Page 64 of Tower of Temptations

He looked toward the window, watching Providence glitter in the rain. "City's changing. Maybe it's time we did too."

As he stood, his hand found my shoulder. A rare gesture that made my throat tighten. He studied my face for a long moment, and for the first time, I saw pride replace the calculation in his eyes.

"Show them what a Barbieri can really build," he said quietly. Then he was gone, leaving me with the weight of his empire and something I'd never expected to earn: his respect.

The drive back to the hospital felt longer, everything that had just happened settling into place.

Pearl was awake when I returned. Her hand found mine before I could speak, warm and steady like an anchor in deep water.

"So?" she asked, reading the weight in my silence.

"He's heading to Sicily." I traced the line of her palm, remembering all the times these hands had steadied me, guidedme toward something better than what I'd been taught to be. "Left me everything."

She nodded, understanding flowing between us without words. Through the window, I watched the lights ripple in the darkness, my free hand resting gently where our future was growing.

Time to build something new. Something that was ours.

35

PEARL

After a week of recovery at the hospital, patiently enduring the concerns of seven extremely overprotective men, I was finally strong enough to do this.

I sat on my bed and looked down at the documents before me. They seemed to gleam in the morning light streaming through the tower windows—legal forms that would reclaim my birth name. My true name.

I traced my fingers over the letters that would transform me back to Pearl Divino. The memories hit me so hard that I had to grip the edge of the desk. Sunday afternoons at our old estate—Dad in his big leather chair, teaching me not just about business but about life. Even as a feared Mafia don, he had this way of seeing the heart of things, of finding lessons in every moment.

"Success isn't in the numbers, piccola," he'd say, eyes twinkling. "It's in how many lives you make better along the way." He'd tell me stories about families he'd helped, employees whose children he'd put through college, communities he'd lifted up. Even at the height of his power, he'd take time to ask our gardener about hisson's baseball games or help our cook's daughter with her math homework.

Mom would bring us hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows, even in summer. The scent of lavender always followed her around the house; it became so much a part of her that even now, years later, the fragrance could bring tears to my eyes. I could still picture them dancing in the dining room after dinner, Mom laughing as Dad hummed old Dean Martin songs completely off-key.

The fountain pen in my hand had been his, Austrian crystal and gold, a gift from my grandfather. Tears blurred my vision as I remembered Dad using it when I was little, watching from my perch on the corner of his desk as he'd sign documents. "A signature means your word means something," he'd tell me, that warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "It's a promise to do right by the people who trust you."

Nan had kept the pen safe all these years, hiding it when Vittorio started erasing every trace of Dad after Mom married him. I remembered the day I became a Salvatore; I was eleven years old, barely understanding what it meant to give up my father's name. Mom had squeezed my hand under the table that day, a silent apology.

Now, finally, I could take it back. Not just the name but everything it stood for—Dad's integrity, Mom's gentle strength, the legacy they'd left me. Whatever came next, I would face it as Pearl Divino.

My hand shook slightly on the final stroke. I placed the documents on the bedside table. Giuliano's fingers threaded through mine, anchoring me as the weight of the moment swept over me.

"He'd be proud," Giuliano murmured, his thumb brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "Of how strong you are. How you never broke."

I turned into his warmth, breathing in that familiar scent of sandalwood and coffee that meant safety, meant home. The others had given us space for this moment, but I could sense them nearby—my protectors, my future. Each one had played a part in helping me reclaim who I was meant to be.

Movement in the doorway caught my eye. Angelo leaned against the frame, subtle strength in his stance, while Rocco's hand rested on his twin's shoulder. Nico's massive frame filled the other side, his eyes soft with understanding. Vincenzo and Luca slipped in silently, followed by Enzo with that devastating smile of his.

My heart swelled at the sight of them: seven different kinds of love that had helped heal what Vittorio had done his best to destroy. Each one, precious in his own way. Each one, necessary.

"Pearl Divino," Giuliano breathed against my hair, and the sound of my true name on his lips sent heat coursing through me. When his mouth found that spot below my ear, I couldn't help the small sound that escaped.

"Our Pearl," Enzo murmured, moving closer, and something in his voice made my pulse race.

"Looks like everything worked out," Luca said as he gently caressed my cheek.

"It sure did," Rocco added, taking a few steps closer. "I can't imagine a better ending."

None of us could. All of these men brought something to the table. After we'd been through so much, I finally had a place to belong. A family that cared about me.

"What's the matter? Something on your mind? Or maybe…us?" Enzo was sitting on the bed, gently threading his fingers through mine.

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