Page 96 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

I tug the comforter up over her bare back. "Go to sleep. Nonna will batter down the wood if we skip dinner."

"Let her," Nora mutters against my chest, her voice thick with exhaustion as her eyelids flutter shut. "I'm too tired to care, and she likes me better than you anyway."

The bedroom settles into deep quiet. Out past the gates, the courtyard is quiet gravel and cooling stone. Nora's pulse beats steady against my chest, slow and even. For the first time in twenty years, the noise in my head stops. My shoulders drop against the sheets, and I finally close my eyes and let myself rest without fearing for a gunshot sound.

Chapter 38

LUCA

It has been a full week since Bellini fell, seven slow days since the smoke cleared and the gunfire finally stopped echoing off the estate walls. The gardens smell like damp stone, crushed pine needles, and rosemary, the quiet kind of morning that slowly pieces itself back together without asking for permission. Bruises are fading to sickly greens and split knuckles are finally scabbing over. Someone has already swept the terrace gravel, neat and even. Nonna stands at the head of the long outdoor table with a steaming coffee pot in hand, daring anyone to complain about breakfast.

"Sit," she commands without glancing up, and chairs scrape back at the same time as everyone scrambles for a seat.

Matteo drops into a chair like his legs gave out on purpose. There is a fresh bruise along his jaw, yellowing at the edges, and he pokes at it with two fingers before Nonna smacks his hand away with the coffee pot itself.

"Don't touch," she barks, planting the pot on the trivet with a sharp clatter. "You will make it worse."

Matteo slumps back and cradles his cheek. "It's already the worst it can be, Nonna."

Enzo snorts into his espresso, and Matteo kicks him under the table hard enough that the whole thing rattles. Nora sits right beside me, nursing a ceramic mug of black coffee with both hands, watching the boys make fools of themselves with that sharp, amused glint in her hazel eyes.

Sofia sits on Nora's other side with her hands wrapped around a mug she isn't drinking from, watching the exchange the way she used to watch storms from the window as a kid, curious and quietly relieved she isn't the one caught outside.

Adrian stands behind Sofia's chair with one hand resting on the wood near her shoulder. He still scans the tree line out of habit, but the whole table knows where his eyes always land first.

Sofia reaches back without turning her head, hooking her fingers through his. "Sit down next to me. You've been hovering all morning."

Adrian doesn't argue. He slides into the empty chair beside her without a word of protest, his fingers tangling naturally with hers on top of the table for everyone to see.

Sofia pushes her mug toward his side with her free hand. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold."

Adrian lifts the mug with his other hand, taking a sip exactly as told. No one at the table bats an eye at the display. After everything with the Bellinis, seeing the head of security wrapped around Sofia's little finger is just the family rule now.

"Look at the terrifying hitman, domesticated by breakfast," Matteo smirks around a mouthful of toast.

Nora takes a measured sip of her coffee. "Leave Adrian alone, Matteo. At least one man at this table has manners. You eat like an alley rat fighting over pub scraps."

"Shut up and eat your bread, Matteo," Adrian replies smoothly, not even looking up as he rests his thumb against Sofia's knuckles.

Sofia gives a tiny, satisfied smile against Adrian's shoulder, completely unbothered by Matteo's commentary.

I rest my arm across the back of Nora's chair. Seven days of counting crates, wrapping gauze, and shoveling fresh dirt over Bellini's dead, and the chatter around this table still makes my jaw tighten. Nora leans her shoulder into mine, warm and solid through my shirt. Nonna sets down the hot skillet with a dull clank, her dark eyes locking straight onto my face before I can look away.

She sets a plate of warm frittata squarely in front of me. "You are going to see him."

"After breakfast," I murmur, my fingers tight on the warm porcelain of my espresso cup.

She taps the table edge with her knuckle. "Eat first. Whatever you decide, decide it on a full stomach."

Matteo slowly lowers his fork, his eyes darting between Nonna and me. "Decide what?"

"Nothing that concerns your breakfast," I grind out, leveling a flat look across the table at him.

Matteo mutters around a mouthful of pastry, his butter knife pointed across the table. "Everything concerns my breakfast. I take personal offense to family drama before nine in the morning."

Enzo tosses a crust of bread across the tablecloth, hitting him squarely between the eyes. "Shut your mouth and chew. Nobody asked for your commentary."

Matteo brushes crumbs off his denim jacket with a scowl. "Nonna gave the order, not you. Stop throwing food like a toddler."