Chapter 10 - Where the Roses Bloom
Six months later.
The early summer sunshine poured over the private terrace of the Moretti villa in Bellagio, painting the calm, sapphire waters of Lake Como in shades of brilliant gold.
The air smelled of wild jasmine, sweet lemon blossoms, and fresh mountain breeze blowing down from the snowcapped Alps.
In the center of the terracotta patio, a breakfast table had been set with fresh figs, warm brioche, and two cups of dark Italian espresso.
Harper sat on a wrought-iron lounger, wearing a loose white linen sundress, her bare feet tucked beneath her on the cushion, sketching the distant sailboats in a leather-bound art pad.
She was radiant, her skin kissed by the Mediterranean sun, her auburn hair tumbling in natural waves around her shoulders.
A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped gently around her from behind, pulling her back against a broad, solid chest.
Lorenzo pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the side of her neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of vanilla and citrus that had brought his soul back from the dead.
“You’re up early, my love,” Lorenzo murmured, his voice rich, warm, and completely at peace.
Harper smiled, leaning her head back against his shoulder, letting her fingers intertwine with his large, scarred hand resting over her collarbone.
On her fourth finger, a stunning five-carat oval diamond caught the morning light, sparkling like sunlight on water.
“I was watching the fishing boats leave the harbor,” Harper said softly, turning her head to look into the clear gray of his eyes. “Leo called from New York twenty minutes ago.”
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, a fond smile touching his lips. “How are the dispatch numbers?”
“He closed the Brooklyn rail contract ahead of schedule,” Harper laughed happily. “Dante said he negotiated like a veteran. He’s taking his girlfriend to dinner at the Obsidian tonight.”
Lorenzo chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated warmly against her back.
“The boy learned well,” Lorenzo said. “He knows that an honest wage and a good woman are the only things that keep a man grounded.”
He walked around the lounger, sitting on the stone ledge beside her, taking both of her hands in his.
At fifty-nine, the harsh, predatory lines of his face had softened into a profound, enduring contentment. The dark shadows that had haunted his eyes for twelve years had vanished completely, washed away by the bright, unyielding warmth of the woman sitting before him.
He reached into his linen shirt pocket, pulling out a small porcelain plate holding a single, fresh lemon tart dusted with powdered sugar, made by his own hands in the villa’s kitchen that morning.
Harper looked at the pastry, then up at her husband, tears of pure, overwhelming happiness shining in her brown eyes.
“You baked this?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“I spent five months learning how from old Harrington in the East Village,” Lorenzo smiled, his eyes holding hers with boundless, reverent adoration. “Because you gave me a slice of lemon cake when I had nothing left inside me.”
He brought her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles with an agonizing, gentle sweetness.
“You saved my life, Harper,” Lorenzo whispered against her skin. “You taught an old wolf that the heart doesn't die when the winter comes. It just waits for the spring to find it.”
Harper reached up, her fingers gently framing his rugged, handsome jawline, pulling his lips down to meet hers in a kiss that tasted of sweet lemons, summer sunshine, and a love that had defied every shadow of the past.
May you like
Down on the lake below, the church bells chimed softly across the water, greeting the morning sun.
The empire across the ocean was safe, the debts had been settled, and for Lorenzo and Harper Moretti, the horizon ahead was vast, beautiful, and finally, completely theirs.
