22. Gia

In the morning, I wake up with my head on Salvatore's chest, his arm underneath me, and the soft sound of his snoring near my ear. We're still both naked, my leg flung over his and our bodies pressed closely together, and I'm briefly startled before I remember everything that happened yesterday—and last night.

I feel Salvatore stir next to me—from the fact that he's gotten up before me most mornings without waking me, I'm pretty sure he's a much lighter sleeper than I am. I start to move away a little to give him his space, but his arm tightens around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

"I've never woken up with anyone like this before," he murmurs next to my ear, his breath ruffling my hair. "In my arms—" his lips brush against my ear, teeth gently grazing the lobe, and I feel a rush of relief, as if I've let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

I hadn't realized, until just now, how worried I was that he would wake up and regret everything about yesterday. That he'd put all his walls back up, and we'd go back to the way things were before. That yesterday would have been a fluke.

But from the way his mouth is moving down the side of my neck, Salvatore definitely doesn't want to go back to the way things were before last night.

A jolt of guilt hits me as I remember how we ended up here in the first place. I squirm away from him long enough to sit up, tugging the sheet up above my breasts, and Salvatore gives me a curious look. There's a wariness in his eyes that I recognize, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing that I was—wondering if yesterday was just a one-time thing, and we'd go back to fighting each other today.

But I don't want that, and I don't think he does either.

"I'm sorry," I say abruptly, and Salvatore tenses, sitting up further. The white sheet pools around his hips, instantly dragging my gaze downwards, and I can see the shape of his cock beneath it, clearly also eager to pick up where we left off last night.

Salvatore clears his throat, and my gaze shoots back up to his face, my cheeks heating. "What are you sorry for, dolce?" he asks gently.

"For making you jealous," I whisper. "That's all that was with the bartender. I was upset, and hurt, and I wanted to make you jealous. It never meant anything."

Salvatore chuckles mirthlessly, a low, dark sound deep in his throat. "Well, you succeeded," he says dryly. "Although maybe not the way you wanted."

My blush deepens, remembering the way he bent me over the bed, the astonishing pleasure of it despite the unexpected violence. I swallow hard. "Well—if that happened again…I'd rather it not be because you're really angry with me."

Salvatore's eyes narrow, and I see his mouth twitch a little at the corners. "You want it to happen again, dolce?"

My face feels like it's going to burst into flames at that. "Maybe," I mumble. "But that's not the point. The point is?—"

"That you're sorry. Yes, tesoro, I know." Salvatore's hand reaches for mine, tugging it down away from the sheet, although I keep it clutched to my chest with the other one. "But it is good to hear you say it." He pauses. "Did yesterday make you happy?"

I nod. "It did. It was—it was exactly what I wanted. What I hoped for. I don't—" I bite my lip, feeling a flood of nervousness slide through me. "I don't want to go back to the way it was before. Fighting with each other, and?—"

"I don't want that either." Salvatore's fingers link through mine, both of our hands resting on the sheet between us. "I can admit that I was wrong to dismiss the idea that you should be my wife in more than just name. I shouldn't have expected you to be satisfied with that, just because of my own hang-ups." He looks over at me, and with the tension gone, the set of his shoulders, and the lines of his face relaxed, he looks younger. Happier. Extraordinarily handsome, sitting in the middle of the white-sheeted bed, his tan skin and dark hair offset by it, the sun coming in through the window and spilling over us both. I feel a shiver of desire ripple down my spine, looking at him.

At my husband. The word no longer makes me feel a tangle of panic, fury, and resentment. Instead, I feel cautiously hopeful about it all.

"I don't see why every day can't be like yesterday," I say softly. "If we both try. If I try to understand the weight of the responsibilities on you, and you try to understand how much of an adjustment all this is for me, and we work on living our lives together—" I bite my lip. "I know every day can't be sitting by the beach, drinking margaritas and getting a tan. But?—"

"It's a shame," Salvatore reflects with a laugh. "This vacation thing is beginning to grow on me."

"We should do it more often, then." I swing a leg over him on impulse, settling into his lap, and I feel his sharply indrawn breath as I fling the sheet away and loop my arms around his neck. "Once the Bratva threat is taken care of."

