Page 187 of Made for Sinners

“I’m going to start planting next week,” I said. “The new vines. I want to do it myself.”

He nodded. “I’ll help.”

“You’ll complain.”

“Probably.”

I laughed, and he smiled, and for a moment, everything felt simple.

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Later, we walked the vineyard together, hand in hand, the sun warm on our backs. The staff waved as we passed—some of them still a little wary of Dante, but warming to me. I’d made it a point to learn their names, to ask about their families, to show them that I wasn’t just the woman who’d married the don.

I was the woman who was going to make this place bloom.

We reached the edge of the property, where the vines gave way to wildflowers and the view opened up to rolling hills and distant mountains. I stopped, taking it all in, the wind tugging at my hair, the scent of earth and grapes thick in the air.

“This is mine,” I said.

Dante looked at me. “All of it.”

I turned to him. “You gave me a kingdom.”

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering at my jaw like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me.

“I didn’t give you a kingdom,” he said quietly. “You built one.”

I blinked, the words hitting me harder than I expected. Not because they were dramatic or poetic—but because they were true. Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t surviving someone else’s legacy. I wasn’t just the daughter of a mafia accountant or the wife of a powerful man. I wasn’t a pawn or a prize or a problem to be solved.

I was a woman who had clawed her way through blood and fire and betrayal.

And I was still standing.

I smiled, slow and real. “You really are a romantic.”

He smirked. “Don’t tell anyone.”

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

We stood there for a long time, watching the sun rise over the hills. The light turned the vines gold, the sky a soft wash of pink and orange, the kind of morning that made you believe in second chances.

Eventually, Dante pulled me close, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head.

“Do you think they’ll leave us alone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Just held me tighter.

“They can try,” he said finally. “But they’ll have to go through me.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. “And if they do?”

His eyes darkened. “Then I’ll remind them who the fuck I am.”

I smiled. “You’re mine.”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

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