Valerio wasn't one to get embarrassed easily—not when he'd been through years of mafia negotiations, ambushes, and cold-blooded interrogations. But walking into the family's breakfast courtyard shirtless, with hickeys darkening every inch of his neck and lipstick stains boldly painted across his chest, was not how he expected his morning to go.
His head pounded from last night's wine. The strong espresso he cradled in one hand was meant to save him. It didn't. Because the moment he crossed into the courtyard, every conversation paused.
He froze.
Dante was the first to whistle low under his breath, lips twitching. "Someone had a good night," he muttered just loud enough for Mason to catch it.
Mason, already sipping from his own coffee, gave Valerio a look over the rim of his cup—half impressed, half unreadable. Chiara, seated too close to her brother, stiffened as her eyes landed on the visible nail marks down Valerio's side. Her spoon dropped into her cup with a loud clang.
Mr. Russo and Mr. Moretti didn't even try to hide their amused smirks. In fact, they exchanged a knowing look, the kind only long-time friends with shared scandalous histories could manage. Mr. Russo chuckled, raising his cup toward Moretti like a toast.
Their wives? More composed. But still. Mrs. Russo pressed her lips together to stop her smile, while Sofia Moretti—Valerio's mother—raised one perfectly trimmed brow and nudged her husband under the table.
Elena, the youngest of the family, just blinked wide-eyed at Valerio and then giggled into her orange juice. "Looks like someone got attacked by a vampire," she whispered to one of her brothers beside her.
And Nonna? Nonna didn't even flinch. She poured herself some tea, took a dainty sip, and calmly asked, "So, when should I start planning the engagement dinner?"
Valerio choked. Actually choked on his espresso.
"Nonna—"
"What? You clearly love the girl. Unless this is some casual fling, in which case I'll be very disappointed." She placed her cup down with authority.
Leona chose that exact moment to walk in.
She'd showered. Wore a soft wrap dress in ivory with her hair loosely pinned, a few strands framing her flushed cheeks. She looked like she hadn't been the dominating one all night long. She looked like she had done the dominating.
Valerio's ears turned the same deep red as his cheeks.
Leona's gaze met his. And then flicked casually to the rest of the family.
She smiled. Sweet, polite, effortless.
"Morning," she said softly. "Did I miss something?"
Dante nearly choked on his croissant. Mason muttered something like "Good God," under his breath. Chiara sat frozen, murder brewing in her stare.
"No, no, dear," Nonna said brightly. "We were just discussing how radiant you look this morning."
Leona turned to Valerio, eyes glinting. "You okay?" she asked, feigning innocence.
He cleared his throat, muttering something unintelligible and finally dropped into the seat beside Dante.
The silence didn't last long. Sofia leaned forward, all business. "So. Are we talking about this openly now? Because I think it's safe to say—"
"—That your son is marked territory," Mrs. Russo added with a smirk.
Leona lifted her coffee cup and took a calm sip, unbothered. "He didn't seem to mind."
Valerio groaned.
Dante lost it, laughing into his hands.
But it wasn't just about teasing anymore. There was a shift. The Moretti family had seen something in Leona now—a fierceness, a claim, a confidence that stood against mafia bloodlines and old Italian customs. And they were… okay with it. In fact, they looked almost relieved. Maybe even proud.
Except for Chiara. Her fork scraped against her plate, loud and jarring.
Valerio finally lifted his eyes to meet Leona's. Something deep and unspoken passed between them. Gratitude. Devotion. A bit of wonder.
She winked at him.
He flushed again.
The midday sun cast warm light across the veranda, where Mason stood leaning against the stone railing, nursing a second glass of something far stronger than his usual midday drink. The house buzzed behind him—laughter, clinking plates, footsteps. He wasn't part of it right now. He didn't want to be.
His eyes flicked across the lawn to the distant figure of Leona, barefoot in the grass, crouched beside Elena, helping her braid wildflowers into a crown for little Adriana. She was smiling, completely unaware of the impact she left behind in every room she left.
Mason exhaled, jaw tightening slightly.
It was ridiculous, really. He was older. Wiser, supposedly. More composed. But ever since last night, something about her had lodged in his thoughts. Not just the fact that she looked stunning. No, it was the way she carried herself—like fire and velvet, like someone who knew exactly who she was and refused to shrink for anyone.
He'd seen her eyes last night. The possessiveness. The control.
She hadn't just marked Valerio.
She claimed him.
And Valerio… he'd looked like he'd drown in her if she let him. It wasn't weakness—it was surrender.
