Nonna's voice rang through the villa's open courtyard, full of joy and festivity. "We must celebrate! After all, it's been too long since the family's been together like this. And with Alessia carrying our future in her belly, there's no better reason!"
Everyone agreed instantly, warmth spreading through the air like spring sunlight. The staff bustled in preparation, and laughter floated in every corner of the ancestral home. But amid all the cheer, Leona couldn't ignore the weight in her chest—the one that had settled there the moment she laid eyes on her.
The woman—Chiara, as she'd heard someone call her—stood across the room, smiling with polite detachment, yet her eyes were locked onto Valerio like a magnet refusing to let go. Leona's fingers curled unconsciously. She had seen the way Valerio tensed at Chiara's presence, how his voice dropped half a tone when replying to her, stiff and deliberate. It wasn't casual discomfort. It was history. Unspoken and unfinished.
Leona's blood simmered.
She kept her eyes from narrowing too obviously, though her brain ran in overdrive. Of course, someone like him would have history, especially with someone like Chiara. The woman was stunning in a quiet, elegant way. And she knew how to take space—just the way she leaned while talking to someone screamed confidence and familiarity with this place. Leona suddenly felt like the outsider again, like the girl who'd walked into a ballroom barefoot.
It didn't help that Chiara's entire family had been invited to Nonna's party. Her parents greeted Valerio like he was one of their own, her older brother even ruffling Dante's hair with familiarity. It was a world that knew each other, and Leona… didn't fit in.
She turned sharply. "I'll go freshen up," she said to no one in particular, heading toward the staircase with her chin high.
Inside her room, she paced for a moment before stopping in front of the mirror. Her dress was nice—simple, pastel—but tonight, nice wasn't enough. Not when that woman looked like she belonged here. Not when Leona needed to remind herself and Valerio that she wasn't going anywhere.
With firm hands, she rifled through her bag, pulling out a deep burgundy gown she had packed last minute, not really expecting to wear. It hugged her curves with confidence and shimmered subtly under light. She applied soft makeup—nothing dramatic, just enough to catch attention. She slipped on small hoops and tied her hair back in a loose twist. When she looked at herself again, she no longer saw the quiet girl who'd arrived here overwhelmed—she saw Vesper's shadow, calm and deliberate.
When Leona returned to the garden-turned-party-space, conversation dimmed for a heartbeat before resuming. Chiara noticed her first. The subtle tightening of her lips was almost satisfying.
Leona's eyes flicked toward Valerio. He was talking to Carlo, but his eyes caught hers mid-sentence—and stopped. Just for a moment. That second was enough. Leona walked past Chiara, her stride calm but poised. She reached Valerio and tilted her head, pretending not to notice the way his gaze followed the curve of her neck.
"You look… different," Valerio said.
"Good different?" she teased, brushing invisible dust from his shirt.
"Very." His tone dropped a note lower, husky enough that Carlo smirked and walked off, clearly giving them space.
Before Leona could press more, her eyes flicked toward Chiara again. She was watching them, tight smile and all.
"Chiara seems… close," she said lightly.
Valerio's jaw tensed. "She was the neighbor. Her brother, Mason, and I played football with Dante every weekend growing up. Her parents and mine… had dreams."
"Dreams?" Leona raised a brow.
He sighed. "They thought Chiara and I might… one day." He didn't finish.
Leona nodded, her gaze turning cold. "And did you?"
"We were kids," he replied quickly. "It was… nothing serious."
But the way he said it wasn't convincing enough. Not to Leona. She didn't push further, though. Not now.
Instead, she turned her head and caught sight of Chiara's brother. Mason was tall, olive-skinned, and undeniably handsome, standing beside Dante now and laughing at something. He had a presence like Valerio's—collected, thoughtful, a bit too aware of his surroundings.
When Mason turned and caught her looking, he smiled warmly and raised his glass in greeting.
Leona smiled back, sweet and slow. If Chiara could haunt Valerio's past, Leona could tease his present.
Mason D'Amico stood by the wine table, dressed in a crisp navy button-down, sleeves casually rolled up. The fine lines near his eyes hinted at maturity, but his gaze held a boyish curiosity—especially when it landed on Leona.
He didn't hide it either.
As Leona passed, gracefully owning the evening in that burgundy gown, Mason's eyes followed with a flicker of surprise and admiration. He muttered something under his breath that made Dante chuckle beside him. "She's got a presence," Mason admitted, not even trying to be subtle.
