Page 65 of His Nephew's Ex
“Less commanding. More...” I search for the word. “Human, I suppose.”
“Does that disappoint you?” There’s something almost vulnerable in the question.
“It surprises me.” I take a sip of wine, letting the warmth settle in my chest. “I didn’t think you knew how to be anything other than completely in control.”
“Control is a tool,stellina. It’s not who I am.” He leans back in his chair, studying me with those intense dark eyes. “Though I’ll admit it’s a tool I’ve relied on heavily where you’re concerned.”
“Because you don’t trust me?”
“Because I don’t trust myself.” The admission slips out, rough and honest. “Because you make me want things I’ve never allowed myself to want.”
“Like what?”
“Like partnership instead of possession. Like building something together instead of just taking what I need.” His fingers trace the rim of his wine glass. “Like believing that something good can last without being destroyed.”
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This isn’t the commanding mafia don or the possessive lover—this is just a man admitting he’s afraid of losing something precious.
“Simeone—”
“I know I’ve handled things badly,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “I know I’ve made decisions for you instead of with you. I know I’ve been so focused on protecting you that I nearly suffocated what makes you who you are. More than once.”
The acknowledgment hits harder than any demand or ultimatum could. “You’re apologizing?”
“I’m learning.” He sets down his wine glass and reaches across the table to take my hand. “You’ve taught me the difference between keeping something safe and keeping it alive.”
His thumb strokes across my knuckles, and the simple touch sends electricity shooting up my arm. “What are you asking me, Simeone?”
“I’m asking you to marry me.” The words come naked of pretense, dressed only in their own brutal certainty. “Not because I’m ordering it, not because circumstances demand it, but because I think I might love you.”
The declaration stops my heart for one perfect, crystalline moment before it explodes back to life with a rhythm that could power entire cities. “You love me?”
“I’ve never been in love before, so it’s hard to pinpoint the exact emotion, but I’m fairly certain this is it,stellina.I think I am desperately, completely, and utterly in love. In ways thatprobably aren’t entirely healthy.” His smile is self-deprecating, beautiful. “I love your intelligence, your courage, your refusal to be broken by anything life throws at you. I love the way you challenge me, the way you make me want to be better than I am.”
Tears prick at my eyes because this isn’t what I expected. I expected commands, ultimatums, careful manipulation disguised as choice. I didn’t expect raw honesty or genuine emotion or the sight of the Silver Devil stripped down to just a man in love.
“I love how you feel in my arms at night, even though you still argue with me every evening,” he continues, his voice dropping to that whisper that makes my toes curl. “I love that you’re carrying my child, that you’ve given me a future I never dared to imagine.”
“Simeone—”
“Somewhere along this crazy road, I’ve fallen in love with you, Loriana Parlato.” He stands slowly, moving around the table to kneel beside my chair. “And I’m asking—not demanding, asking—if you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Seeing him kneel—this man who commands everything—cracks me open like an egg. Every argument I’ve built, every wall I’ve raised, dissolves into nothing.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Voluntarily.”
Relief floods his features so completely that I realize he genuinely wasn’t sure of my answer. This man who commands empires and ends lives with a word was terrified I might say no.
“Thank you,” he breathes, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I have something for you.”
The box surrenders its secret: a diamond carved like crystal tears, emerald-cut and attended by faithful companions. Platinum holds them all like a promise, turning candlelight into something that looks suspiciously like forever.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he says quietly, lifting the ring from its nest of silk. “She wore it for sixty years, through wars and famines and every kind of hardship imaginable. She told me once that it wasn’t the diamond that made it precious—it was the love it represented.”
His fingers cradle mine like something breakable as the ring claims my finger. The metal burns cold, then hot, marking me in ways that go deeper than skin. Perfect fit, perfect trap, perfect inevitability.
“Now you belong to me,” he says, but there’s no possession in his voice—only wonder. “And I belong to you. Completely.”
I stare at the ring, at the way it catches the light and throws rainbows across the white tablecloth. It’s beautiful and terrifying and absolutely perfect, just like the man who’s claimed my heart without me realizing it and kept it, despite every fiber in my being telling me to run.
