“Take that disgusting thing off my table.”

The morning after the summit, the Moretti estate was blanketed in a heavy, peaceful stillness. The autumn sun broke through the gray morning clouds, casting long golden rays across the manicured rose gardens at the back of the mansion. I sat on a wrought-iron bench near the fountain, wrapped in a thick cashmere shawl, watching Maria Moretti lovingly tend to her prize-winning white roses. The violent confrontation with Don Rossi felt like a distant nightmare, completely overshadowed by the quiet, domestic rhythm of our daily lives.

Maria stood up, wiping her gardening gloves against her apron, and walked over with a gentle, knowing smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You look tired, *cara*," she said softly, sitting down on the bench beside me. "The weight of this house... it is heavy, I know. Especially for someone who used to spend her days folding linens in quiet hallways."

I looked down at my hands, resting quietly in my lap. "I'm not tired because of the work, Maria. I’m just... sometimes I still pinch myself. A year ago, I was worried about my father’s mortgage and whether I’d get fired for bringing you a bowl of soup. Now... now I’m standing beside Luca in a war room."

Maria reached out, placing her warm, wrinkled hand over mine. "My son is a hard man, Emma. The world made him that way. His father died when he was too young, and he had to build an empire out of blood and stone to keep our family alive. But ever since that night—the night you brought that chipped white bowl upstairs—I have seen something in him I never thought I would see again. I saw peace. I saw a heart."

"He loves you deeply, Maria," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

"And he loves you, *tesoro*, with every fiber of his being," Maria replied firmly, squeezing my hand. "Do not ever let the shadows of this house make you forget that. You are the light that keeps him human."

As if summoned by our conversation, heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel pathway behind us. Luca was walking toward us, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the powerful, corded muscle of his arms. He looked relaxed for the first time in months, a faint, genuine smile gracing his lips as he approached.

"What are two beautiful women conspiring about over my mother's roses?" Luca teased, stopping in front of us and leaning down to press a tender kiss to Maria’s forehead before turning his attention entirely to me.

"We were just discussing how impossible it is to keep you out of trouble, *capo*," I teased back, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk.

Luca chuckled, reaching down to pull me up from the bench straight into his arms. He wrapped me securely against his chest, completely ignoring his mother’s amused chuckles as she quietly gathered her gardening tools and strolled back toward the kitchen.

"I have a surprise for you," Luca murmured softly into my hair, resting his chin on the top of my head. "Tonight, we’re leaving the mansion. Just the two of us. No bodyguards trailing fifty feet behind, no syndicate ledgers, and no New York bosses."

I pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. "Where are we going?"