Semua Bab The Don is Mine: Bab 31 - Bab 40

LUCAShe asked where we were going.I didn’t answer right away.Just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the rhythm of my thoughts against the leather.The city faded behind us like a bad memory.I took the long road — the one that curved through hills and silence, past the kind of trees that didn’t care who you were or what you’d done. Holly didn’t ask where we were going. She just watched the world blur past her window, arms folded, jaw set, like she was bracing for something.She always looked like that when she didn’t know what came next.I didn’t blame her.Neither of us did.The restaurant sat on the edge of nowhere. A converted farmhouse turned fine dining, tucked between vineyards and fog. I’d acquired it last month — part of a territorial deal with a family that wanted out. I hadn’t stepped foot inside until now. It wasn’t the kind of place I brought people. It wasn’t the kind of place I went.But tonight, I wanted quiet.I wanted her.Finally, I said, “I w

LUCAI’d never been the impulsive type.Calculated. Cold. Controlled.That was me.Until her.We were still breathless from the garden.Her back against the tree. My hands on her hips. Her laugh in my mouth.And then I said it.“Let’s get married.”She blinked.“What?”I repeated it.“Let’s get married. Now.”She stared at me like I’d lost my mind.Maybe I had.But I’d never felt more certain.I pulled out my phone.Made the call.The priest who’d just married Dante was still at the venue — probably sipping champagne and wondering if he’d ever officiate a wedding with fewer threats and more roses.I told him to come back.He didn’t argue.No one argued with me.We found a private room off the main hall.Velvet chairs. Candles still flickering from the earlier ceremony. A piano in the corner that hadn’t been played in years.It was perfect.Dante and his bride came in first.Still in their wedding clothes.He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.“You’re serious?” he asked.I nodd

LUCAThe drive to the estate was quiet.Holly sat beside me, sunglasses on, hair pulled back, her hand resting lightly on my thigh. We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. The silence between us had shifted — no longer heavy, no longer guarded. Just full. Like the air before a summer storm.My estate, Tenuta delle Ombre — The Estate of Shadows, was tucked into the hills of Umbria, where the land rolled like silk and the sky stretched wide and blue. It wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled upon. You had to know it was there. You had to be invited.And I hadn’t invited anyone.The gates opened slowly, iron and stone, flanked by cypress trees that had stood longer than I’d been alive. The driveway curved through olive groves and lavender fields, the scent thick and sweet in the heat. Holly rolled down her window and breathed it in.“This is yours?” she asked.I nodded.She looked out at the land, the house, the quiet.“It’s beautiful.”The villa itself was old — 18th century, restored w

LUCAThe sun was sinking low, painting the hills in gold and fire. The olive groves stretched out in neat rows, their silver-green leaves shimmering in the evening light. The air smelled of earth and fruit, of something older than memory.Holly walked beside me, her hand brushing mine, her dress catching the breeze. She looked around like she was trying to memorize every detail — the way the branches bent, the way the shadows stretched, the way the land seemed endless.“This place feels alive,” she said softly.“It is,” I replied. “It’s been here longer than me. Longer than Giovanni. Longer than the family.”We followed the path between the trees, the stones crunching beneath our feet. I hadn’t walked here in years. Not since I was a boy.“My mother used to bring me here,” I said. “She’d pick olives with the workers, even though she didn’t have to. She said it kept her grounded.”Holly smiled. “She sounds like someone who knew how to live.”“She did,” I said. “She’d tell me stories wh

LUCAThe night was endless.The monitors hummed their steady rhythm, the machines breathed for her, and Holly lay still, her hand limp in mine. I whispered her name over and over, hoping it would reach her wherever she was.But she didn’t wake.By dawn, my chest felt hollow, my throat raw. I turned to Santino, who had been checking her vitals every hour, his face calm, his voice steady.“Why hasn’t she woken up?” I demanded.“She’s healing,” he said softly. “Her body needs time.”“It’s been too long,” I snapped. “She should be awake by now.”Santino placed a hand on my shoulder. “Luca, she’s alive. That’s what matters. Don’t lose yourself in the waiting.”But I was already losing myself.Because I’d lived this before.My mother.Her accident.The phone call that shattered me.I was seventeen, away at boarding school. She’d insisted I go, said it would make me strong, said it would keep me safe. I hated it. I hated the distance, the cold walls, the way the days blurred without her laug