Elena's POV
I don't know what woke me first,the soft rustle of sheets, the lazy morning light sneaking through the tall windows, or the steady, slow rhythm of his breathing beside me.
But I was already awake. Already straddling him. Bare thighs pressed to the heat of his skin, my hands resting lightly on his chest as I watched him.
His tattoos looked even better in the morning light. His muscles flexed with every tiny movement as he nuzzled closer to me, his head buried in my neck.
I smiled faintly.
He looked different like this,
not the hard-edged man I knew.
He looked peaceful.
Human.
Mine.
The sharpness, the razor tongue, the silent intensity, the ironclad control ,
they had all softened, just a little, in the gentle dawn.
His hands found my waist, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles. I stayed still, careful not to wake him.
I wasn't sure if he was awake yet, but I hadn't spoken. Pretending this moment wasn't real,like naming it might shatter the fragile magic.
"You done staring, El?" his voice broke the silence, low and teasing.
I froze, caught.
"Wasn't staring," I murmured, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, you were. But it's allowed. I'm yours anyway, right?"
His deep morning voice brushed against my skin and, damn, it sounded divine,enough to make me roll my eyes at how good he could sound just waking up.
"Mmh," I hummed, approving.
"How about a house tour? You've been here two days and all you know is the kitchen, your bedroom, and… mine," he teased, leaning in to whisper against my ear.
I sat up, locking eyes with him. "Yeah, I'd love that. I mean, I've seen the backyard, but not properly," I said, voice low and husky.
"Good. But breakfast first, yeah?" he asked, sitting up next to me and pulling me close to his side.
I caught myself staring again.
"What?" he asked, eyes on me.
I giggled. "Nothing. Just feels unreal ,big bad Mafia boss loves cuddling and morning softness."
He laughed softly. "I do love cuddling. Well… after I've ruined you enough that you can't walk," he whispered with that dark grin, and I threw a pillow at him, making him chuckle.
Rio scooped me up bridal-style and carried me to the bathroom, setting me gently on the counter. His lips brushed my forehead. I smiled, my insides flipping.
Because why not? We were officially together and I'd never been happier.
We brushed our teeth side by side, quick smiles shared, then stepped into a warm morning shower.
When we stepped out, hair damp and skin slick with water, I wrapped myself in one of Rio's towels, the hem brushing mid-thigh.
His towel hung low on his hips, tattoos gleaming in the soft light, water droplets tracing down his chest and stomach.
I had to look away before I did something reckless.
I grabbed his oversized T-shirt and slipped it on. It swallowed me, falling just above my knees. Perfect.
I twirled with a smile.
When I turned, Rio was staring.
"What?" I giggled.
"Nothing. You just look sexy in my clothes and suddenly, breakfast can wait," he whispered, voice low and rough, closing the space between us.
"Not a bad idea… but I want that house tour," I said, wrapping my hands around his neck.
"Okay, princess," he murmured, pecking my lips.
We headed downstairs to the kitchen.
After breakfast , ..well, after he cooked and I sat perched on the counter like a smug queen while he did everything ,Rio kept his word.
The mansion was massive. Elegant, but cold in places. Like a palace that forgot how to be a home.
The foyer gleamed with black-and-white marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and a chandelier that could blind you if the light hit just right. Everything felt expensive and untouched.
The library breathed warmth ,shelves stretching sky-high, ladders sliding on rails, a leather couch tucked beneath a stained-glass skylight. The kind of place stories get lost in.
The music room held a sleek black grand piano, guitars hanging on the walls, and a vintage record player humming slow, smoky tunes.
I tapped out a clumsy chord while Rio leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching silently.
Then came the greenhouse ,hidden behind a glass door, humid and vibrant, overflowing with orchids and bonsai.
Finally, the sunroom: bright, golden, gazing out over a backyard pulled straight from a dream.
An infinity pool shimmered. Beyond that, a koi pond wrapped in stone and bamboo.
Past that, the lawn dipped into a thick, endless forest.
"You own all that?" I asked, breath caught.
"Most of it," he said casually.
Of course.
I hummed, taking it all in. It felt like I'd stepped into a fantasy world , everything too perfect, too unreal.
Rio's phone buzzed. He rolled his eyes.
I think my attitude's rubbing off on him.
He pulled it out, face falling when he saw the caller ID.
"I have to take this," he muttered, walking away, saying something low in Italian.
I wandered down the hallway until I spotted a narrow path veering right ,cold, dimly lit, dust dancing in the stale air.
The forgotten part of the house? I wondered, walking toward it.
I hesitated, then clenched my fists and whispered, "Fuck it," stepping into the shadows. Curiosity always wins.
My footsteps echoed, chilling me with their hollow sound.
Most doors were locked as I tried a few knobs. At the end, a wooden door stood slightly ajar.
I pushed it open. It creaked like a ghost sighing, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears.
"Wow," I whispered.
The room was huge, dim, and layered in dust.
Portraits and paintings lined the walls all of the same woman, bathed in soft light, her eyes kind, her smile quiet. It was like a shrine built for her.
My gaze stopped at the largest painting, draped under a white sheet, golden light spilling over it. It stood in the center of the room, framed by the morning sun.
I stepped closer, heart thudding, and pulled the sheet away ,slowly, like handling something sacred.
A woman stood in a sunflower field, her smile radiant, hair dark and curly, falling just above her waist ,her eyes honey brown ,strikingly like Rio's.
She wore a long yellow sundress, hands resting tenderly on her baby bump, eyes locked on the artist.
My fingertips brushed the canvas.
She was beautiful. Peaceful.
Then Rio's voice, low and raw, sliced through the silence.
"That's my mother. Seraphina," he whispered, his voice threaded with grief.
He stepped forward, his tone rough and broken.
"She was six months along when they shot her. Five years ago. Still don't know who pulled the trigger."he said running his hands on the picture.
Oh my god.
His trembling fingers traced the edge of the painting.
"I failed her," he murmured.
Tears glistened in his honey eyes.
"You didn't fail her, Rio," I said softly, swallowing back my own.
This was his moment. I had to be his strength.
"You'll find out who did this. I'll be right there every step. I promise," I whispered, stepping closer until I was in front of him.
I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing tight.
He melted into me, chin resting on my head, hands gripping my waist like he'd fall apart if he let go.
"She would've loved you," he said, voice barely above a whisper, soaked in emotion.
"And I would've loved her too. I'm sure she was lovely," I whispered back, truth spilling from my soul.