Chapter 32

Aurora

The sun reflects off the water like scattered diamonds as we approach the dock. The mega yacht gleams ahead of us, pure opulence floating on the sea. My heart beats faster, not just because it’s my birthday, but because this celebration marks the start of something new. A new version of me. A new chapter none of us are prepared for.

I’m dressed in a cropped petal top that hugs my body in hot pink silk, paired with a light pink satin skirt that flows with the breeze and reveals one leg with its elegant side cut. The flamingo bracelet on my wrist glimmers under the sun, a gift from Damiano I found quietly placed on my coffee table this morning. No note. Just the charm. I slipped it on immediately. It matches the chain I’ve worn since I turned eighteen, the one I still don’t know who gave me.

Damiano is already on the yacht, leaning casually against the deck rail with a cigar in one hand. He’s in a black oversized button-up and matching shorts, white shoes contrasting against the dark tones. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but I can feel them on me. His curls are slightly messier than usual, tousled by the sea breeze. The way he looks at me… It’s quiet, almost reverent. As if he’s trying to memorize this version of me.

Lorenzo, my twin, greets me with a tight hug. He’s glowing in a white shirt and matching shorts. I hand him the watch I picked out myself, sleek, classic, exactly his style. He grins and hands me a wrapped box in return. I don’t even open it yet. We’re both caught in the moment.

Then comes Sofia and Giovanni. My best friend looks stunning but stunned when I wrap my arm around Lorenzo’s and say, “Sofia, meet my twin brother.” Her eyes widen, and her hands tremble a little as Lorenzo gives her a charming hug. I raise my brows, teasing, “You think my brother’s attractive, don’t you?”

She blushes so hard I nearly burst out laughing.

Ricco arrives next, always calm and composed, dressed sharp and clean. He gives me a soft hug, barely brushing against me, and hands me a small black gift bag. I lean in and whisper, “Thank you, Ricco,” and he nods once like it means everything.

I glance across the deck and see Damiano still standing there, cigar now smoldering between his fingers. His head tilts slightly. His stare is unwavering. He’s not smiling. He’s just… admiring. Quietly. Deeply. Like he always does.

Lorenzo walks over to us all and announces with a grin, “This beauty’s got 12 rooms, two suites, five bars, two swimming pools, and a dining table so long it could host a royal feast. Three decks to get drunk on. And guess what? We’ll be at sea for two full days. No work. Just pure fun.”

I smile, but my heart lingers elsewhere—for a pair of dark eyes behind sunglasses and a flamingo bracelet that hasn’t left my wrist since morning.

We’re all gathered on the lower deck now, the golden sun sinking gently behind the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sea. Music plays low from the yacht’s built-in speakers, something smooth and jazzy, and the air smells like salt, citrus, and just a hint of cigar smoke.

Lorenzo’s cousins, Hazel, Veronica, and Xander, have joined the circle, lounging casually on the plush white seats. There’s laughter everywhere, voices overlapping, bottles clinking. It feels young, it feels alive.

Lorenzo shifts next to Damiano on the opposite side, both of them sharing a cigarette like old friends. I watch closely, maybe too closely as Damiano passes him the lighter, and Lorenzo chuckles at something Damiano says. My chest feels lighter. Something between them… it’s different now. The tension, the distrust, it’s faded. My brother is laughing with the man I once loved, maybe still love, and it brings a strange sense of calm over me.

Damiano looks at me then, removing his sunglasses for a moment. His eyes lock with mine, questioning silently: You okay?I shake my head with a small smile, nothing’s wrong.He nods once and slides the sunglasses back over his eyes. Like a quiet reassurance, like we still speak a language only we understand.

Sofia hands me a cold beer, the bottle sweating against my palm. I bring it to my lips and take a long sip. It’s refreshing, exactly what I needed. I thank her with a playful bump of my shoulder, and she grins, still throwing shy glances toward Lorenzo.

Then, as if by instinct, I feel a gentle pressure on my waist. A hand. Damiano’s hand. Just a brush of fingers as he walks past me, casual, calculated—not letting anyone notice. The heat from that touch stays longer than it should. My body stiffens for a heartbeat, but I don't turn around. I just close my eyes and take another sip of beer, pretending it didn’t make my heart skip.

But it did.

The rich, smoky scent of barbecue starts wafting through the air, wrapping itself around us like a warm invitation. My stomach growls before I even realize how hungry I am. Someone down by the grill probably Ricco, is flipping skewers, and I can hear the sizzling sound, the occasional crackle of meat over flame. The vibe is golden, easy, almost perfect.

Damiano is moving around, slow and relaxed, wearing that black oversized shirt that makes his tattoos pop even more in the fading light. His curls are a little messier now, probably from the breeze or the heat. I watch him casually plop down next to his brothers, Lorenzo, Giovanni, and Xander. They laugh over something I can’t hear, maybe teasing each other or plotting which drink to try next. He belongs there—among them—but part of me selfishly wishes he’d come sit beside me.

That’s when Ricco approaches. He’s always so precise, so calm, like he’s carrying secrets he’ll never speak aloud.

“Need anything?” he asks, his tone as smooth as ever.

I shake my head softly, “No, thank you.”

He narrows his eyes just slightly, reading me like he always does. “Everything okay, boss?”

I smile, a little surprised by his concern. Before I can answer, he leans in a bit and whispers something dry, clever, and completely unexpected. It catches me off guard and I burst out laughing, one of those honest, unfiltered laughs that bubbles up without warning.

And just as I’m catching my breath, I feel it.

Damiano’s stare.

From the corner of my eye, I spot him, his head turned just slightly, his jaw tight, lips pressed together. His sunglasses are off again, and his eyes are burning holes into the scene, into me and Ricco. Not just watching. Studying. There's a storm behind those eyes, and it isn't subtle. He’s trying to play it cool with his friends, but I can see it, the tension in his hand, the slow drag of the cigar now clenched between his fingers.

He’s jealous.

And I can’t lie to myself, part of me likes it.