Page 90 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

It's like we're both afraid to jinx this peace between us, this fragile thing we've built in the aftermath of revelations and betrayals.

As I collapse on him, heart hammering against my ribcage like it's trying to reach his, I whisper, "I need to go take a shower." The words feel inadequate for what just happened between us, for the chasm we've somehow bridged.

"Hmm..." he rasps out, voice deliciously rough from sleep and sex. "Maybe you don't have to. You can leave smelling like me."

There's a shadow of a smile on my lips as I glance up at my husband. A title that once felt like a prison sentence but now feels like something else entirely. "I do want to take your cologne with me..."

"As a repellent to the Greeks?" There's a hint of possessiveness in his tone, a reminder of the Beast that still lurks beneath this softer version of Antonio. "I like that."

Yesterday, I wouldn't have told him why. Yesterday, we were still locked in that dance of hurt and retribution. But now, I find myself whispering, "I want to keep a part of you with me in Greece. Your scent... it's like a security blanket now." I wince, the irony not lost on me. "After you locked me in that room, I never thought I'd say that."

"I'm sorry," Antonio says, and the roughness in his voice isn't just from sleep anymore. He tilts my chin up, his dark eyes intense in a way that reminds me of that first night. Not the cruelty that followed, but the tenderness that made me believe, however briefly, that we could be something more than a marriage of revenge. "I'm sorry. I'll work every day, every hour,every second to make you feel safe. To prove you can trust me again. I promise."

I nod, throat too tight for words. There's still so much between us, so much to work through. His mother's supposed death, my father's manipulations, the lies we both believed. But right here, right now, I want to believe him.

He leans in, his lips meeting mine. The kiss starts like he's trying to pour all his unspoken words into it, all the apologies and promises and threats held back. His hand tangles in my hair—curls that have grown wilder since chemo, like they're making up for lost time—and he gently rolls us over, his body covering mine.

As he settles above me, holding his weight on his forearms like he's afraid I'll shatter (I won't. Cancer and his betrayal already tried and failed), the kiss softens. It becomes tender, exploring, completely unlike the claiming kisses from before. His lips move against mine with a reverence that makes me ache for what could have been if my father hadn't carved hatred into Antonio's flesh, if I hadn't spent years believing his mother was dead because of me.

My hands trail up his back, feeling the play of muscles under my fingertips, tracing the tattoos I've come to know by heart. He sighs into my mouth, and I feel the tension slowly leaving his body. It's like we're melting into each other, all our sharp edges softening like wax under a flame.

When we finally break apart, I'm breathless, my heart pounding in that familiar rhythm that makes me automatically reach for my pulse, checking for signs of SVT. But this tachycardia is purely emotional, and I'm startled to realize there's something in Antonio's eyes I haven't seen in a long time. Hope. Probably mirrored in my own.

"You might want to put this on," he says, tossing me one of his shirts. There's a smile playing on his lips as he slides into his sweatpants.

"What? Why?" I ask, confused, even as I pull the shirt over my head. It envelops me, the fabric soft against my skin. His scent surrounds me like a physical embrace. It's comforting and arousing all at once, making me want to bury my face in his neck and never leave. And yet, I add, "I really should go..." After all, I have a plane to catch. Revelations to face. A mother-in-law who isn't a ghost.

"Wait a second," he murmurs, moving to unlock his door.

That's when I hear the pitter-patter of little feet racing across the hallway, the sounds of life in this ancient fortress. Before I can fully process what's happening, Elena bursts into the room, her nightgown fluttering around her tiny legs as she launches herself at her father.

I stand there, momentarily frozen, Antonio's shirt falling to my thighs. My pulse skips, not from cardiac issues but from the sudden realization of what this looks like—what we are. A family. The thing cancer made me think I'd never have.

Watching Antonio with Elena... it's like seeing double. There's the Beast, all hard edges and danger, the man who locked me away for three months and made me pay for sins I didn't commit. But there's also that boy who used to sneak me tiramisu when I was sick, who'd play Chopin when I was sad. They're one and the same, and damn if that doesn't make my heart ache for more of those moments together.

Then, he starts to sing that same Italian lullaby I've heard him hum when he thought no one was listening, the one his mother used to sing to him. His deep voice is soft, tender, a reminder of the life he lived before flames and betrayal rewrote his story. Elena joins in, their voices blending in perfect harmony.

He spins Elena around, her tiny body dwarfed by his scarred hands, and her giggle pierces the air; a sound so full of joy it makes my heart soar and my stomach sink simultaneously. It's joy and terror all rolled into one, like those moments in the hospital when the doctors said the treatment was working but the side effects might be permanent. This little family scene? It's everything I never thought I'd have. And that scares the hell out of me. Because wanting something this badly? In my experience, that's usually when the other ballet pointe drops.

I chose this last night. I chose him. I chose us. Not out of desperation or fear, but with clear eyes and full knowledge of who he is: Beast and man, darkness and light. But seeing them together, I realize I'm choosing more than just Antonio. I'm choosing this whole package: the man I've always known he could be, the father he's becoming, and the future we might build. In this mafia world that's so fickle, where loyalties shift like Italian sand, where my father still plots and schemers still circle.

Especially with everything still up in the air.

The clock on the nightstand mocks me, reminding me that this is just a moment in time. In a few hours, I'll be on a plane to Greece, to a mother-in-law who's apparently risen from the dead. Part of me wants to say screw it all and stay wrapped in this bubble with this Antonio, this Elena, this version of myself I'm starting to recognize again.

Because what if what I find there changes everything? What if the woman who once showed me kindness now blames me for her years in hiding? What if Simona's revelations tear apart this fragile thing we've built? What if I come back a different person? Or worse, what if I don't come back at all?

The fear coils in my stomach, familiar as hospital waiting rooms, threatening to overwhelm me. But I push it down, the way I learned to during chemo, during those months in isolation.I have to go. I need answers, closure, a chance to reclaim the pieces of myself I've lost along the way.

As I watch Antonio and Elena, their laughter a reminder of what I'm fighting for, I make a silent promise.

I'll come back. No matter what I find in Greece, I'll find my way back to this. To them. To us.

Right?

Chapter fifty-four

Antonio

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