After Mom leaves, I finish packing, my mind still reeling from the confrontation with my father. Just as I'm about to walk out, a soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Come in," I call, and Sarah, our longtime maid, steps inside.

"Good day, Miss," she greets me with a warm smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Hello Sarah, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Santiago is downstairs, asking for your permission to enter the house."

Confusion furrows my brow. "Why would he need my permission? It's his father's house, too."

Sarah's expression turns sympathetic. "He knows that, Miss. But he wants to ensure you don't leave once he comes in, like you have every other time he's tried to talk to you."

I sigh, remembering all the times Santiago has tried to talk to me, only for me to slip out before he can get more than a few words out.

"I can't guarantee I'll stay," I admit. Despite my talk with Stefano, I still haven't been able to bring myself to call Santiago and offer forgiveness. Every time I try, I imagine myself in Emily's shoes, and the anger rises anew.

Sarah hesitates, then asks gently, "If you don't mind me asking, Miss... why aren't you speaking with Mr. Santiago?"

I look away. "He did something awful to a good friend of mine."

"Oh, but... is he sorry for what he did to your friend?"

'He says he is. But that doesn't change anything.'

"Of course it does, Miss. It changes everything," Sarah says gently. "When we apologize sincerely for our mistakes, it's the first step to healing the hurt we caused. I don't know the details, but I can see that Mr. Santiago deeply regrets his actions."

Her words strike a chord, and I feel my resistance starting to crumble. If Santiago wasn't genuinely remorseful, he wouldn't keep trying so hard to make amends. "You really believe he's sorry?" I ask softly.

"I do, Miss. Please, go downstairs and hear him out. Give him a chance."

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Alright, I will. But only because you and Stefano both believe he deserves my forgiveness."

Sarah's smile is filled with warmth and understanding. "Thank you, Miss."

I follow her out of my room, my heart beating a little faster with each step. As I descend the stairs, I spot Santiago by the front door, engrossed in his phone. He hasn't noticed me yet, and I'm grateful for that small mercy. The last thing I want is for him to see the lingering tears in my eyes or the flush of anger on my cheeks from the confrontation with Dad.

Santiago has always been perceptive, and I know he'd pick up on my distress immediately. But right now, I don't have the energy to rehash the painful scene or explain the hurtful things Dad said. I just want to put it behind me.

"Santiago," I call softly.

His head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise. "Did you just... say my name?" The hopeful joy spreading across his face tugs at my heart. Santiago and I have always been close, and I know how much my forgiveness means to him.

I can't help the small smile that curves my lips. "Yes, I did."

"Does that mean... you forgive me?" he asks, his voice trembling slightly.

I nod, the last of my anger melting away. "I do, Santiago. I forgive you."

"Thank you," he breathes, pulling me into a tight hug. "Thank you so much, Sis."

Returning his embrace, I murmur, "You're welcome. But just because I've forgiven you doesn't mean you're off the hook. You need to earn Emily's forgiveness, too."

He pulls back, his expression sobering. "I know. I'm trying, but it's hard. She said she'll think about it. Keep your fingers crossed for me?"

"I will. I pray she finds it in her heart to forgive you." And I truly do, even though a part of me isn't sure I could do the same in her position. I just want to see Santiago find peace and happiness again.

With one last squeeze of Santiago's hand and a white lie about wanting to spend time with Stefano in California, I step outside to join him. He's on the phone, his voice low and tense, speaking rapid-fire Italian. Worry knots in my stomach as I place my bag in the trunk. Something is definitely wrong.

"Is everything alright?" I ask when he finally hangs up, but instead of answering, he pins me with an intense look.

"Do you have your passport with you?"

Caught off guard, I nod. "Yeah, I do. Why? What's going on?"

"I'll explain on the plane. We need to get to California now. There's been an emergency at one of my warehouses." His jaw is clenched tight, anger and frustration rolling off him in waves.

My heart clenches at the barely contained panic in his eyes. I've never seen Stefano like this before. Swallowing my own rising fear, I quickly fasten my seatbelt as he peels out of the driveway.

True to his word, Stefano fills me in as we race to the airport. A fire has engulfed one of his warehouses in California, a building filled with various weapons. The fact that it's a mafia property means the fire department can't intervene. No one knows how it started, but I can see the fury building in Stefano with each mile.

I can only imagine the fate of whoever is responsible for this disaster. My heart aches for Stefano, knowing how helpless and enraged he must feel being so far away when this crisis hit. I reach over and take his hand, silently offering my support and strength.

As the plane lifts off, I send up a silent prayer, grateful that I can be by Stefano's side through this nightmare. He needs me now more than ever.

***

We arrived in California a few hours ago, exhaustion weighing heavily on my body. But despite the bone-deep fatigue, sleep eludes me. As soon as we landed, Stefano insisted on going straight to the warehouse to assess the damage. The sight that greeted us was devastating - more than half of his weapons stockpile reduced to charred rubble and ash.

I can feel the rage emanating from Stefano, a palpable force that seems to crackle in the air around him. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes hard as flint as he surveys the ruins of his empire. I've never seen him this furious before, and a part of me fears what he might do when he finds the person responsible for this disaster.

Words feel inadequate in the face of his anger, but I know my presence alone is a comfort. As he stalks off to his office to gather more information about the fire, I settle into a chair to wait for him. The leather is cool against my skin, and I find myself fighting to keep my eyes open.

I must have drifted off at some point because the next thing I know, I'm being lifted into Stefano's strong arms. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls me back towards sleep as he carries me out to the car. I'm so drained that I barely stir during the ride back to his apartment.

As Stefano lays me gently on the bed, I reach out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. I want him to know that no matter what happens, we'll get through this together. He doesn't say anything, but I feel some of the tension ease from his body at my touch.

When he disappears into the bathroom, I debate for a moment before following him. I climb out of bed and pad softly to the bathroom, my heart aching at the sight of Stefano's tense shoulders as he stands under the steaming spray. Silently, I shed my clothes and step into the shower behind him.

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I press my body flush against his back, willing my presence to soothe away some of the anger and frustration I know is coiled tight within him. I take his hands, noting the fresh bruises marring his knuckles, and bring them to my lips, brushing feather-light kisses across the damaged skin.

Slowly, I feel a fraction of the tension drain from his muscles as he turns to face me, his stormy eyes softening as they meet mine. Cupping my face in his hands, he claims my mouth in a passionate kiss that steals my breath and sends heat rushing through my veins.

I pour all my longing and desire into the kiss. Stefano's hands slide down to firmly grip my hips, effortlessly lifting me until my legs wrap around his waist. I feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against me, sending a rush of heat through my core, making me wet with anticipation.

Never breaking the kiss, Stefano presses me back against the cool tile wall, the contrasting sensations of the steamy water, his heated skin, and the smooth ceramic sending shivers racing across my nerve endings. His lips trail scorching kisses down the column of my throat, each one a silent burning my skin further.

Without warning, he enters me in one smooth thrust; I cry out, my head falling back in ecstasy. He sets a demanding pace, each powerful stroke driving me higher, pushing me closer to the edge.

Our bodies move in perfect sync, our hearts beating as one. In this moment, nothing exists but the two of us and our passion. The world falls away, and all the pain and uncertainty with it.

We climb together towards that pinnacle of pleasure, I dig my nails into his shoulders, and a few more thrusts later, we shatter together, our release crashing over us in waves of pure, unadulterated bliss. We hold each other through the aftershocks, our bodies trembling.

In this moment, nothing exists beyond the circle of our embrace - no pain, no anger. There is only us and the comfort we find in each other's arms.