Marked in Flesh and Fire
We stayed there. Pressed together. Breathing hard.
I looked at her—sweaty, exhausted, stunning—
and I knew.
It was her.
Forever.
I’d known Hope long enough to be sure of two things:
When that fire lit up her eyes, nothing could stop her.
When she disappeared with Alessandro, you were better off not interrupting.
I was sitting not far from the entrance to the track, two coffees in hand, sunglasses on.
Matteo had joined me for a bit, then left to take a call—or to make himself scarce, who knows.
I waited.
With a smile already loaded.
And then… I saw them.
She got out of the car first—hair wrecked, feline walk, lips still swollen.
He followed right after—creased shirt, fly not entirely closed.
I didn’t need to ask a thing.
I lifted my coffee like a toast.
“You two won twice today, looks like.”
Hope arched a brow, mock-innocent.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well… the steam on the Dodge windows is pretty self-explanatory.”
Alessandro didn’t answer. He just sipped his coffee, composed as ever.
But that little smirk at the corner of his mouth—he only wore it for her.
“You’re detestable,” I added, smiling. “But I’m happy for you.”
Hope shot me a wink, then leaned an elbow on my shoulder, relaxed, almost weightless.
“You ever seen a woman die of love and come back through sex?”
“No. But apparently, I just witnessed a live resurrection.”
We burst out laughing—all three of us.
And for a moment…
Just a few minutes…
The world paused.
We were still laughing when we climbed the villa stairs.
Dust from the race on our clothes. The smell of gasoline in my hair.
And still, I’d never felt this—
the certainty of being exactly where I was supposed to be.
With them.
I kicked my boots across the living room, laughing when Alessandro rolled his eyes.
“I need a shower. Urgently.”
“Not something I’m against,” he muttered, catching me by the waist.
“I just want to wash, not get wrecked against the tiles again.”
He growled. I kissed his cheek and disappeared up the stairs.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Matteo.
“Join me in your office. Urgent. She’s back.”
My stomach clenched.
“She.”
Fuck.
I crossed the villa without a word and found Matteo in my office, phone in hand, face serious.
“Talk.”
“It’s really her, Alessandro. She’s back in Palermo. Our guys saw her near Teatro Massimo, but she vanished right after. Nothing since.”
I raked a hand through my hair.
“You think she knows about Hope?”
“I think she never stopped watching you. And now that she sees someone else took her place… she’ll want it back. Her way.”
My fists tightened.
“We don’t tell Hope yet. Not after everything she’s been through. Not until we’re sure. Not while she’s alone.”
“Fine. But someone else needs to be in the loop.”
I already knew who he meant.
“Lorenzo.”
Matteo nodded.
“She trusts him blindly. He needs to stay close to her. He’ll catch danger we might miss.”
I was coming out of the kitchen with a glass of white wine for Hope when Alessandro grabbed my shoulder.
“You got a minute?”
He didn’t wait for my answer.
We went down to the office together. Matteo was there waiting.
They told me everything.
Her.
The ghost fiancée. The obsessive lover. The threat.
I stayed silent. Then I nodded.
“Good. You’re right not to tell her yet. But if anything happens to her… I swear I’ll tear Palermo apart myself.”
Alessandro laid a hand on my shoulder. Grave. Sincere.
“She’s not in danger. Not while I’m here.”
I held his gaze.
“She’s not in danger. Because we’re here. All three of us.”
And right then I knew—
if that woman wanted war, she wouldn’t face a man.
She’d face a pack.
When I saw her coming down the stairs,
I almost died.
Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, her neck bare, cheekbones glowing fresh.
Light makeup that let her skin speak for itself.
And that body—
fucking hell.
Black skinny jeans, molded to perfection.
A black lace crop top stopping just under her breasts, revealing a strip of hot skin.
Black heeled boots.
Simple. Direct. Incandescent.
I froze at the bottom of the stairs.
She stopped halfway up, tilted her head, a wicked smile on her lips.
“You gonna stand there staring, or can we go eat?”
Lorenzo whistled behind me.
“Just saying—if you die right now, I’m burying you in that shirt.”
I glanced back at him. He wore jeans and a black tee. Matteo behind him in an open shirt and a beige bomber. Casual. Normal.
And me—for the first time in weeks—I had ditched the suit for raw denim and a white button-down.
“You wanted simple, Hope,” I said. “You got it.”
She hit the bottom step, brushed past me—but not without dragging her hand across my stomach.
Quick. Intentional.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
I needed this night.
To taste Palermo air outside villa walls.
To laugh. To eat. To stop taking everything so damn seriously.
And seeing the three of them like that—almost normal, almost relaxed—
was like drinking light.
We walked on foot to a small trattoria tucked in a cobbled alley.
Hanging lanterns, the smell of tomato, basil, red wine in the air.
We took a table on the terrace.
I sat between Alessandro and Lorenzo. Matteo across from me.
“Nothing fancy, guys,” I said. “A pizza, a bottle of wine, and that’s it.”
“We follow your lead, princess,” Lorenzo grinned.
“Always,” added Matteo.
And Alessandro? He didn’t say a word.
But his fingers brushed mine under the table.
Just enough to make me feel everything.