Salvatore's eyes widen, and he looks down at me. A moment before I said that, his hands were on my waist, drifting downwards with a clear intent to make good on my vulnerable position in his lap. But now he goes very still. "So you believe me?" he asks quietly, and I nod.

"I thought you forced me to marry you because you wanted me for yourself," I whisper. "The same thing Igor accused you of. But everything that's happened since then tells me that can't be true. It doesn't make sense. Why fight it so hard, if you married me for lust? Why care at all if I believe you about the Bratva, if you just wanted to make me yours and already have what you want? Why not make certain Pyotr couldn't take me back the very first night? The only answer is that you were telling the truth. And I just didn't want to hear it," I admit softly, biting my lip. "I'm sorry for that, too."

Salvatore reaches up, his fingers sliding along my jaw, tipping my mouth up towards his. "I'm glad to hear it, dolce," he murmurs. "But there is one thing that I need to make clear."

"What's that?" I whisper, and his brows draw together, his expression dark as he reaches down to grasp my hips.

"I'd like to never hear you say that boy's name again. But especially, never while you're in my bed. And I never want to hear it, or any other man's name, while you're naked and in my lap. Do you understand me, Gia?"

His voice is rough, but there's the smallest bit of humor in it. I nod, feeling desire lick down my spine as his fingers dig into my hips, lifting me up enough for me to feel his hard cock brush between my legs. "Yes," I whisper.

"Good girl." He lowers me onto the tip of his cock, letting me adjust to him before sliding me down the length of it, groaning as he fills me, and I settle atop him. "Now, I think it's time I remind you of who your husband is."

And with that, he leans back against the pillows, his hips thrusting sharply up into me as I gasp, my hands falling to his chest. "And I think it's time I taught my pretty bride how to ride her husband's cock."

—

A half-hour later, we're still in bed, this time sweaty and tangled in the sheets. Salvatore turns towards me, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. "You did well," he murmurs, running one finger down my thigh. "Although I'm not averse to practicing more, if you want to perfect your technique."

I roll my eyes teasingly. "Of course you're not."

"You enjoyed yourself too, from the sounds you made." His fingers dip between my thighs, teasing me a little, pushing inside of me as if to make certain none of his release escapes. I'm too wrung out to come again, but it feels good, and the thought of him making certain that he gets me pregnant turns me on. It's a turn-on for both of us, and I'm looking forward to taking advantage of it every chance I get.

After a few minutes, I sit up, looking out at the deck. "It's time for brunch by now," I laugh, glancing back at him. "I'm hungry. Can you order breakfast while I shower?"

Salvatore nods. He says nothing for a moment, and I feel a small twist of anxiety in my stomach, thinking about him leaving for the day. Our newfound happiness still feels tenuous, and I'm not ready to break the spell yet.

"I want you to stay here," I say softly, turning to look back at him. "Stay and enjoy the day with me. Not just today, either. I want us to enjoy the rest of our honeymoon together. I don't want to be on vacation by myself. This is our time to get to know each other, away from the threats, away from the stresses of daily life. We should take advantage of it."

I hadn't meant to say so much, but I couldn't stop once I started. It makes sense to me. But I see the hesitation on Salvatore's face, and I can't help instantly jumping to the conclusion that he's not willing to give me more than a day of his time.

"You asked what you could do to make me happy." I wrap my arms around myself, looking at him uncertainly. "We said we'd try, Salvatore. I said I'd try. But just because we had a good day together yesterday, and this—" I wave my hand at the bed between us. "That doesn't mean everything is completely fine now. And our marriage working, me continuing to try to make it work with you—it depends on whether or not I'm happy. I don't want to be bound by the laws of a mafia marriage that says I can't leave. If I'm miserable—I'm not going to stay."

I see the shock on his face—and the instant resistance to that statement, too, that possessive look that I now know very well glinting in his eyes. I didn't intend to threaten him or give him an ultimatum, but I'm terrified that one good day is going to make him think that it's all fine now, and he won't keep trying. That he'll get complacent that quickly, and I'll be miserable again.

