Chapter 7 - The Fortress of the Heart
Claire stared at him, her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"Forgiveness isn't easy, Nico," she murmured, looking down at his hand resting gently against her hip. "You broke me two years ago. I spent nights crying on a cold floor, wondering what I did wrong, wondering why I wasn't enough for you to trust me."
"I know," Nico whispered, his voice laced with real, agonizing pain. "It was the biggest mistake of my life. I thought keeping you in the dark was protecting you, but all I did was rob us of two years with our son."
He reached up with his other hand, cupping her cheek softly, his thumb tracing the smooth line of her jawline.
"I can't undo the past, Claire," Nico said, his eyes filled with an unshakeable, fierce devotion. "But I swear to you on my life, on my soul, on our son's head... I will never send you away again. I will build a fortress around you and Milo. No mafia business, no rival families, no lies. Just us."
Claire looked up into his dark eyes, searching for any trace of the cold don who had ordered her to vanish two years ago.
She found none.
All that remained was the man she had fallen in love with four years ago in a small coffee shop in Brooklyn—a man who carried the weight of a violent world on his shoulders, but who looked at her as if she were his only salvation.
"You're a terrifying man, Nico Falcone," Claire whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
"Only to my enemies, sweet girl," Nico promised softly, leaning down until his forehead rested gently against hers. "Never to you."
He didn't force a kiss. He stood there, holding her close, letting her feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest, giving her the power to decide their future.
Claire reached up, her fingers sliding into his soft dark hair, and pulled him down into a deep, passionate, long-overdue kiss.
Nico let out a low growl of pure relief, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, lifting her slightly off her feet as he pulled her body flush against his. The taste of her—sweet, warm, like vanilla and espresso—flooded his senses, erasing two years of dark, lonely exile.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, a bright, joyous laugh escaped Claire’s lips.
"If you're going to stay in our lives, Don Falcone," Claire warned playfully, wiping her lipstick from his mouth with her thumb, "you're going to have to learn how to bake croissants."
Nico smiled, a genuine, beautiful expression that lit up his sharp face. "I'm a fast learner, Mrs. Falcone."
May you like
"I didn't say yes to marrying you yet," she teased.
"You will," Nico promised with absolute confidence, kissing the tip of her nose. "I have a very persuasive lawyer."
