Page 133

Her dark eyes are fixed on Salvatore’s still form.

“Nobody threatens my family,” she says, her voice steady now—dead calm in the aftermath of chaos.

She doesn’t lower the gun. Her arms are still outstretched, as if she’s holding more than a weapon—like she’s holding the weight of everything we’ve all lost. Of all the years spent chasing ghosts and burying truths. Her gaze never leaves Salvatore’s body.

“This is what justice looks like. For the ghosts that never rested—for them,” she whispers, voice rough with old scars.

“For every night we woke up screaming and no one came. For every lie we were fed. For every time we were told to forget.”

She exhales—slow, shaking, final.

“I didn’t forget. I never fucking forgot.”

Her voice breaks the silence like a bell tolling for the dead. And just like that, time unfreezes. Salvatore lies still. Chiara stands shaking. And Marco… Marco isn’t moving.

I turn back to find his eyes closed, his breathing so shallow I can barely see his chest rise and fall. His hand has gone limp in mine.

“No.” The word comes out as a sob. “Marco, open your eyes. Look at me.”

Nothing.

I press my ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat beneath the wet, rattling sounds of his breathing. It’s there, faint but steady. Still fighting.

“Chiara, call an ambulance. Now.” I don’t look up from Marco’s face as I speak.

I hear her footsteps, the urgent sound of her voice speaking into a phone, but it all feels distant and unreal. Nothing exists except Marco and the terrible possibility that I might lose him just when I’ve finally found him again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my lips brushing his temple. “I’m so sorry, Marco. For everything. For being too stubborn to see what was right in front of me.”

His eyelids flutter, just barely, but enough to give me hope.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him, my voice stronger now. “You have to be okay. Because I can’t do this without you. I can’t raise our child without you. I can’t live without you.”

The admission tears from my chest, raw and honest and absolutely true. Somewhere amid all this blood and violence and pain, I’ve finally found clarity.

I love him.

42

MARCO

The first thing I notice when I pull out of my deep, medicine-induced sleep is that the pain hasfinallydulled to something manageable.

For three weeks, pain has been a constant companion. Every breath I took sucked the life out of my chest, reminding me of the fact that Salvatore’s bullet came within inches of ending everything.

I no longer call him father. He was never worthy of the title. For his pride and greed, he was willing to kill an innocent, unborn baby. His own grandson. Let alone me, his only heir.

But this morning, the ache in my chest feels more like a distant memory than an active wound, and thinking of Salvatore doesn’t seem worth my time.

I flex my fingers, testing the strength that’s been slowly returning.

Better.

Much better.

I sit up and take a few deep breaths, and that’s when I smell the vanilla and jasmine. Her scent still lingers in the room.

Aria. She’s been sleeping here every night since I came home from the hospital. At the hospital, too, she never left my side.