Page 92 of His to Destroy

Luca bursts out laughing so hard he falls onto the sand.

Almeria laughs too, a soft, musical sound that carries easily on the breeze.

My heart aches with how much I love them.

I lead Luca toward the water’s edge, holding his small hand firmly in mine.

He shivers when the first cool waves lap at his ankles, but he grins through it, determined.

"Okay," I say, crouching down to his level. "First rule of swimming: always respect the ocean. She’s beautiful, but she’s powerful."

He nods solemnly, as if I’ve imparted some sacred secret.

I step deeper, the water swirling around my calves, then my thighs.

Luca hesitates for a moment, then charges after me with a gleeful shout, his little arms flailing.

I laugh and turn to scoop him up before the next wave can knock him over.

"You gotta be faster than that, squirt," I tease.

He wraps his arms tightly around my neck, his face beaming.

I lower us gently into the water until we're waist-deep, still holding him securely.

"Now," I say, "lie back against my arm. Trust me. I won't let you sink."

Luca eyes me nervously but nods.

Slowly, carefully, he leans back, floating with my arm under his shoulders for support.

His eyes widen in wonder.

"You’re doing it," I murmur. "See? You're floating."

He grins, the pure pride on his face shining brighter than the sun overhead.

I guide him through the gentle rocking of the waves, teaching him how to kick his legs, how to paddle his arms.

And he listens.

He tries.

He laughs.

God, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of joy before—this fierce, unrelenting need to protect and nurture.

Not as Gaspare Colosimo, Don of the Syndicate.

But as a man.

As a father.

We spend over an hour in the water.

By the time we stagger back to shore, Luca’s cheeks are flushed with exertion, and he's giggling uncontrollably.

I plop down onto a beach towel, hauling him into my lap, both of us dripping wet and exhausted.

---