Page 51 of The Don's Eternal Vows

The knife glides through the ripe peach, juice dripping onto the cutting board. I arrange the slices in a perfect fan on the plate, each piece precisely one centimeter thick. Genoveva deserves nothing less than perfection.

My hands move with practiced precision as I whisk eggs for her omelet. The kitchen is silent except for the soft sizzle of butter in the pan. I pour the eggs in, watching them spread and set with laser focus.

The door creaks open. Footsteps approach.

"Your tea, sir," a trembling voice says behind me.

I turn, eyes narrowing at the young maid. Her hands shake as she holds out the silver tray.

"What is this?" I growl, voice low and dangerous.

She flinches. "Earl Grey, sir. Just as you like it."

"I said Darjeeling black tea." The words slice through the air like knives. "Are you forgetful and incompetent?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I'll fix it right away." She backs away, eyes wide with fear.

"See that you do. And if you make another mistake, you'll be looking for new employment. Understood?"

She nods frantically and scurries out.

I turn back to the stove, my jaw clenched. Incompetence surrounds me. Genoveva only drinks Earl Grey.

The omelet slides onto the plate, golden and fluffy. I add a sprig of fresh basil and position it just so.

Everything must be flawless for her.

I lift the tray with practiced ease, its weight familiar in my hands. I navigate the long hallway to our bedroom, the china barely clinking.

The heavy oak door looms before me. I pause, drawing in a breath. My shoulders square, chin lifting. I am Don Gianni Montagna, feared and respected.But for her, I soften.

I push the door open with my elbow, entering our sanctuary. The room is bathed in soft morning light, casting a golden glow on Genoveva's sleeping form. My heart clenches at the sight of her, so vulnerable in slumber.

Setting the tray on the nightstand, I lean over her. My fingers ghost along the blanket, finding her feet. With feather-light touches, I tickle her toes. It's our ritual, a reminder of simpler times.

"Wake up, mia cara," I murmur, voice husky with affection.

A smile curves her lips, eyes still closed. For a moment, all is right in the world.

Then her eyes snap open, panic flooding her features. She bolts upright, chest heaving.

"Where—" she gasps, eyes darting wildly. "What's happening?"

My hand shoots out, catching hers. "Genoveva, it's me. You're safe."

Her gaze locks onto mine, confusion and fear warring in those hazel depths. I squeeze her hand, willing her to remember to come back to me.

"Shh, amore mio," I soothe, my voice low and steady. "We're home. Back on Earth. You're safe with me."

I cup her face gently, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. Her pulse races beneath my fingers, but I feel it gradually slowing as recognition dawns in her eyes.

"Gianni?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

"Yes, cara. I'm here." I press my forehead to hers, breathing in her scent. "We made it back. Everything's alright now."

Genoveva's shoulders relax, tension seeping out of her frame. She leans into me, seeking comfort. I wrap my arms around her, savoring the trust in this simple gesture.

"Hungry?" I ask, pulling back to gesture at the breakfast tray.

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