Dante smirked, sipping his drink. "You've no idea."
Leona felt the heat of a gaze trailing her, and when she turned slightly, she found Mason already looking away—barely. His attempt to be discreet failed when their eyes met. He didn't flinch or look embarrassed. Instead, he smiled, slow and easy.
But her attention shifted instantly when she saw Chiara standing closer to Valerio now, her voice low, her hand briefly brushing his arm as they talked. Leona's smile dropped.
She'd promised herself not to care. Yet something territorial bubbled in her chest. This wasn't insecurity. It was instinct.
She turned on her heel, her expression composed. If Chiara thought she had a claim over Valerio, Leona would make sure to erase that thought—gently or not. And if Mason was looking her way again?
Good.
She might just use that to her advantage.
The music had shifted to something softer now, something that made conversations flow a little easier. Leona moved through the small crowd, her movements graceful yet deliberate. She felt Mason's eyes on her again before she even turned.
He was standing by the open patio doors now, a glass of red in his hand, that same easy expression on his face. Confident, but not arrogant. A rare balance.
"You planning to keep staring or offer me a drink?" she asked, her voice light, teasing, yet guarded.
Mason chuckled, lifting the glass. "That obvious, huh?"
Leona raised a brow. "You weren't exactly subtle."
He stepped forward, not too close, just enough for the conversation to feel more personal. "Name's Mason. I figured you already knew that, though. You've been giving Chiara the death stare for the last ten minutes."
Leona didn't deny it. "She started it."
That made Mason laugh, full-bodied and real. "Fair enough. But you don't look like the jealous type."
"I'm not." She took the glass he offered this time, fingers brushing his. "I just don't like it when people get too comfortable with what's not theirs."
Mason tilted his head, intrigued. "So he's yours?"
Her lips curled into a slight smirk. "You ask a lot of questions for someone who was gawking like a teenage boy two minutes ago."
"I just appreciate beautiful things," he said smoothly, then looked at her without blinking. "But I respect what's off-limits."
Leona met his gaze, calm and unreadable. "Good. Just don't mistake me for something fragile."
"I wouldn't dare."
For a second, she saw something in his eyes. Not flirtation. Respect. A hint of understanding, maybe. Or maybe it was all in her head. But either way, it felt… refreshing. Like someone who wasn't trying to control her, decode her, or fix her.
Just… see her.
Before she could say more, Valerio's voice called from the other side of the room—firm and close.
"Leona."
Her eyes didn't shift immediately. She took one final sip from the wine, then turned toward the voice.
"Excuse me," she said to Mason, soft but cool.
"I'll be around," Mason replied, casually leaning back against the doorframe.
She didn't doubt that.
And part of her didn't mind at all.
The music slowed to a stop. Conversations lulled as people began to shift around the villa's wide hall. Soft laughter floated in from the patio, but inside, it was quieter—too quiet.
Leona spotted them near the staircase. Chiara's hand was on Valerio's arm, her laugh high and calculated. It was the way her fingers lingered, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve, the way she tilted her head like they were back in some old romantic memory that grated on Leona's nerves.
She walked over, calm, poised.
Valerio noticed her first, his jaw tightening slightly. Chiara, however, kept her hand exactly where it was, her gaze flicking to Leona with a smug, territorial smile.
Leona didn't give her the satisfaction of reacting.
Instead, she stood beside Valerio, eyes on him—only him.
"I don't usually like things," Leona said, voice clear, smooth like silk but with a sharpness underneath. "Or people."
Valerio blinked, as did Chiara.
"When I do," Leona continued, still not looking at Chiara, "I don't walk away. Not even if it's difficult. Not even if someone else thinks they have some sort of history."
Chiara's hand slipped away.
Valerio stared at her, as if trying to read her mind, but there was something in his expression—something raw and unguarded.
"Leona—" he started, but she raised a hand, gentle but firm.
"I don't fight for things, Valerio," she said, eyes boring into his. "But I won't let anyone think they can just reach out and take what's mine."
She didn't say his name again. She didn't need to.
Chiara huffed, the kind of sound pretty girls make when they don't get their way. "I didn't realize this was a competition," she muttered.
Leona's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It's not. You already lost."
Then she turned to leave—but not before slipping her hand into Valerio's, pulling him with her like it was the most natural thing in the world. And this time, he didn't resist.