The villa sat perched on the cliffs above Amalfi, whitewashed walls glowing warm in the late afternoon sun. The sea stretched endlessly, cobalt and shimmering, the scent of lemon groves drifting on the breeze. Roman’s boots clicked against the cobblestone courtyard as he led her through the wrought-iron gates toward the heavy oak door.

His fingers brushed hers—light, almost hesitant. She glanced up, catching the flicker of nerves in his dark eyes beneath the tousled hair. He cleared his throat. “Ready?”

She nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

Inside, the house was an opulent chaos. Walls draped with Renaissance paintings, dark wood beams overhead, and the subtle scent of aged leather and expensive cologne. The family was already gathered—Logan sat at the head of the long dining table, a glass of red wine cradled in one hand, his gaze sharp as ever. Shiv reclined on a velvet settee, eyes flicking between her phone and the scene unfolding. Kendall was nowhere to be seen, probably brooding in one of the many bedrooms.

Roman stepped forward. “Everyone, this is… uh… my girlfriend.”

A beat. A pause. Then Shiv raised a brow, her lips twitching in a smirk. “Roman has a girlfriend? Who knew.”

The girlfriend forced a polite smile, extending her hand. Logan regarded her for a long moment before nodding curtly. “Welcome. Hope you survive the weekend.”

Roman’s jaw tightened. “Thanks, Dad.”

Greg shuffled in behind Roman, awkwardly clutching a water bottle, eyes darting between the two.

Logan’s gaze shifted, landing on Roman with a slow, measured weight. “She better not be another one of your… experiments.”

Roman shot a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “She’s not.”

There was an edge to the air—tension mixing with something almost tender, buried under the layers of power plays and unspoken histories.

Dinner was served on the terrace, long tables groaning under platters of seafood and lemons freshly picked from the grove. The sunset painted the sky in bruised purples and pinks. Glasses clinked, laughter bubbled nervously.

Shiv leaned in to Roman’s girlfriend. “So, what exactly do you do?”

Roman’s girlfriend met the question with poise. “I work in art curation, mostly contemporary pieces.”

Shiv’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, how avant-garde.”

Roman tried to steer the conversation back. “The view here is insane, right?”

“Yeah,” the girlfriend said, taking a sip of wine. “It’s beautiful.”

Logan watched, fingers drumming against his glass. The years of battles and betrayals etched into the lines around his eyes.

Later, Roman found himself on the terrace alone with her, the Mediterranean breeze cool against their skin.

“I’m sorry about them,” Roman said quietly.

She smiled softly. “I’ve read the headlines.”

He laughed, a short, bitter sound. “They don’t make it easy.”

“I can handle it. You… you just have to be you.”

He looked out toward the horizon. “I want them to see me—not just as the screw-up brother.”

“Then let them,” she said, stepping closer. “Because you’re better than what they expect.”

Roman reached for her hand, the chaos of the Roys momentarily fading into the rhythm of crashing waves.

Above, the villa stood proud and ancient, a silent witness to the unfolding drama beneath its stone walls.