Two weeks of normalcy. Two weeks of learning how to be Sophie Caruso instead of Sofia Russo. Two weeks of Alessandro texting me goodnight like a regular boyfriend instead of demanding my location like a possessive employer.
Tonight, none of that matters. Tonight is the formal alliance dinner, and every major family is watching to see if the scandal of the century will implode spectacularly.
I'm wearing midnight blue silk that Alessandro bought me—designer, probably costs more than my fake debt. Dante stands beside me, playing the protective older brother while family members pay respects.
It's surreal. Three months ago, I was scrubbing Alessandro's floors. Now I'm accepting congratulations from Dons who could order my death with a phone call.
Alessandro is across the room with Vittore, looking devastating in a charcoal suit, his tattoos hidden beneath crisp white sleeves. Our eyes meet constantly. Every time, my stomach flips like I'm seventeen instead of twenty.
"Stop eye-fucking De Luca and focus," Dante mutters.
"I'm networking."
"You're drooling."
"I'm multitasking."
The gossip is everywhere—whispered behind champagne flutes, exchanged in sidelong glances. The maid who fooled the heir. The spy who fell in love with her mark. The Caruso princess risen from the dead. We're the most interesting thing to happen to these families in a decade.
After the meal, Vittore catches my eye and inclines his head. A summons. Alessandro appears at my elbow, his hand finding mine.
"My father wants to speak with us."
"I noticed. Should I be terrified?"
"Probably."
We cross the room together, aware of every gaze following us. Vittore pulls us aside to a private corner—private enough for conversation, visible enough that everyone can see it happening.
He studies us both, his expression giving nothing away. The silence stretches until I want to scream.
"You two have caused quite the spectacle." His voice is dry, factual, like he's discussing stock prices rather than the dramatic implosion of family relationships.
He turns to me. "You infiltrated my home, lied to my son, spied on my family, nearly started a war." Each accusation lands like a blow. Then, unexpectedly: "That took considerable skill. And courage."
I blink. That's... not what I expected.
His gaze shifts to Alessandro. "And you fell for it."
Alessandro's jaw tightens. "Father—"
Vittore holds up a hand, silencing him. He looks between us, something complicated moving behind his eyes. "Your mother would have approved," he tells Alessandro, but he's looking at me. "She liked people with fire. With loyalty to family."
The mention of Alessandro's mother makes my chest ache.
Then Vittore's expression hardens. "But if this arrangement falls apart and damages either family's standing, I'll hold you both responsible. Understood?"
We both nod. My voice comes out steadier than I feel: "Understood."
He studies us a moment longer. Then he nods once. "Good."
It's as close to a blessing as we'll ever get. He walks away, and I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Alessandro squeezes my hand. "Come with me."
He doesn't wait for an answer, just leads me through the crowd, past Dante's knowing smirk, past Chiara's dramatic eye-roll, out into the cool night air.
The drive to the brownstone is quiet but charged. My pulse quickens as we pull up to the building where this all started—where I stood with sweating palms and forged references, calculating vulnerabilities.
Inside, everything looks the same but feels different. I'm not cataloging security cameras anymore. I'm not playing a role.
We end up in his bedroom.
Before I can reach for him, Alessandro catches my hands, his expression serious. "Move in with me. Properly. Not as my maid, as my girlfriend. Your things here, your space here, us building a life together."
My heart stutters. "I thought you'd never ask. Yes."
His smile transforms his face—younger, softer, the boy underneath the heir. Then he's kissing me, and I'm kissing back, and the careful boundaries we've maintained for two weeks dissolve like sugar in rain.
"I love you," I breathe against his mouth.
"I know." His hands find the zipper at my back. "I love you too. Even though you have terrible pickup lines."
"That was one time—"
"Different kind of rapier?"
"I was panicking!"
"You were ridiculous." He slides the silk from my shoulders, his eyes darkening as it pools at my feet. "My ridiculous spy."
"Your ridiculous girlfriend," I correct, working the buttons of his shirt.
"Better."
We undress each other slowly, savoring what we once rushed through. His shirt falls away, revealing the sleeve tattoos I used to pretend not to notice, the De Luca crest over his heart. I trace it with my fingers, feeling his pulse jump.
He backs me toward the bed, his mouth finding my neck. My knees hit the mattress.
He lays me down with gentleness that makes my throat tight. This is different from before—no desperation, no secrets burning between us. Just us, finally honest.
Alessandro takes his time, kissing down my body like he's memorizing me. His mouth traces my collarbone, the curve of my breast, the scar on my shoulder from the night I lost my parents. He lingers there, pressing his lips to the raised skin.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For what you lost."
"I found you." I pull him up to kiss me. "That's enough."
When he finally sinks into me, I gasp at the familiar stretch, the weight of him, the way his eyes lock onto mine like I'm the only thing worth seeing.
"Sophie." My real name sounds like a prayer.
We move together slowly, building heat in measured waves. His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones as he thrusts deep. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him everywhere.
"Faster," I breathe.
"Patient." But his hips snap harder, and I arch into him, chasing the tension coiling in my core.
He angles himself perfectly, hitting the spot that makes me see stars. I cry out, nails raking down his back, and he groans against my neck.
"You're mine," he says. "Not because of rules or debts or missions. Because you chose me."
"I chose you," I confirm, my voice breaking as pleasure builds. "I choose you. Every day."
He picks up the pace, driving into me with controlled intensity, and I shatter around him with his name on my lips. He follows moments later, spilling inside me with a sound that's half groan, half confession.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, his head on my chest.
"We made it," I whisper, running my fingers through his hair.
"Through lies, betrayal, attempted family destruction—"
"Don't forget the soup incident."
He laughs, the vibration warm against my skin. "How could I? Chiara's still bitter about that."
I smile at the ceiling, feeling lighter than I have in ten years. The war is over. The real enemy is gone. Marchetti and Tommy are memories, their betrayal exposed and punished.
We have time now. Trust to rebuild, scars to heal, a future to build from the wreckage of our pasts.
Alessandro lifts his head, grey-green eyes finding mine. "No regrets?"
I think about everything—the revenge that led me here, the lies I told, the man I fell for against every plan. Then I pull him down and kiss him softly.
"Not a single one."