He looked at me, fire in his eyes. “When we land, I’m going to finish what you started.”
“Promises, promises,” I teased.
He grabbed my hand, pulling me up. “Come on. Let’s get buckled in before you make me risk the FAA’s wrath.”
I adjusted my dress, then stepped back into the main cabin beside Lorenzo, our fingers laced tightly. The flight attendant reappeared, checked our seatbelts with an impassive look that told me she knew exactly what we’d been up to.
But right now, I didn’t care.
The plane began its descent, the clouds giving way to lights. A city sprawled below us, unfamiliar and glittering.
“Lorenzo,” I said, watching the lights grow closer. “Where are we?”
He squeezed my hand, bringing it to his lips, causing my heart to soar.
And so did the plane, one last time, before touching down in an unknown city—with a husband who’d dropped to his knees to earn the right to fuck me.
The night had just begun.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lorenzo
The moment the cabin door swung open, the air hit me—warm, thick with the scent of tarmac and sea salt, carrying that particular Italian humidity I’d known since childhood. But today, it felt different. Today, I wasn’t arriving alone.
I turned to find Zara still strapped in her seat, gripping the armrests tightly. Her eyes were wide, questioning, and a little afraid.
“Come, Tesoro. Welcome to Italy,” I said, extending my hand to help her up from the seat. As Zara rose, I gently guided her until her bare feet touched the metal stairs. She let out a squeal, high and pure, like a child on Christmas morning.
“Italy?!” Her voice cracked with disbelief. “Lorenzo—we’re in Italy?!”
I laughed; I couldn’t help it. The sound escaped me as I watched her spin in a slow circle, trying to take in the mountains in the distance, the cobblestones and cypress trees lining the airfield.
Her old wounds surfaced—years of hurt, of not being enough, of surviving on scraps and hope. I was privileged to give her this moment. Pride surged so fiercely that I steadied myself by grasping her hand.
“I take it you approve.”
“Approve?” She whirled back to face me, her eyes bright, almost wet. “Lorenzo, I’ve dreamed of coming here my whole life. I saved pictures on a Pinterest board I never thought I’d actually see.”
I filed that information away. Pinterest board. Italy. Every dream she’d ever had was now my mission to fulfill.
“Then we’re off to a good start.” I led her down the stairs, keeping my hand at the small of her back. We walked toward a waiting black sedan on the tarmac: sleek and understated—the kind of car that said money without screaming it.
Dante opened the door with a slight bow. “Benvenuti in Italia, Signor e Signora Falcone.”
I felt her freeze beside me.
Zara’s eyes went wide, that same flicker of disbelief with the weight of a name she was still learning to wear.
I leaned down, my lips brushing her ear. “That’s you now. Get used to it.”
She swallowed, then gave me a shaky nod.
“To the house, Dante.”
“Subito, Signor Falcone.”
The car pulled away smoothly, and I watched her press her face to the window like a child on a road trip. The hills rolled past—olive groves, vineyards, ancient stone farmhouses clinging to the slopes. Terracotta roofs. Winding roads lined with sunflowers.
