Chapter 35 35

Chapter 35 35
Aurora 
The morning on the yacht feels like something out of a dream, sunlight dancing over calm waves, the soft hum of the sea against the hull, and a gentle breeze that still carries traces of last night’s magic.
Damiano sits in the distance, legs stretched out, a cigarette balanced between his fingers and a coffee cup in his other hand. His gaze flicks toward me now and then, and every time it does, it lingers. There’s something in his silence that feels content, maybe even a little smug. I don’t mind.
Lorenzo stands by the edge of the deck, sipping fresh orange juice, the light catching in his hair. I follow his line of sight, straight to Sofia, who’s lounging beside me on one of the cushioned sunbeds, sunglasses perched in her hair. She’s watching him in that way that isn’t obvious, but isn’t exactly subtle either. Their eyes meet, and I swear something passes between them—silent, sure, like they’re speaking their own private language.
I nudge her with my elbow. “So…” I smirk. “How was your night?”
She plays it cool, shrugging. “Pretty good.”
I tilt my head, eyes narrowing playfully. “I heard you’ve been sharing a room with my brother.”
Sofia blushes immediately, the pink blooming across her cheeks. “We did. But—it’s not what you think.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Mmmhmm. Go on.”
She groans softly. “Okay, so… yesterday I was getting ready to change into my bikini, right? I went into what I thought was my room, took off my clothes, put the bikini on, and was just adjusting the top when someone walked in.”
My eyes widen. “Oh no.”
“Yeah. I thought it was you,” she says, laughing now. “But then I heard his voice and completely freaked out. I was just standing there in this tiny bikini, looking like an idiot.”
“And?”
“And Lorenzo—” she sighs, a little dreamy, a little embarrassed. “He didn’t make it weird. He, didn’t joke. He just helped me tying my tops’ lace.”
I blink, then smile, heart warming. “He’s a good man.”
“He really is,” she says softly, and something in her voice makes me glance back at her.
There’s more to this. Maybe not now, not yet, but I see the way she looks at him, like she’s discovering something unexpected and rare.
“Okay, good,” I say, beaming. “But if he breaks your heart, I’ll kill him.”
Sofia snorts. “Noted.”
We sit in silence for a moment, just soaking in the golden quiet. The world feels far away. The war, the blood, the betrayals. They don’t belong here.
For now, it’s just this.
Peace. Laughter. And the faint possibility of love in places neither of us expected.

The day drifts by in slow, golden hours, laughter, music, and the scent of sea breeze clinging to our skin like a memory we never want to lose.
But it doesn’t last.
As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges, my phone buzzes. Again, Ricco. This time, the tone in his voice is ice.
“Boss, we need to cut the trip short.”
I stiffen immediately. “What happened?”
“Intercepted a comm. Rizzoto’s men are planning something. Details are foggy, but it’s close. He’s not just watching, he’s moving. Could be tonight. Could be tomorrow. I don’t like it.”
The air shifts. The magic dissolves. “We’re heading back.”
Within an hour, the laughter is replaced by the hum of engines and quiet footsteps on the deck as we dock in the private marina. The moment we step off the yacht, Lorenzo’s jaw is tight, eyes scanning every shadow. Sofia stays close to my side, her fingers curled around her phone like it’s a weapon. She doesn’t say much, but her silence is loud.
Lorenzo drives us through the darkening streets. He drops us at one of our apartment—one I rarely been to, tucked into the edge of the city, neutral ground. Safe. For now.
He doesn't leave until he checks every floor, every blind spot.
“You’ll be safe here,” he tells me, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
Ricco’s already inside, barking quiet orders to two new guards I’ve never seen before—trained, silent, loyal. He catches my eye and gives a subtle nod. “We’ll lock it down.”
Sofia sinks into the couch the moment we’re inside, rubbing her temples. “It feels different now,” she says softly. “Like something’s coming.”
I don’t answer. I know she’s right.
As I walk to the window, I see Damiano on the sidewalk below. He’s pacing next to his car, talking on the phone, probably to one of his men. He hasn’t come up yet, and when I finally open the window and call his name, he looks up.
His eyes are storm-dark.
“I have to go,” he says. “Rizzoto’s making his move, and if I don’t meet him head-on, he’ll think we’re hiding.”
“You’ll be careful?” I ask, voice tighter than I’d like.
He comes closer, reaches up, fingers brushing mine over the balcony rail. “Always. But this? This is the part where I remind him who I am.”
A beat passes. The weight of everything unspoken lingers between us.
“Come back to me,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches. “I always do, Birdie.”
Then he disappears into the night, leaving only the ghost of his cologne and the heat of his touch behind.
And just like that, the war begins again.