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The smallest change passed over Rurik’s face. His gaze lowered—not with guilt, but with recognition.

“You knew him,” I whispered.

“Not well enough to call him a friend,” Rurik said. “Well enough to respect him. And well enough for him to trust me with something that mattered.”

My heart struck painfully against my ribs. No one had ever offered me the parts of Salvatore’s life that existed beyond me—the rooms he entered, the jokes I never heard, the version of him other men remembered when I wasn’t there to witness it.

“How?”

“Through Maxim and Illyria at first,” Rurik said. “Later, we worked together.”

The waiter set Rurik’s coffee on the table, and neither of us spoke until he walked away.

“What was he like?” I asked.

Rurik frowned slightly. “You were his wife.”

“I knew who he was with me.” My hand tightened around the stem of my glass. “I want to know who he was when I wasn’t there.”

For a few seconds, Rurik said nothing. I wondered whether he was searching for a version of Salvatore gentle enough to hand a widow. When he finally answered, there was no pity in his voice.

“He laughed.”

The answer broke something open inside me.

“At everything,” Rurik continued. “Especially when no one else found the situation amusing. The first time he came to Maxim’s home, six armed men were waiting inside. Salvatore looked around and asked whether Russians believed hospitality improved with every gun pointed at a guest.”

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. I covered my mouth, but Rurik’s expression softened.

“Maxim didn’t laugh,” he said.

“He wouldn’t have.”

“Salvatore found that funnier.”

“That sounds like him.” My voice broke around the smile. Salvatore had treated fear like an insult he could laugh into submission. If death entered a room, he would have offered it a drink and complained about the timing.

I could see him so clearly the restaurant blurred. Humor had been one of his weapons, a way of returning control to himself when danger tried to take it.

“He liked making serious men uncomfortable,” I said.

“Then he succeeded often.” Rurik lifted his coffee. “He was different when business involved his family. The humor stayed, but there was steel beneath it. He stood between his brothers and danger even when they didn’t need him there.”

“He was the second son.”

“Yes. He knew Giovanni could protect himself. Salvatore protected him anyway.”

That was the man I had married. Salvatore never trusted love to live only in words. He stood between danger and the people he loved. He carried what others couldn’t. He stayed.

“And Illyria?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“He adored her.” Rurik didn’t hesitate. “All her brothers did, but Salvatore watched over her differently. When she and Maxim argued, he appeared as if her anger had summoned him. He never cared how many men were in the room. If Illyria was hurt, Salvatore made certain everyone understood there would be consequences.”

My eyes burned. “She loved him too.”

“Very much.”

Rurik looked into his coffee, and sorrow settled over his features. I recognized it before the words were spoken.