Page 108 of Promised to the Don of Naples

---

I went still.

Not from shock—I'd known, since the night of the first time in his room, maybe before.

But it was the first time he said it. In Italian. Ti amo. With no asking, not in answer to mine.

I swallowed hard. I felt a stubborn tear want to slide down, but it didn't.

I didn't answer right away.

I kept moving and leaned forward. I rested my forehead against his, kissed his mouth lightly.

"Lo so," I whispered against his mouth.

I know.

What he always said to me.

He laughed inside the kiss. It was a laugh half caught in his throat, half surrendered.

"Brava."

And then he turned us again, him on top, his hands gripping mine above my head, and he went harder, in a hurry for the first time.

I came first—the breath went out of me, I closed my eyes, felt my whole body lock once before letting go. He came after, his forehead buried in the curve of my neck, without a sound, the way he did.

I stayed on top of him afterward.

My hair still half wet, mixed now with sweat, spread across his chest. His hand moving up and down at the base of my back, slowly. His heart coming down again, from a high beat to its normal rhythm, under my ear.

"Two and a half weeks," I murmured.

"Two and a half weeks."

"And then we go back."

"Sì."

He kissed the top of my head.

There was a soft knock at the door. Three slow knocks—Donna Lucia's way.

"Padrone."

Luca shifted a little beneath me.

"Sì?"

"L'avvocato Acquaviva al telefono." Her voice was careful. "Sicilia."

His hand stopped at the base of my back for a fraction of a second. Then it went back to tracing.

"Va bene, Donna Lucia. Arrivo."

"Sì, padrone."

Her footsteps moved off down the hall.

I didn't move.

---