My pulse reacted instantly before I could stop it.
A moment later, his voice drifted through the penthouse, lower now, roughened slightly from hours of speaking on the phone.
“Tesoro,” he called. “Come to bed.”
Heat pooled in my stomach, warm and familiar, embarrassing in how quickly my body now responded to him.
I closed my eyes briefly, already smiling despite myself, before I stood from the couch and headed toward him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lorenzo
The last week with Zara had ruined me.
No, worse.
It had given me a taste of something I could never survive losing.
I only had a week left to convince her to stay. A few days to prove I wasn’t the kind of man she should run from. That I was worth the risk. Worth the damage that came with loving me.
And I’d never worked so hard for anything in my life. Not the business. Not my freedom. Not even survival. But Zara had become the axis my world spun on, and if she left, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the fallout.
The last few days had been good, better than good. She’d cooked for me. Let me hold her at night. Laughed at my dry jokes. And this morning, she’d kissed me before leaving for work. A real kiss, soft and lingering, not the desperate, hungry ones we shared in bed.
Some part of me was starting to believe I might actually deserve her. That I might actually be a better husband than my dad ever was. That maybe he hadn’t ruined me to the point of being an equally sorry excuse of a man.
Tonight, I’d planned a private dinner on my boat, the Bella Notte. Zara had mentioned that she’d never been on one, and I wanted to give her something special.
The sun was setting over the marina, painting the sky in shades of orange and rose. The salty sea breeze carried the sound of water lapping against the hull, mingling with the distant clink of halyards and the low hum of engines. I breathed in the briny air, sharp and cool, mingling with the faint scent of garlic and tomatoes drifting from the galley. I had the chef prepare her favorite: lobster linguine, the one she’d ordered at that restaurant weeks ago. Even now, the aroma of buttery shellfish and fresh herbs curled around the deck, promising comfort. Inside, the soft clink of silverware on china punctuated the quiet, making the moment feel both intimate and fragile.
I wanted her to see that I could be soft. That I could be the man she needed.
I heard the door to the cabin open behind me.
“There’s my wife—” I turned, a smile already forming on my lips.
It died the second I saw who it was.
Vanessa.
Months ago, I’d made the mistake of entertaining her for a few empty nights. Since then, she’d become a parasite I couldn’t shake loose.
She wore club clothes, heavy makeup, and overpowering perfume. Desperation flickered in her eyes, edged with spite. Her lips curled; her gaze swept the boat, landing on me. She wanted payback for being shut out, or maybe just the satisfaction of ruining what wasn’t hers.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice was like ice.
“So it’s true,” she said softly. “Lorenzo Falcone playing husband. This is an unexpected turn of events.”
Her gaze swept over the candles, the wine, the carefully set table, and her mouth curled.
“Why are you here?” I repeated, flat.
She laughed softly. “I came as a courtesy. I have information you might be interested in.”
“Information about what? You better not be wasting my time.”
She reached out, her fingers trailing down my chest. “I don’t know the details. But people are talking about your father losing control. Rivals think the Falcone empire is getting weak.”
