Page 155 of Twisted Vows

“I considered it.” Her smirk is small and knowing. “You’re better alive. Keeps the legend useful.”

She leaves me with that.

By dusk, the plan’s already in motion. New schedules. Reassigned guards. I order Marco to handle the logistics personally to ensure no leaks or outside communication. Sophia and Elena receive the best protection detail money can buy.

Within hours, the hospital discharge papers for Elena land on my desk. I sign them myself. Guilt disguised as business. A man does what he can to make amends.

Enzo

When Nonna Rosa insists on the final Benedetti blessing, I kneel briefly before her, not in submission but in acknowledgment. Her hand—cold, heavy, eternal—rests on my head for only a second.

“You’ll do,” she murmurs.

In the empty space beside the long dining table, my gaze lands on Dante’s old chair, triggering a flicker of memory and a vow only I can hear. “I’ll do more than that.”

Outside, the sun dips low. The estate glows gold, like a kingdom reborn in blood and quiet ambition.

For the first time in a long while, the ache inside feels less like emptiness and more like purpose.

One thought still cuts through it all.

Sophia.

I build every plan, every negotiation, and every line of defense for her.

They crowned a Padrino today. What really rose from the ashes, though wasn’t power. It was a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for. The rest of the day sits too still. No gunfire, no chaos, just calm and quiet. The tailored suit fits too well. The silk catches light at the shoulders, and the fabric whispers over skin. Every thread hums with the weight of expectation. Kings wear crowns, but I wear wool and guilt.

Outside, the courtyard buzzes with security chatter. The new guards all pretend not to stare. The air smells of coffee and iron, of power freshly washed and perfumed for display.

Then the convoy rolls in. The tires of glossy black cars crunch gravel. Doors open, and she appears.

Sophia.

The sight of her hits like sunlight breaking through a long storm. Too bright. Too human. She doesn’t belong in this house of wolves, yet the way she walks in, with her chin up and her hands steady… She commands the space without even realizing it. Every stride carries defiance cloaked in grace.

I approach her. “Welcome home.”

She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m real. “This place doesn’t feel like home to me.”

“Not for me either. But if you choose to stay with me, I intend to make it one.” My words hang between us, awkward and exposed. I glance away first. Some habits die hard.

Then she grabs my arm. “My home is wherever you are, Enzo.”

My throat closes. Something warm, painful, and good cracks in my chest. I cover her hand with mine, unable to speak past the lump choking me.

“Thank you,” I finally manage.

I move to the next task.

The casita.

Surrounded by clean walls and soft light, Elena sits on the sofa in her private suite, her cheeks alive with color. Her eyes flick from Sophia to me, her suspicion obvious. “Mr. Ricci.”

“Enzo,” Sophia corrects softly before sitting beside her mother and squeezing her hand.

Elena watches me, reading the truth between my scars. “You look like trouble,” she says at last.

“Usually am.”