Chapter 8 - The Sound of the Shore
The November wind was bitter, turning the Atlantic into a gray expanse of whitecaps that threw salty spray all the way up to the mansion’s stone terraces.
Hunter stood on the covered balcony of her suite, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching the dark water roll in. Leo was tucked securely inside a front carrier against her chest, his small face protected from the wind by a soft fleece cap. He was warm, a steady, comforting weight against her heart that filled the empty, aching void Lily had left behind.
"You shouldn't be out here in this cold," a voice said behind her.
Lorenzo stepped onto the balcony, wearing a heavy wool coat, two glasses of dark amber whiskey in his hands. He handed one to her, though he knew she wouldn't drink it while nursing. She took it anyway, just to feel the warmth of the glass against her fingers.
"He likes the sound of the water," Hunter said, looking back out at the waves. "Whenever he’s fussy, I just bring him out here, and he goes straight to sleep."
Lorenzo stood beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. For a long time, neither of them spoke, the only sound being the rhythmic crash of the sea against the black rocks below.
"Sophia loved the ocean too," Lorenzo said quietly. It was the first time he had spoken his wife’s name to her without bitterness in his voice. "She wanted to build a small cottage down on the beach, far away from the main house. She said the mansion felt too much like a courtroom."
"She was right," Hunter said, looking up at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar near his temple from the car bomb. "It’s a beautiful place, Lorenzo, but it’s hard to breathe in here sometimes. Everyone is always waiting for the next explosion."
Lorenzo turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. In the dim twilight, the distance between the mafia don and the maid from Queens seemed to vanish entirely, replaced by something raw and human that both of them had been trying to ignore for weeks.
"Do you want to leave, Hunter?" he asked, his voice rough and low.
Hunter looked down at Leo, who let out a soft, contented sigh in his sleep, his little hand reaching up to touch the fabric of her coat.
"I can't leave him," she whispered, her eyes filling with a sudden, warm heat. "He’s a part of me now, Lorenzo. Every drop of life he has... it came from me. I love him."
Lorenzo took a step closer, his large hand coming up to cup her jaw. His thumb was rough against her skin, but his touch was incredibly gentle, almost reverent.
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"And what about me, Hunter?" he asked, his voice a low vibration that thrummed through the cold air. "Do you love the man who would burn the world to keep you both safe?"
Before she could answer, his lips met hers—a deep, fierce, and desperate kiss that tasted of whiskey, salt, and a hunger that had nothing to do with milk and everything to do with survival.
