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We approach the funeral attendees gathered around Roman’s tomb.

Roman’s mother clutching a handkerchief, his younger brother stone-faced with grief. Their eyes meet mine briefly; no accusation there, just shared pain. I've made sure they'll never want for anything again.

"He was a good man," John says beside me.

"The best." My voice cracks.

The minister begins his eulogy, but something, someone, catches my eye. Olivia stands at the back, amongst the mourners. She wears a simple black dress and her hair hangs in long waves. Dark shades cover her blue eyes, and I find myself longing to see them.

Sorrow bubbles in my chest. Not just for Roman, but for what I’ve lost with Olivia.

I've spent my life believing love makes you weak, makes you vulnerable. My mother's death taught me that. But watching Olivia fight, watching her survive what my mother couldn't — maybe I've been wrong all along.

Maybe it's not about keeping her safe by pushing her away. Maybe it's about being strong enough to stand beside her, come what may.

The minister drones on, but I can’t focus. My mind drifts between the eulogy and Olivia, her presence a beacon amidst the sea of anguish.

My gaze slips back to Olivia, watching as she wipes away a tear, and I want nothing more than to reach for her, to tell her everything will be alright.

But I hold back, waiting for the right moment. I need to see her in this space — at this funeral — before making my move.

When the service ends, mourners shuffle forward to pay their respects. As they approach the tomb, Olivia hangs back. Her eyes scan the crowd before settling on me.

I feel exposed under her gaze, like she can see straight through my carefully constructed walls. The moment feels electric; a pulse of unspoken words thrums between us.

Finally, she steps forward, and my heart races as she approaches me with an air of cautious resolve. The crowd thins around us until it’s just us two amidst a chorus of muffled voices.

“Sam.” Her voice breaks through the noise like glass shattering.

“Olivia.” It comes out rougher than intended.

Showered and dressed in a fresh suit, I feel like myself again as I walk into Gino's. I'm just missing one thing…

"I wanted to talk?—"

"You're an idiot," she interrupts, not letting me finish. I can't help but laugh at her directness. She's also not wrong. I've come to realize, I am an idiot.

"I've been hearing that a lot lately."

"Good. Then maybe you'll actually listen."

Her eyes flash with determination, the same fire I saw when she stood over Axel's body. She's a survivor. A fighter. And I pushed her away.

"You're not leaving me because you want to protect me," Olivia says, her voice steady despite the slight tremble in her hands. "You're leaving because you're scared."

The truth of her words hits harder than any bullet. I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off.

"Life is scary and impossible, Sam. If we run from everything we fear, we'll never truly live." She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. "Being together is a risk. We can't predict the future, but avoiding happiness out of fear is silly."

My heart hammers against my ribs. She's right. I've spent my whole life calculating risks, making plans, controlling every variable. But with Olivia, I've never been in control.

"I love you," she says, her voice breaking slightly on the words.

I close the distance between us in two steps, taking her face in my hands. "Stop," I whisper, my thumbs brushing her cheeks. "I love you too."

Relief floods her features, and I press my forehead against hers.

"I'm so sorry for being stupid," I murmur. "I never should have ended things. I thought I was doing what was right and protecting you, but now I see that I was wrong." My voice catches. "I was just so scared because you almost died, and I can't stop thinking about what could have happened."