Salvatore sits up, moving behind me, his hands skimming up the backs of my arms. "You're mine, Gia." He leans forward, murmuring it in my ear. "I promise you, there's nowhere you could go that I wouldn't find you."

I twist around, looking up at his handsome face. Even like this, dark and possessive, he's gorgeous to look at. Maybe even more so. "You could try," I whisper, a hint of that old mocking, taunting note in my voice. "I'd make it hard for you."

"Oh, dolce." His hands skim up my arms again, settling on my shoulders and holding me in place. "Trust me, you make it hard for me every day."

His lips graze my ear, and I shudder, the double entendre mixed with the touch of his mouth against my skin, making me melt. But I pull away before I can give in, slipping away from his hands.

"I mean it, Salvatore," I whisper, my voice breathier than I mean for it to be. "I won't stay if I don't want to."

He reaches out, grasping my chin lightly in his fingers. "Oh, I know, tesoro. And I mean it, too."

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against my mouth. "I won't let you get away. No matter what you do."

For a brief moment, I consider falling back into bed with him. But I need a moment to collect myself, a minute alone. "As interesting as it is that you're ready to go again at your ripe old age," I tease him, pulling away from the kiss. "I need a shower. And I'm hungry."

Salvatore chuckles, kissing me once more before releasing me. "One of these days, dolce, I'm going to tie you to a bed and show you just how many times I can be ready for you.'

"Is that a threat?" I slip off of the bed, seeing the way his gaze drags down the length of my naked body.

"A promise," Salvatore assures me. "Go shower, Gia. Brunch will be here when you're done."

He keeps that last promise. There's food waiting when I emerge onto the deck after my shower. Salvatore is on a lounge chair with his laptop, skimming through a document while picking at bites of fruit off of a plate. I look at it, and then at him.

Salvatore sets it aside for a moment, glancing over at me. "A compromise, dolce," he says, sitting up a little. "You want me here with you, enjoying our honeymoon. But I can't abandon everything happening back in New York. The Bratva threat won't find us here, but it also won't be ignored. And I wasn't exactly prepared to leave on as short of notice as we needed to. So." He gestures to the laptop. "I'll stay here with you, at the villa. We'll enjoy as many hours of peace and relaxation as we can. Go out to eat, when you like. Maybe even go dancing again."

He smiles at me, continuing before I can say anything at all. "Is that an acceptable compromise, tesoro?"

Truthfully, I hadn't expected him to give in so easily. I'm not sure that I thought he would give in at all. But here he is, meeting me halfway, trying to give me what I've said I need to be happy without completely deferring to everything I say. It makes me respect him more, to know that he can create those boundaries without just blowing me off. And this is a good compromise.

I nod slowly. "I think that's fine. I don't—" I hesitate, trying to think of what, exactly, I want to say. "I don't expect you to dote on me every second, Salvatore. I'm not that spoiled. I just think that while we have this time, we should make the most of it."

"And I agree." He nudges the laptop aside, standing up and stepping towards me, his hands resting on my waist as he pulls me closer. "I don't think you're spoiled, Gia. Not really. I think you've been spoiled in certain aspects, but the times I've said that, it was to get under your skin. Just as I imagine, a great many of the things you've said to me have been to get under mine. I want to spend this time with you. But I have to do certain things to make sure that we can go home safely, at the end of it."

"I know." I lean up, kissing him lightly. "And that's fine with me."

He releases me, going back to the lounge chair, and I walk over to where brunch is spread out on the table to fill a plate for myself. The sun is bright in the blue sky, the day gorgeous, and suddenly it feels as if our honeymoon isn't going to be long enough, instead of the expanse of time I'd been half-excited for, half-dreading.

Salvatore is a man of his word. We spend the day outside, him working while I lie in the sun, read, and drift inside to take a short nap after lunch. He wakes me when the sun is starting to go down, so we can change and go to dinner, and when we come back to the villa, he tumbles me back into bed again, stripping off every inch of my clothing slowly in a repeat of last night.

"We have at least a week more, here," he tells me in the morning, when we finally pry ourselves out of bed. "Josef says there's still been attempts from the Bratva to get close to the mansion. I'm trying to work out a deal with Igor, but it's slow-moving."

