Farrell scanned the courtyard, marking the security measures while Nico poured them both drinks. Nico was no less careful with security for Angel and Stella than Farrell was for Jenna and Lily, and Farrell spotted five guards between the roof and the courtyard, plus two cameras mounted on the trees that surrounded the patio.

It wasn’t quite the contingent Farrell had surrounding the houses in Tuscany and London, but he had no doubt it was the tip of the iceberg. If he knew Nico as well as he thought he did — and by now, Farrell was pretty sure he did — the visible security measures were only a hint at what he couldn’t see.

They’d all agreed on certain measures — safe rooms, alternate passports, money stored offshore in the event of a roundup by law enforcement — but Farrell was sure he wasn’t the only one who considered those measures a starting point.

“Salut,” Nico said, handing him a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.

Farrell nodded and touched his glass to Nico’s.

Nico’s eyes traveled the trees, his gaze wandering to the roof. “What do you see?”

Farrell chuckled. It was a game they’d played before.

“Two guards here in the courtyard,” he said. “Obviously. Plus two guards on the roof and cameras there,” he nodded at one tree, then another, “and there.”

Nico nodded. “Is that all?”

Farrell sighed. “There’s a guard behind the pool house.”

Nico shook his head. “How do you know?”

“Shadow when he hits the corner on his rounds,” Farrell said.

Nico shook his head and took a drink. “Why did you hold out on me about him the first time?”

Farrell shrugged. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Nico grinned. “Kindly bastard.” He gestured to two chairs near the pool. “Let’s sit.”

The courtyard was an oasis in the center of Rome, the pool as blue as the Mediterranean, a fountain trickling quietly at one end of the outdoor room. Farrell caught the scent of orange blossoms on the breeze and let his gaze travel over the citrus and fig trees planted around the patio.

The property wasn’t as spacious as the hills in Tuscany, but it was as secluded as one could hope to be in Rome, and Farrell took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, trying to let go of his earlier worry.

“How are the prospects for Boston coming?” Nico asked.

“I have a couple,” Farrell said. He’d been doing research on possible candidates to run the territory for the past two months.

Nico kept his eyes on some point across the pool. “Just a couple?”

Farrell took a drink. “You know how it is — a lot of drunks and bullies up there since Angel stepped out.”

Nico nodded, his eyes darkening. Before he was killed, Angel’s father had run a property development corporation out of Boston as a shelter for his Syndicate territory. Angel had taken it over after his death, using it as a front to eliminate every person who had crossed Nico when she’d thought he was dead.

To hear the stories, she’d been damn good at it, and Farrell still had trouble reconciling the image of her issuing kill orders against Nico’s enemies with the serene woman who was Stella’s mother.

Raneiro Donati’s decision to come for her in Boston had been the beginning of the end for the old Syndicate — and for Nico and Angel in the States. After a harrowing double-cross with the FBI, they’d put Raneiro behind bars and retreated to Bali, where they’d stayed for nearly two years.

“What about you?” Nico asked.

Farrell looked over at him. “Me?”

“How’s business in London?” Nico asked.

“Business is good,” Farrell said. “The new model is steadily increasing profits, and I think I’ve gotten rid of the last Donati loyalists.”

He’d given all his men the chance to stay on under the new business model. Some had chosen to leave at the outset, others had stayed long enough to cause trouble. It had taken time to ferret out the men who couldn’t make the transition.

“Good,” Nico said. “How’s Jenna?”

Farrell looked sharply at him. “She’s fine. Why?”

Nico held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ours isn’t an easy life. Look at Isabel.”

“What about her?” Farrell asked. How did they get from Jenna to Isabel?

Nico laughed a little. “Luca’s asked her to marry him three times in the past two years.”

Farrell sat up straighter. “You’re shitting me.”

“I thought you knew,” Nico said.

Farrell was friendly enough with Luca, but Luca had been Nico’s underboss in New York, had been there when everything went to shit with Angel. Farrell would never know as much about Luca as Nico did.

“I didn’t,” Farrell said, his gut suddenly tight. “Isabel said no?”

“Every time,” Nico said.

“But they’re still together,” Farrell said.

Nico looked at him. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“If she won’t marry him, what’s the fucking point?”

Nico looked surprised by Farrell’s vehemence. “Marriage doesn’t always follow love. Look at you and Jenna.”

The words coiled in Farrell’s stomach. “What about us?”

“You might as well be married,” Nico said. “What’s the difference? Our life isn’t an easy one to reconcile, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s violent and dangerous,” Nico said. “We try to protect the women from it, but they know the risks. They know their homes could be invaded by Feds any minute, that they could be woken up in the night and forced to run with a fake passport. Of course, arrangements have been made, and there will always be plenty of money, but it’s not a life for everybody.”

Farrell stared into his glass, watching the dwindling afternoon light fracture through the crystal.

Nico was right. It was a lot to ask for a lifetime commitment under those circumstances. It had taken guts for Jenna to reconcile herself with their lifestyle to the extent that she already had.

What if she’d gone as far as she could? What if she needed the knowledge that she wasn’t legally bound to him, to the lifestyle and its risk? The knowledge that she could get out if she changed her mind?

She would always do what was best for Lily — she’d proven that when she fled to New York, pregnant and alone. What if something happened that made her decide it was best for Lily to be raised in more normal circumstances?

“Anyway,” Nico said, leaning back in the lounge chair, “maybe Isabel wants to finish art school. Maybe she wants to let Sofia get a little older. It doesn’t matter. Luca isn’t going anywhere. They have all the time in the world.”

Nico was right, but the explanation caused the knot of tension in his stomach to tighten. A month ago — hell, even a week ago — he would have thought the same thing: that he and Jenna had all the time in the world.

But it didn’t feel true anymore.

He wanted to make her his wife, dammit.

He wanted to make her his wife even as he didn’t know why it was suddenly important. Why it mattered so much.

But it wasn’t up to him, and when it came right down to it, that was the thing that turned his blood cold.

For once, he couldn’t push his way through the obstacles to get what he wanted.

He could only ask. The rest was up to Jenna.