dangerous things. And for one second, watching her ride away had felt like watching the past leave with her.
I hated that. I hated it enough to pick up my coffee and drink it even though it had gone cold. Marco didn’t speak again. Smart man.
The distant sound of the motorcycle grew louder. A low, furious purr winding up the coastal road. My heart did something stupid. I ignored it. A minute later, she appeared.
Aurora came up the stone path from the lower drive with her hair tangled from wind, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with leftover speed and anger.
Jesus Christ. She looked alive. Not polished. Not arranged. Not like the bloodstained bride from the cathedral or the furious captive from yesterday.
Wild. Windblown. Beautiful enough to make my teeth ache from the sweetness.
She held the keys in one hand like a weapon. I smiled before I could stop myself. Bad decision. Her eyes narrowed.
“You,” she seethed.
I lifted my coffee cup. “Good morning.”
“You are the most arrogant man I have ever met.”
“Not true.” I leaned back in the chair. “You’ve met Leo.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then, to my immense satisfaction, she almost laughed. Almost. She caught it at the last second and turned the sound into an offended scoff, which was very cute of her.
“Don’t make jokes about my brother-in-law,” she hissed. “He’s family.”
“I wasn’t joking. Besides, he’s my family too, remember?”
“Exactly.” I set the coffee down. Her gaze snapped to the cup. Then back to me. “You knew I’d come back.”