"He's talked to you?" I sit up, looking over at Salvatore. My feelings about the situation are dramatically different now—I'm loving every second of being ensconced in this tropical paradise with this new version of my husband, but I also want us to be able to go home eventually. And if the Bratva are no longer a threat, we'll be able to do that. We'll be able to find out if what we have here will translate just as well to being back home, in Salvatore's mansion, in our old lives.

I wonder if he worries about that at all. If the isolation and sun and sand have gotten to us, and once we go back to reality, we won't be able to make this work the way we have here.

"Briefly." Salvatore runs a hand through his messy hair. "I think he's beginning to realize that he's at a disadvantage. We can fight each other, but more bloodshed isn't good on either side. He wouldn't have even considered a truce with your father otherwise, though I'm not altogether sure he ever meant to keep it. If I can make a different one, though?—"

"A different truce?" I frown. "How so?"

Salvatore hesitates, and he sees the instant reaction to that on my face. "I'm not trying to keep you out of my business, Gia," he soothes. "But we haven't really gotten to details yet. It will have nothing to do with you, I promise you that. When I know more, I'll tell you."

"You will?" I look at him doubtfully, and he sighs.

"I know you want to be treated as an equal, Gia," he says quietly. "I know you want a partnership, not to be pushed to the side and told only what you need to know. I want to give you that, as much as I can. But I need time to adjust to a different way of doing things, too. And there isn't anything concrete enough to be worth talking about yet. When there is, I promise I'll tell you."

"Alright," I relent, sliding back into his arms. And when he kisses me, I can feel that he's sincere.

Every day that passes, over the next week, makes me feel that sincerity more and more. It solidifies the feeling that I have that we have a chance to make this work. Salvatore has meetings, taken over the phone in the main room of the villa, and spends a good bit of time on his tablet or his laptop, going over work. But we venture out, too, going to the market again, trying a few more of the restaurants we haven't been to, and even going out dancing again one night when one of the bars has live music. We relax, and we swim, and we talk, and we spend hours in bed. In the soft expanse of those crisp white sheets, he teaches me a myriad of things, so many of which I've tried to imagine, and some that I didn't know were possible. Salvatore, unleashed from his guilt, is a far better lover than I would have ever thought. And everything he gives me, I try to give back as much as I can, learning what he likes along the way.

We're good together. For a week, I'm happier than I can remember being in a very, very long time. And all too soon, it comes to a halt.

I come out of the shower to a romantic scene on the deck, candles scattered around, champagne waiting for me and a glass already poured, and the first course waiting for us at the table. I look at Salvatore, a little surprised.

"Is tonight something special? More special than just our honeymoon?"

Salvatore gestures to the other seat. "Sit down, Gia."

I feel a flicker of anxiety, but I do as he asks, immediately reaching for my champagne. "Is something wrong?"

"Depends on how you look at it." He lets out a breath. "We're going home."

My fingers tighten around the stem, and I stop, the glass halfway to my mouth before I lower it again. "When?" My voice trembles more than I thought it would. This place has begun to feel like a haven, and I'm suddenly not ready to go.

"Tomorrow." Salvatore looks at me, and I can see a hint of regret in his eyes, too. "I've come to an agreement with Igor."

"What is it?" I narrow my eyes at him. "You promised you'd tell me."

"I did." He reaches for his own champagne, taking a long sip. "A different marriage has been arranged for Pyotr. Bella, your first cousin, will marry him. It's not Enzo D'Amelio's daughter, but since she's no longer available—" he looks at me pointedly, "—Igor was convinced of both the wisdom of maintaining the treaty, and of the suitableness of the offered bride."

I stare at Salvatore, my mind spinning. I'm suddenly so full of different emotions that I don't know what to do with them all.

My first thought is that if Pyotr has agreed to marry someone else, he must really have never cared that much for me. It was never me that he wanted, but my status, my name, the usefulness of marrying a mafia don's daughter to make a treaty with us. It never had anything to do with me at all.

But then again, I think I knew that when he didn't kick in the door of my hotel suite the very first night, to carry me away and take me back with him. After all, Salvatore stood up and objected at my wedding in order to make me his, because it mattered to him that I not go with Pyotr. If Pyotr had loved me, he would have done something equally drastic to get me back.

