The silence that followed felt different than the ones before.Less like falling and more like something settling into place.Like a negotiation reaching the point where both parties recognized the deal was fair.
Dante moved closer, closing the distance between us to maybe a foot.Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.Close enough that I smelled the soap from his shower, felt the heat radiating from his frame.
His eyes searched mine, looking for doubt or hesitation or any sign I didn’t mean what I’d said.I let him look.Let him see the determination and the fear and the love I’d admitted to feeling.Let him see all of it.
Then he nodded.Once.A sharp, decisive movement that communicated acceptance more effectively than words.
“You’re mine, Caterina.”His voice was rough with emotion he wasn’t quite containing.“That hasn’t changed.You belong to me in ways that go deeper than contracts or political arrangements.”
“I’m yours,” I agreed quietly.“But I’m not your prisoner anymore.”
“No.”He reached up slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted, and cupped my face with both hands.His palms were warm against my cheeks, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with surprising gentleness.“You’re my partner.My equal.My wife in ways that matter beyond legal documents.”
I moved toward him the same moment he moved toward me, closing the final distance between us until our bodies pressed together.His hands stayed on my face, tilting it up toward his.Mine came up to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension still riding there, the barely controlled violence that was as much a part of him as his need for dominance.
“This won’t be easy,” I said.“Learning to share control.You’ll want to revert to ordering me around.I’ll push back harder than you expect.”
“I know.”His thumbs stroked my cheeks again, the gesture almost tender despite the intensity in his eyes.“But you’re worth the effort.What we could be together -- that’s worth learning to bend.”
“Not break?”
“Never break.”His voice dropped to that intimate growl that made heat pool low in my belly.“I’ll bend for you, Caterina.But I won’t break.And neither will you.”
It felt like a vow.Like something more binding than our actual wedding ceremony had been.A recognition of what we were becoming instead of what we’d been forced to be.
I rose on my toes, closing the final distance, pressing my mouth to his in a kiss that was both claim and surrender.Both victory and compromise.His hands tightened on my face, angling my head for better access, and I opened for him immediately.Letting him lead.Letting him take.But kissing him back with equal intensity, equal demand.
This was our new equilibrium.Partnership and possession intertwined.Respect and dominance balanced.For me, this marriage had started out as a political alliance.But now, I chose to stay with Dante because we’d become something that mattered.
Something real.
Something worth fighting for.
Epilogue
Dante
One Year Later
The penthouse had been transformed.Crystal chandeliers I’d had installed specifically for tonight cast prismatic light across black silk table covers and centerpieces made from white roses and what looked like actual human skulls -- Caterina’s idea, that last part.The effect was exactly what she’d intended.Beautiful and unsettling in equal measure.A statement about who we were and what we’d become.
The fallout from the war with Marco Vitale hadn’t wrapped up easily.His family had wanted retribution, and the war had continued for months.Both sides had lost men, but in the end, we’d come out the victors.I’d known we would from the beginning.I never started something I couldn’t finish.
But all of that was in the past.Tonight, I was focused on my wife as she moved through the crowd like she’d been born to command these people.
Caterina wore black, and her dress hugged every curve.It was high-necked and long-sleeved, perfectly modest by Mafia wife standards, but the back was cut down to the base of her spine.Every man in the room had noticed.Every man in the room knew better than to look too long.
I watched Enzo Russo’s nephew -- twenty-three, ambitious, stupid -- let his eyes linger on that exposed skin for three seconds too many.Saw Caterina turn toward him with a smile that could have cut glass.Said something I couldn’t hear from across the room.The nephew went pale, dropped his gaze, and practically backed away.
She’d learned.Over the past year, she’d learned how to wield the De Luca name and her own reputation like weapons.How to freeze men with a look.How to make them understand that the woman who’d put a bullet in Marco Vitale’s skull wouldn’t hesitate to do worse to anyone who disrespected her.
Pride hit me in the chest.Dark and possessive and edged with the same violence that had defined our relationship from the start.But it was complicated now by something else.Respect.Genuine respect for what she’d become.
She caught my eye across the ballroom.Held my gaze for exactly three seconds.The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile full of promises -- the kind that involved her on her knees and my hand fisted in her hair.Then she turned back to the Russo family elder she’d been speaking with, every inch the gracious hostess.
I resumed my circuit of the room.Stopped to speak with Giuseppe, who looked older than he had a year ago.The alliance with my family had cost him political capital with the more traditional families.But it had also eliminated threats and secured territory.He knew the trade-off had been worth it, even if it chafed.
“Your wife has impressed many people tonight,” Giuseppe said, his voice carrying that formal tone he used in public.“She represents both our families with dignity.”
