Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ELENA

“ W here are you taking me?” I say, sitting in the passenger seat of his sleek sedan as he glides through the city.

It’s been roughly two weeks since the standoff with Salvatore in the dining room. Since then, Dario and I have spent so much time together: lying in bed, talking about the future, making love, watching movies—trashy and classy. We all even had a meal together. Dario, Salvatore, Maria, Rosa, Giulia, and I sat at the same dining room table as we shared stories and jokes and bonded, something I could never have believed was possible.

“It’s a surprise,” he says.

“Don’t you think we’ve had enough of those?”

He glances at me with a smirk. Since all the roadblocks to our love have come crashing down, Dario has seemed so happy-go-lucky, as if he’s been waiting his whole life to let go of the mafioso darkness. I know it’s still in him. I know that if anybody ever threatens the Family or me, he’ll go full savage again. Yet, it’s so sweet to see how happy he is now.

“This is a good surprise.”

“Not a farmhouse deal, then?”

“The fact you can sass about that …”

“Hey, it’s my specialty. I can sass about anything .”

He chuckles, reaching over and placing his hand on my leg. It doesn’t matter how many times he touches me like this. The sensation never gets any less tempting. The effect feels somehow natural and new at the same time.

“Careful. We won’t make it to our destination.”

He laughs again, removing his hand. “You’re right. Usually, I’d find the nearest, most luxurious hotel and make a pit stop, but this is important.”

“Is that why you asked me to wear this dress?”

I’m in a stunning, fancy-pants piece that would’ve made me feel like I didn’t belong just a couple of weeks ago. Since learning that Dario and I can be together, I’m growing into the Mafia princess role. I’m letting go of self-consciousness and nerves and learning to be me and a character on a stage.

Speaking of stages, we pull up outside The Imperial Lyric Theatre. Its ornate exterior with gilded arches and carved stone makes me feel momentarily poor again. “Are we watching a show? It looks closed.”

“No, I bought the place.”

I gasp. “You bought the Lyric ?”

He kills the engine, parking at the side of a busy street in a perfect space. I can only assume he somehow made sure this spot would be empty. The city is bustling, as usual. “I did it for you,” he says. “I remember what you said last week about wanting to work your way up. That’s why I’m not giving you the theater, but seeing your passion has ignited a little of my own. Do you want to go inside?”

“Uh, yeah .”

He opens his door and then walks around to my side. This is something that’s taking some getting used to. Dario always insists on opening my door for me. It adds to the whole princess feel. Opening the door, he offers his arm. I join arms with him, resting my cheek against him as we walk through the big, golden entrance.

“I used to dream about coming here as a kid,” I say, aware that people are watching us swagger into the Lyric as if we own the place. Wait, we do .

“You told me that last week,” he murmurs, kissing me in that special place below my ear that produces so many tingling, enticing feelings. “Why do you think I bought it?”

We walk through the empty lobby into the ground-floor seating area. A gasp of joy and love escapes me when I see he’s covered every inch of the place with rose petals. The overhead lights shine against the petals. A table and chairs are on the stage, and a bottle of champagne is in a bucket of ice.

He turns to me, taking my hands in his, his eyes glistening with emotion. “Elena,” he says huskily. “I love you more than a man like me could ever explain … so I had to show you. Every petal represents my devotion to making you happy, supporting your career, and supporting you in our lives . I will spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you. I …” He clears his throat.

I place my hand against his chest, feeling his heart pounding. “I love you too.”

He reaches into his pocket, taking out a ring box. A laugh escapes me.

He grins, raising an eyebrow. “I know. Ironic, right?” He lowers to one knee, opening the box to reveal a giant, glittering princess-cut diamond sparkling in the overhead light. “Elena Rossi, my perfect actor, my Mafia princess, will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me for real?”

“Yes,” I shout, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Yes?” he says.

“You don’t have to ask twice!”

He cheers as he takes the ring from the box, sliding it onto my finger. It’s like he can barely contain his energy. Leaping to his feet, he pulls me into his arms and spins me around and around. I hold onto him tightly, feeling like I’m flying, and any second, we could just soar toward the ceiling and keep going. We’ll fly into the sky, right into our happily ever after.

Finally, he puts me down and kisses me like only my husband-to-be can.