Chapter 156 Chapter 156

Chapter 156 Chapter 156
He wrapped his massive arms around my waist from behind, his broad hands settling over my stomach, pulling me back until my spine was pressed flat against his radiating heat. He rested his jaw in the curve of my neck, his dark stubble tickling my collarbone as he took a deep, steady breath of my skin.
"The early vessel cleared the buoy three minutes ahead of schedule," he growled low in his chest, his gravelly morning voice sending a warm, familiar shiver down my spine.

"Jules sent the manifest confirmation at five," I replied softly, turning my head slightly to press a kiss against the side of his jaw. "The Italian customs detail didn't even request a manual inspection. The digital clearance cleared straight through the ministry."

"They didn't inspect it because they know what happens to inspectors who waste our time," he murmured against my skin. His grip tightened just enough to lift me slightly, anchoring me firmly against his hip. "You built a good system, love."
"We built it," I corrected, reaching down to weave my fingers through his broad, calloused hand, feeling the solid edge of his signet ring against mine. "Your iron, my ink."

He let out a low, rough rumble deep in his throat. He turned me around in his arms until I was facing him, framing my face with his large hands. His dark, pitch-black eyes burned with that intense, unshakeable devotion that belonged strictly to me. "The ink is permanent, Isla," he whispered, his thumb gently tracing the line of my cheekbone. "And so are we."

He leaned down, taking my lips in a slow, possessive kiss that tasted of quiet mornings and absolute authority. I leaned into him, my hands rising to rest against his wide, muscular chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart beneath my palms the heartbeat that commanded an empire, beating solely for me. By ten o'clock, the main dining room was filled with the rhythmic chaos that defined mornings at the estate.

Maria was moving between the stove and the long oak table, carrying platters of crispy pancetta, soft poached eggs, and thick slices of toasted sourdough. Pedro sat at the head of the table, his dark reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he reviewed the physical prints of the quarterly financial ledgers. Anabella was sitting beside him, quietly marking notes in her leather journal for the upcoming restoration of the estate’s historical gardens, while Esme sat across from them, aggressively tapping away on her phone.

"I’m telling you, Dad, we need to clear the upper lawn for the summer gala," Esme insisted, looking up from her screen. "The venue manager in the city said the coastal weather in June is perfect for an outdoor tent installation, and we can fit twice as many guests." Pedro lowered his papers, looking at his niece over the rim of his glasses with a dry, indulgent expression. "Esme, the last time we put a tent on the upper lawn, your brother tried to park a speed boat in the swimming pool."

"That was five years ago!" Alessio barked from the doorway, walking into the room with a broad grin, wearing a dark leather jacket and holding two pairs of motorcycle gloves. "And for the record, the boat fit perfectly until the tide shifted!"

"The boat destroyed three hundred feet of our mother’s rose bushes," Nikolai said flatly as he walked in behind Alessio, fully dressed in a tailored black suit that made his massive frame look even more imposing. He walked straight to the head of the table, pulling out my chair before taking his seat beside me.

"The rose bushes recovered, Nikolai," Alessio mumbled, taking a seat near the end of the table and immediately grabbing three slices of bacon.
"They recovered because Your brother spent two thousand dollars importing fresh soil from Tuscany," Maria called out from the kitchen doorway, holding a wooden spoon like a scepter. "Eat your eggs, Alessio , and stop talking about boats in you mother’s garden."

The room erupted into quiet laughter, the familiar, comforting warmth of family washing over the space. Stefan walked into the dining room a moment later, holding a leather portfolio. He stopped near Nikolai’s shoulder, dropping his tone into a quiet, respectful register.
"The secondary convoy from the lower dock has cleared the estate perimeter," Stefan reported concisely. "Jules is overseeing the transport to the central vault. Zero anomalies on the radar."

"What about the regional port authority?" I asked smoothly, taking a small sip of my dark tea.
"The director called ten minutes ago to personally confirm that our private berth licenses have been extended for the next ten years," Stefan replied with a faint, sharp smirk. "He asked if Don Nikolai would be attending the annual harbor association dinner next month."

Nikolai didn't even look up from his plate. "Tell him I'm busy."
"He'll be devastated," Stefan dryly noted with his mouth half-full.
"He'll survive," Nikolai said,his eyes shifting to meet mine. The sharp, ruthless edge in his gaze vanished instantly, replaced by that quiet, fierce warmth. "Are we going down to the lower offices today, love?"

"The London legal team has a brief sync at two," I said, leaning closer so my shoulder brushed his velvet-jacketed arm. "After that, the afternoon is ours."
"Good," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "Then at three, I'm taking you out on the water." The afternoon sun was high and bright, painting the ocean in brilliant sheets of crushed silver as our private fifty-foot dark-hulled yacht cut cleanly through the Atlantic swells.

Riverside looked magnificent from the water, the heavy stone walls of the Ferro estate sitting atop the dark granite cliffs like an ancient castle guarding the coastline. The tall iron gates, the manicured gardens, and the winding access roads were all visible, surrounded by dense pine forests that stretched for miles in every direction. I stood at the stern of the boat, wearing a dark navy wrap dress that fluttered softly in the crisp sea wind. My dark hair was pulled back into a sleek tail, leaving my neck bare to the cool breeze.

Nikolai was behind the wheel in the open-air cockpit, looking powerful and broad against the blue horizon. He wore a dark blue fitted linen shirt with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, his thick forearms handling the heavy wheel with effortless precision. Ares sat near the padded bench behind us, his massive head resting on his paws, his dark eyes watching the spray of the water with deep, calm interest.

Nikolai locked the auto-helm, stepping away from the controls and walking over to where I stood near the rail. He didn't say a word. He simply stepped behind me, wrapping his massive arms around my waist and pulling me back into his chest, sheltering me completely from the biting wind.
"Look at it, Isla," he said, nodding toward the towering cliffs of our estate. I rested my hands over his forearms, looking out at the fortress we had fought so hard to defend.