Still, such a clear realization of the truth feels like a punch in the stomach. It feels, for a moment, like I can't quite breathe, and tears sting my eyes. But after how things have changed between Salvatore and me, the last thing I want is for him to see me crying over another man.

So I blink them back, quickly, and focus on the other part of it that concerns me.

"If everything you've said is true, then you thought the Bratva would harm me." I frown at him. "So what about Bella's safety? Isn't she in danger?"

"Part of the agreement is that mafia security will go with her into her new marriage. She'll have bodyguards of her own choosing, not Pyotr's. Igor is aware of my distrust. There have been measures put into place, to retaliate if he harms her."

And you couldn't have done that for me?The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I don't ask it. For one thing, I know Salvatore's decision was an impulse, an inability to let the wedding continue without stepping in. And beyond that, I no longer wish it had gone differently. I know the truth about Pyotr now, and I know Salvatore did save me, not only from unhappiness, but from feeling the same bitter sense of disappointment and betrayal that I just did—only within a marriage shackled to the same man making me feel those things, rather than on the other side of it.

"So that's it?" I frown, feeling somehow unsettled about all of this. "Pyotr marries Bella, Igor is satisfied, and everything is smoothed over? The Bratva are pacified, and we can all go home?"

Salvatore chuckles. "That's a simplistic way of looking at it, but essentially, yes."

"And Bella agreed to this?" The idea shocks me now, after how my feelings about the Bratva have changed, but I know it shouldn't. Not all that long ago, I was eager to run into Pyotr's arms, and angry that I'd been snatched away. He's handsome and charming when he has reason to be, and I can see how Bella might have been caught up in it, just as I was.

I feel a wave of guilt. But I also know that this is how things almost always are, in our world. Marriages are arranged for alliances, for expediency, not for love. I was always lucky in that my father wanted me to have love. Most women aren't. And I won't be able to just stop that practice.

"Yes." Salvatore eyes me, as if he's expecting some pushback. "Her father is going to be rewarded generously. Money, as well as an elevated rank among my men. And Bella herself seems amenable to the match. She wouldn't have expected to marry someone like Pyotr, among the mafia. It's a leap up for her. So long as her safety is ensured, she and her family are happy to go along."

I let out a slow breath, still unsure how to feel about it all. Salvatore gives me a sympathetic look, and I can see that he can tell I'm struggling.

"This is how things are, tesoro," he says quietly. "It's how they've always been. You know that as well as I do. I don't have the power to change them so thoroughly that I don't have to make these sorts of compromises. But I can do my best to make it a good bargain for our side."

"What if we have a daughter one day?" I look at him cautiously. "Will she be expected to marry whomever she's told? Or will you let her marry for love, the way my father wanted me to? Will you give her a choice, so she can have the same chance at happiness that we're getting?"

Salvatore nods. "I can't make it all like this, for everyone. I can't tell every family what to do. Bella's father would have married her off to someone, and the choice wouldn't have been hers. But I can make our family do things differently." He looks at me intently, his expression utterly serious. "If we have a daughter, Gia, I promise you that she'll have a choice. I'll make certain that she has a chance for love, not just an arrangement."

"Okay." I feel a little better, knowing that. All of this still makes me feel on edge and uncomfortable. But there's nothing I can do. Salvatore is right that our world isn't going to change overnight, and probably not at all. But this is a step in the right direction for our family, at least.

Salvatore smiles at me. "I know you're reluctant to leave. Honestly—" He looks around, drawing in a deep breath. "I am, too. But tomorrow, we'll go home. And we'll start a new life together, Gia." He lifts his champagne flute, tilting it towards me.

It feels frightening. More unknown even than the time right after our marriage, because now I have hope. And it's harder to have something to lose.

But I tap the edge of my glass against his, and I let myself continue to hope. "To a new life together," I echo, and take a sip of the champagne.

The bubbles fizz against my tongue, sweet and sharp, and I draw in a deep breath of the salt air.

Tomorrow, everything will change again. And I have to hope that there will still be happiness for me, at the end of it all.