Page 88 of Twisted Vows

I nod, committing every word to memory.

“And one more thing.” Her hand brushes my arm. “You’ll hear stories in rooms like this. Laugh when the others laugh. Don’t flinch. Don’t judge. That’s how you survive.”

As if on cue, Clara drifts over, her wine-flushed cheeks glowing. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Did you hear about the tailor? The one who overcharged Russo’s cousin?” Her laugh is light and careless. “Quiet funeral. No questions asked.”

The women around us chuckle like she’s told a joke from a sitcom.

My stomach knots, but I keep my face still. Smile. Sip my drink.

Lucia catches my eye and gives the smallest nod of approval.

Beneath the rose-scented lotion and charm, these women are steel. They don’t need to carry weapons, and whether I wanted it or not, they’re training me.

Nonna Rosa rises, her cane tapping as if she has all the time in the world. She digs into her pocket and extracts a gold ring with a tiny ruby. “A real woman brings new light to her family.”

Before I have time to protest, she slides it onto my finger.

It’s warm and heavy. The Benedetti crest—a dagger and snake intertwined, carved in exquisite detail—stares back at me. My throat tightens. This isn’t just jewelry. It’s acceptance. Legacy.

All of a sudden, everyone’s murmuring.

Enzo freezes, locking his eyes on me. They’re filled with fire, pride, and love.

Nonna Rosa lifts her glass. “To Sophia Ricci, the new heart of this house.”

Applause ripples through the room. Eyes regard me, some warm, some calculating, some hostile. Izzy’s face pales. Gabi’s jaw twitches.

My heart pounds, but I don’t glance away. Don’t shrink.

As the party starts to disperse, I wander into the courtyard and study the silver glow spilling across the marble.

“Regretting it already?” Enzo’s arms wrap around me as he whispers in my ear. Hearing him before I see him brings me back to our first encounter. To the night I thought I would die on the highway. But exhilaration floods me instead of fear.

“I thought you’d still be playing politics.” I curl into him.

“I prefer watching you cause chaos in pink.”

“Chaos?” I pivot in his arms to face him.

“You walked into a den of wolves and left wearing the matriarch’s ring.” His gaze drops to my hand, and his thumb brushes over the ruby. “You’ve no idea what you just did.” He studies me, his eyes dark as dusk. “You didn’t need my permission to belong here.”

A knot inside me unravels at that. “Then why does it still feel like I do?”

“You don’t.” His words are quiet but absolute. His jaw softens, raw emotion flickering across his face.

My chest aches. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back.

He clasps my hand, slowly circling his thumb over my pulse. That gleam of desire returns to his eyes. We gravitate closer, his breath warm against my skin. Then a burst of laughter from inside shatters the moment.

He pulls back, clearing his throat. “Come on, wife. Before Nonna drags us into another speech.”

The ride home is quiet, comfortable, and weighted with all the things we’re both too afraid to say.

Back at the mini villa, sleep is a total no-show. I just lie here, my eyes glued to the ceiling, that ridiculous ruby throwing sparks across the room. His touch still buzzes along my skin, as if he’s right beside me.

Somewhere deep down, hope flickers. A dangerous, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be real.

Then my phone buzzes.