Aria held onto the side of the helicopter as it banked to the left over Rome. She hadn’t even known the house on Capri had a helipad until the rotors whomp-whomped onto the roof and Damian led her up a steep flight of stairs.

Now he reached for her free hand and squeezed. She was still getting used to the warmth that flooded her body when he looked at her. Still getting used to what it felt like to be so treasured. She saw it in his eyes when he looked at her, felt it in the tender way he treated her even when he was occupying her body, owning her for what felt like the hundredth time.

They’d had three blissful days in Capri before he told her about the meeting in Rome. She’d almost managed to forget why they were on the island as they wandered the village, inspecting the handmade goods, eating in little restaurants by the water. They’d spent hours side by side in the sun on the terrace, had swam in the crystal waters below the house at every hour of the day and night, had made love with the ocean breeze blowing back the curtains in the big bedroom, had whispered secrets urgently like they might never get another chance to say everything they had to say.

He’d disappeared every so often to check in with Cole, but she’d tried to ignore it. He would have told her if anything had happened to Primo. Beyond that, she didn’t want to know what was going on in New York.

The helicopter had traveled to the outskirts of the city and was slowly descending over what looked like a massive villa surrounded by old fortress walls on one side, a forest of trees on the other. This must be Nico Vitale’s compound.

Damian had glossed over the details, telling her only that Vitale and his partners were trying to recruit him to take over the New York territory and that they had pledged to help him. She couldn’t help the fear that coursed though her body with the new information. If the Syndicate were even half as powerful as they had been and they were working with Damian, her brother was doomed. She forced herself to set it aside. Primo had rejected Damian’s offer of a buyout. He wouldn’t reconsider as a matter of pride.

She watched out the window as the building grew closer, two suited men standing to one side of the roof. She didn’t know much about Nico Vitale, only the little she’d overheard Primo and Malcolm say when they’d been doing their land-grab on the New York territory after the fall of the Syndicate. She was still trying to process how she’d gone from working in the community garden with Mrs. O’Rourke to being flown into the private compound of a notorious mob boss in the company of the man who was her lover.

There was a slight jolt as the helicopter touched down and Damian reached over her to open the door. She was still surprised by the desire that rippled outward from his touch, something that happened whether he touched her face tenderly, traced a path down her body, or simply brushed up against her reaching for something. She wondered if it would ever fade.

Wondered if she’d have the chance to find out.

He crawled over her and leapt onto the concrete, then lifted her out of the helicopter. The rotors slowly powered down as they ducked under them and made their way toward the two men in suits.

Damian shook their hands but didn’t introduce himself, something that didn’t surprise Aria. Damian couldn’t guarantee his identity had been kept a secret from Vitale’s men, but he didn’t have to make it easy for them to spread the word if they chose to be disloyal.

The men led them down an open staircase with a sweeping view of the city, Saint Peter’s duomo shimmering under the sun. They emerged onto a sprawling stone courtyard with several seating areas, one of which was shaded from the afternoon sun by a pergola covered with grape vines. Beyond the courtyard a pool shimmered like a mirage.

“I see you’ve made it.”

She turned with Damian toward the sound of the voice and found herself looking at a tall, dark-haired man with the watchful eyes of a jungle cat. He was wearing gray trousers and a perfectly tailored white shirt. Next to him, a willowy blonde woman held an adorable little girl with a riot of curls.

“I did,” Damian said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the lift.”

The other man turned to Aria. “You must be Aria Fiore.” He took her hand. “I’m Nico and this is my wife, Angel.”

His expression changed when he looked at his wife and daughter. It was only there for a split second, but his love for them was so naked, so raw, that Aria had the urge to look away, like she’d seen something she shouldn’t.

They introduced the little girl as Stella and Nico looked at Damian. “Why don’t we talk inside. I’m sure Angel can keep Aria company for a bit.”

“Let’s get out of this sun,” Angel said, taking her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Aria looked back at Damian as Angel led her into the house. He smiled reassuringly, and she focused her attention on Angel as they stepped into the cool confines of a kitchen off the courtyard.

“I’m sorry to play the part of old-fashioned wife,” Angel said, setting the little girl down and opening a massive refrigerator. “You know how these men can be. It’s easier to let them think we’re playing along.”

There was a twinkle in her eye when she turned around with three glasses. She was one of those women who seemed lit from within either with wellness or happiness.

Maybe both.

“Lemonade?”

“Yes, please,” Aria said.

She got ice from the fridge and filled two glasses, stopping halfway to the top on the third glass, which she handed to Stella. The little girl tipped it to her mouth, most of her face disappearing behind the glass as she surveyed Aria with curious eyes that reminded her of Nico.

Angel bent down, kissed Stella’s forehead. “Why don’t you take your lemonade and read a book to your dolls, my darling?”

“Can we have cookies?” the little girl asked.

“Oh, now you’re just working me in front of company!” She walked to a pantry and reached inside, pulled out a glass jar with a lid and held it down for Stella. “I think two will be enough for you and the dolls to share, don’t you?”

Stella took two and walked to a little breakfast nook off the kitchen where a stack of books was spread out, three dolls propped up on the bench.

“Please, sit,” Angel said, gesturing to one of the chairs next to the counter. “I hope you don’t mind the informality. We don’t have company often these days.”

“Not at all.” Aria slid onto one of the chairs as she sipped from her glass. “This is good.”

“We grow the lemons here, if you can believe it,” Angel laughed.

Aria smiled. “I believe it.”

It seemed like a charmed existence — the villa in Rome, the obvious adoration with which Nico looked at his wife and daughter, the American woman who somehow ended up the wife of a notorious crime lord in Italy. She tried to remember what she’d heard about Angel, thought it had something to do with her father being a rival of Nico’s, but couldn’t quite pull up the details.

Angel traced a pattern on the counter, running a fingertip through the condensation from her glass. “I don’t mean to pry, but I think I know a little bit about where you’re coming from right now.”

“Is it that obvious?” Aria asked.

“We belong to a select club.” Angel touched her glass to Aria’s in a mock toast.

Aria raised an eyebrow. “Family members of organized crime?”

“For lack of a better word,” Angel said. “I didn’t know about my dad at all until I met Nico.”

“You didn’t know?” Aria asked. “Or you pretended not to know?”

“Believe it or not, I was really naive enough not to know,” she said. “I was shuffled off to boarding schools, had a different last name from my father… I thought he was a real estate developer.”

“I’m sure he was,” Aria said drily.

Angel laughed. “Exactly.”

“How did you deal with it when you found out?”

“Not well,” Angel said. “But by then I was already in deep with Nico, even if I didn’t know it yet. I just…” She took a deep breath. “I couldn’t be without him, you know?”

Aria nodded.

Angel shrugged. “So I found a way to live with it. We have a charitable foundation. I get a lot of satisfaction out of the work we do. I don’t try to pretend it makes everything else okay, but somehow it feels like I’m living the life I was meant to live.”

Aria looked around the sun-drenched kitchen, the smell of lemons and rosemary drifting in from the courtyard. “It looks like it worked out alright.”

“It wasn’t always that way,” Angel said. “But we got here.”

“Was it worth it?” Aria asked. “All the times when it wasn’t working out alright?”

Angel reached across the counter, rested her hand on Aria’s arm as she looked in her eyes. “Without question.”