Page 49 of Till Death Do Us Part

It was the biggest luxury apartment I’d ever been in. It still had the original walnut wood, and the dark hue of it was stunning against the soft lights flickering from the ornate lights in the gallery hall. Magnificent Italian paintings lined the wall.

The penthouse had all the original details that made it so spectacular; vaulted frescoed ceilings, limestone staircases, a hand-crafted stone fireplace, bronze hardware, stone friezes, and hand-carved doors.

Statues had me reaching out to feel what they were made of. The furniture was old-world style, like something straight from a countess’s villa in Tuscany.

It wasromanticoand warm in a way only Italy was. I’d traveled with my family a lot growing up, and I’d never been to a place that compared.

Mamma used to say I had a connection to Italy. I could feel my roots there.

As Felice led me through the living room, I couldn’t help but look up. The ceiling was coffered and at least twenty feet high. We stepped out through an open door and my breath caught. The outdoor space felt like it had magically transported us to Lake Como.

“This is the east-facing terrace,” Felice said, draping his coat over my shoulders.

A fountain, frozen over from the cold, stood as the centerpiece. Grass—actual livinggrass—on the outside of the penthouse crackled underneath our feet as we made our way further out onto the balcony.

Lake Michigan spread out as far as the eye could see. Tiny wisps of snow danced above the water.

“This one is the best for sunrises,” he said.

Our eyes met and I smiled.

“I can only imagine.”

“Tomorrow morning, you won’t have to.”

He brought me to another terrace. “This one is west-facing.” He leaned over the railing with his hands together.

“Better for watching sunsets.” I mimicked his stance.

Chicago’s many buildings rose like mammoth shapes in the night and were dotted with light. I could see Navy Pier and the Centennial Wheel.

“This is spectacular, Felice.”

The historian in Elsa would have killed to see this place. But even though the history was great, it felt like a home. A home fit for Italian royalty, but a home all the same. It was safe and warm.

I turned to look at the back of the penthouse and set my elbows against the stone. Corinthian columns were lit up by spotlights hidden somewhere in the grass. Wind whipped and snow swirled in the glow. I pulled his coat tighter, inhaling the scent of him drifting in the air.

“Do you like it here, Roma?”

I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t face him. I was afraid I might say something I couldn’t take back, like,this place feels safe and warm and like a home because of you.

When Felice “John” Maggio came to me in that hospital room, it set me on a path to trusting again. I didn’t trust the world. It was unkind and ruthless. So was he. But I trusted him despite who he was and what he did.

Maybe it was foolish to believe I was different, but I believed it, even if my brain warned me not to. My gut was on the fence. My heart was already hooked, along with my body.

“I do,” I whispered.

His gaze shifted, and I could feel it. It was like he took something important away from me.

His attention.

When I turned, he was looking out at the water. He was unreadable. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but I was afraid of the answer. How impactful his truth could be.

“I’d go broke to find out what you’re thinking right now,” he said.

I laughed. It was like he’d read my mind. But I didn’t want to touch the depths of my thoughts. I wanted to keep it on the surface.

“I know what you do, and the money it can bring in, but this place…it’s been in the same family since it was built, right?”

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