Chapter 11 - A NEW EMPIRE
Two years later. The Mediterranean sun beat down on the white stone patio of our villa in Sicily. The scent of lemon trees and salt water filled the air, completely erasing the metallic smell of blood and city rain that had haunted my past.
"Nico! Don't run with the dog near the pool!" I called out from my lounge chair, adjusting my sunglasses.
A seven-year-old boy, tanned and wild, laughed as a massive golden retriever chased him across the grass. From the open French doors of the study, Damiano emerged. He wore a crisp white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, completely at ease. The hard, jagged edges of the mafia don had been smoothed by the sun and the peace we had fought so desperately to claim.
He walked up behind me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my neck. His hand rested naturally on my swollen belly, where our daughter was due in less than two months.
"Enzo just called," Damiano murmured lazily. "The vineyard's export numbers are up. It turns out I make a better legitimate businessman than I did a criminal."
I smiled, leaning my head back against his chest, listening to the steady, calm beat of his heart. The violent empire of Damiano Rocca was a ghost story now, a whisper in the dark alleys of a city thousands of miles away.
Nico tackled the dog onto the grass, his bright gray eyes crinkling with absolute joy. Damiano watched him, a fierce, protective pride radiating from him.
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"We built a good life, Sienna," he whispered, kissing the top of my head.
"No," I corrected him, intertwining my fingers with his. "We fought for it. And we won."
