He nodded, his teasing glint giving way to something earnest. “Yes, Celia. I’m not Marco. I don’t lie to you, and I don’t play games. I wanted to do this right, but here we are.”
I hesitated, his sincerity pulling at the walls I’d carefully built around myself. But I couldn’t forget why this started in the first place.
“Vito,” I began, my voice firm despite the tremor in my chest.
“You know this—us—it’s not real. This is about revenge. About making Marco pay for what he did to me. To us.”
His jaw tightened before he exhaled slowly. “Maybe that’s how it started, Celia. But it’s not what it is anymore. At least, not for me.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, my heart pounding as I searched his gaze for answers.
He dropped his hand, taking a small step back, as if giving me space. “I’m saying that I want this to be real. That I love the idea of being your husband. Not for the plan, not for revenge, but because I care about you. I want a future with you.”
The air seemed to leave the room all at once. I stared at him, unable to reconcile the Vito I knew—the cunning strategist with the raw vulnerability in front of me now.
“Vito,” I said slowly, “you know I don’t feel the same way.”