Page 75 of His Nephew's Ex
“Especially because he has blood on his hands.” She lifts her head to meet my gaze, and the heat in her eyes makes my breath catch. “I didn’t fall in love with a saint, Simeone. I fell in love with a mobster who chooses to be gentle with me.”
“You love me?” The words slip out before I can stop them, vulnerable and raw.
“Completely. Irrevocably. Probably unwisely.” Her smile is sharp, dangerous, absolutely devastating. “But then again, I’ve never been accused of making smart choices where you’re concerned.”
“No,” I agree, pulling her down for a kiss that tastes like whiskey and promises and the future we’re going to build from the ashes of everything that came before. “Thank God for that.”
The DNA report lies forgotten on my desk as I carry her to our bed, where we write one more chapter of our real story with hands and mouths and whispered confessions that wash away years of guilt with something infinitely more powerful.
Truth. Choice. Love.
The only legacy that actually matters.
24
Loriana
The weight of Simeone’s grandmother’s ring catches the morning light as I trace security protocols across the estate blueprints, my mind working through logistics that would make a general proud. Two days have passed since he learned the truth about Flavio, and watching him shed twenty years of misplaced guilt has transformed him into something even more magnificent—a man finally free to protect what actually matters.
Which gives me the perfect opportunity to surprise him with something he’ll never see coming.
“Tiziano.” I don’t look up from the tactical maps spread across the library table as his footsteps approach. “I need your help with a project that requires absolute discretion.”
“Yes, Donna.” His winter-pale eyes take in the security diagrams with professional interest. “What kind of project?”
“The kind that involves surprising your boss with a wedding ceremony he didn’t plan himself.” I finally meet his gaze, noting the way his expression shifts from casual attention to sharp focus. “Think you’re up for coordinating the most secure romantic gesture in mafia history?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—the first genuine emotion I’ve seen from him since we met. “When?”
“Tonight. Sunset ceremony, eight trusted witnesses maximum, complete lockdown protocols.” I gesture to the blueprints where I’ve marked optimal positioning for both romance and security. “I want him to walk downstairs and find me waiting to marry him in our own home.”
“He doesn’t suspect?”
“He thinks I’m researching enhanced perimeter defenses.” Which isn’t entirely a lie—I have been studying every weakness and strength of this estate since he allowed me to join in on the estate’s security operations. “Can you arrange a priest who won’t ask inconvenient questions?”
“Father Respicio. He’s performed ceremonies for the family before, and he understands the value of discretion.” Tiziano pulls out his phone. “Guest list?”
“Your choice entirely. People who’ve bled for him, people who’d die for him, people whose loyalty is beyond question.” I trace the main staircase on the diagram, already envisioning how to transform it into a makeshift aisle. “I want witnesses who understand they’re not just watching a wedding—they’re watching the foundation of a new dynasty.”
“And security?”
“Triple the usual protocols. Outer perimeter lockdown, inner perimeter armed escort, and enough firepower to make the Pope jealous.” My voice hardens with the authority I’ve learned from watching Simeone command his empire. “Anyone who wasn’t invited doesn’t exist until tomorrow morning.”
“Understood.” He starts making calls as he walks away, his voice carrying that quiet authority that makes impossible things happen within hours.
I return to my planning, mapping out every detail. Flowers that won’t obstruct sight lines. Candles positioned to enhance ambiance without creating fire hazards. A ceremony intimate enough to feel personal but secure enough to ensure we both survive our wedding night.
The student is becoming the teacher. The protected is becoming the protector. The woman he claimed is transforming into the wife who’ll stand beside him as an equal partner in everything that matters.
Six hours later, I’m standing in our bedroom studying my reflection, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. The dress is ivory silk that flows like water over curves I’m still getting used to—elegant but not ostentatious, beautiful but practical enough for a ceremony in a house designed for warfare as much as romance.
My hair is swept up in an elegant chignon secured with pearl pins that catch the candlelight I’ve arranged throughout the room. Makeup that’s flawless but natural, emphasizing features that have learned to command attention in rooms full of dangerous men.
I look like a woman ready to become the Silver Devil’s wife. Beautiful enough to hold his attention, dangerous enough to survive his world, strong enough to build an empire beside him.
“Stellina?” Simeone’s voice carries through the door, rough with confusion and something that might be suspicion. “Tiziano said you needed me downstairs immediately. Something about security protocols?”
“In a minute.” I take one last look in the mirror, noting how the ring catches the light and throws rainbows across my reflection. “I’m just finishing some final preparations.”