Mason swallowed. That… feeling. That pull. He hadn't known he could want something like that—to be wanted like that. Completely. Fiercely. Not for his family name. Not for politeness. But for him.
"Watching her too long might give you ideas," Dante's voice came from behind, calm but teasing.
Mason didn't even flinch. "Too late."
Dante stepped beside him, sipping his beer. "You know she's all in for Valerio, right?"
"I know." Mason's voice didn't waver.
There was a beat of silence.
"She's one hell of a woman," Dante said eventually, gaze also drifting to the yard.
"She is." Mason didn't look away. "And he better never give her a reason to look at anyone else."
Dante glanced sideways, reading between the lines. "Would you, if she did?"
Mason didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Valerio had barely made it halfway through his espresso when slender fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Room. Now," Leona muttered under her breath, not angry—just… determined.
He blinked, glanced around, but didn't question it. He let her pull him along the corridor, past curious glances and knowing smirks. The moment the bedroom door shut behind them, Leona didn't pounce, didn't tease. Instead, she walked straight to the dresser, picked up a small white box, and turned to face him.
A first aid kit.
Valerio raised a brow. "You planning on stabbing me this time?"
Leona shot him a look. "Sit."
He obeyed, letting her guide him onto the edge of the bed. She crouched in front of him, his legs spread slightly, and opened the box. The silence hung heavy for a moment.
"You're not even wearing a shirt," she mumbled, her voice quieter now. "God, Valerio…"
Her fingertips brushed his chest, and he flinched—just a little. The scratches down his back and shoulder were angry and red, a few even broken skin. Purple bruises dotted his neck from the hickeys, and the lipstick stains on his skin hadn't even completely faded.
Leona bit her lip, squeezing ointment onto her fingers. "Didn't realise I went that rough."
He tilted his head, smirking, even as he winced when she dabbed the balm. "You sure? Felt like you knew exactly what you were doing."
Her hand paused over his chest.
"I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes.
Valerio's smirk softened. "You didn't."
She ignored that. Gently, she pressed a cool bandage over one particularly raw scratch on his collarbone. Her movements were delicate, careful—as if she were trying to undo what her passion had marked.
"I got carried away," she murmured, voice barely audible.
He chuckled, low and husky. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… I liked seeing that side of you."
Her eyes flicked up. "Even the part that left claw marks?"
"Especially that part."
She sighed, shaking her head as she smoothed the edges of the last bandage. "Still. You didn't deserve pain."
Valerio leaned forward, cupping her face. "Yours is the only pain I'd ever welcome, dolcezza."
Leona's expression faltered at that—eyes glistening with something softer, more vulnerable.
She leaned into his palm, then leaned up to press a featherlight kiss to his jaw, just above the thickest bruise. "Well, next time… I'll leave less blood and more breathlessness."
Valerio groaned. "That sounds like a promise I'm going to hold you to."
Leona's fingers lingered on the bandage for a moment longer, her gaze softening as she looked at him. She was careful, meticulous, but there was something in the air that felt different now—something tender.
With a sigh, she placed the kit aside and leaned in closer to Valerio, her breath brushing against his skin. Her lips, soft and warm, pressed against his forehead in an affectionate peck. The gesture was simple, but it carried weight—a message he wasn't used to from her, something beyond the fire and intensity of their more reckless moments.
"Better?" she asked quietly, her voice filled with a softness that seemed to undo all the fiery tension from earlier.
Valerio, who had been quiet for a moment, slowly let his gaze fall to hers. His expression had softened, and there was something unspoken between them—a new layer to their connection, something he couldn't place but didn't want to overthink.
"Yeah, I'm good," he murmured, his fingers curling slightly on the bed as he watched her. His chest still ached, but it was nothing compared to the warmth flooding his veins from her gentle touch. "You're full of surprises, Leona."
She chuckled softly, settling beside him on the bed. "I'm a lot more than you think," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.
And for the first time, Valerio felt as if he had glimpsed a part of her that wasn't just Vesper or the fierce, independent woman he often found himself at odds with. This side of Leona… it was real, unguarded. And it made him want to know more, even if the depth of it still scared him.
As she leaned against him, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. The action was quiet, almost instinctive.
"Don't go breaking my heart, Leona," he muttered with a half-smile, his voice still rough from the night before.
She gave him a sidelong glance, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Who said anything about breaking hearts?"
She leaned back into his embrace, her head resting on his shoulder. And as the quiet filled the room, it was the first time all day that they both felt at ease.