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“Daniele isn’t mine.” The words come out rough, weighted with something I can’t quite name. It’s the first time I am uttering the secret that only a handful of people know. A secret I promised to take with me to the grave.

Maria stills, her eyes snapping to mine. “What?”

I inhale deeply, finally saying the truth out loud. “Daniele isn’t my son—not biologically.”

She stares at me, waiting, letting me take my time. So I do. I mull over my words in my head and try to think of the best way to explain it to her.

“Beatrice was engaged to Giacomo before me,” I continue, my voice quieter now. “He hurt her. He raped and abused her in the year leading up to their union. Her father had a debt he couldn’t pay, and Giacomo opted for her as payment. She was already pregnant with Daniele when she begged me to take her away from him.”

Maria’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “So you did.”

I nod. “I married her to keep her safe. Giacomo lost his mind when he found out. He swore he’d kill me, swore he’d take them both back. And when he couldn’t—when he failed—he blamed me for everything. This entire thing is happening because he wants revenge—on me. That’s why he came after you.”

Maria doesn’t speak right away. Then, softly, she asks, “Did you love her?”

I stare at our joined hands, at the way hers fits so easily against mine. Like she is my perfect match in every way, and yet we are so vastly different—night and day.

“I did love her, so much,” I say quietly. “In the only way I knew how, back then. I thought she was it for me—my first real connection, someone I wanted to protect. And I did. I protected her with everything I had.”

I pause, searching Maria’s eyes.

“But then she died… and I met you. And suddenly, I realized what I felt before—it wasn’t the kind of love that scorches through your veins and leaves nothing untouched. It wasn’t the kind that consumes you, ruins you, and rebuilds you in its image. Not like this. Not like you.”

I exhale, my voice rough. “You broke me open, Maria. You showed me what it means to love so deeply it hurts. What it means to be terrified of losing someone because your soul wouldn’t survive it. What I feel for you… it rewrote everything I thought I knew.”

I swallow hard.

“I cared for Beatrice. I did. But I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Maria nods slowly, absorbing my words. “And Daniele?”

I exhale, running a hand down my face. “He was never mine. But I raised him like he was. I held him through every scraped knee, every sleepless night, every heartbreak. I taught him to walk, to fight, to stand tall. He may not be my son by blood, buthe is my son in every way that matters. He was raised through my hands, he carries my name, my values—he is mine.”

My throat tightens slightly. “And it will be a cold day in hell before I let Giacomo have him.”

Maria looks at me for a long time, something shifting in her expression. Then she moves closer, her fingers sliding up my arm, over my shoulder. She doesn’t say anything at all. Then she pulls me into her for a firm hug.

She just holds me. And for once, I let her, I allow her to hold the cracked pieces of me. I close my eyes, resting my forehead against hers, permitting myself a rare moment of stillness.

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy to share that with me.” She pulls away to look into my eyes. She presses her lips to mine briefly for a short peck. But that small kiss alone is enough to soothe many of the jagged edges in my heart.

At that moment, I make a vow that when this is all over, I will tell her about Antonio. After feeling the weight lift off my chest, I know that the right thing to do is to tell her. I just hope that when I do, she doesn’t walk away. Because if she does… I’m not sure I’ll survive it.

29

MARIA

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. But the warmth of it does nothing to chase away the heaviness in my chest.

I feel the absence of his warmth before I even open my eyes. Normally, his arm would be draped over me, pulling me into him. Slowly, I blink my eyes open, and when I do, I find him sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to me, his posture tense.

His bare shoulders rise and fall with a slow, measured breath, but I can feel the storm beneath his calm exterior.

Last night’s conversation lingers between us. I still can’t believe it. There were a million and one things that I was expecting to come out of his mouth, but not once did I think it would bethat. But the longer I sit with the information, the more I see the connections.

I have only seen this man, Giacomo, once, and from what I remember, he has the same eyes as Daniele. They carry the same features, and it is almost uncanny how similar they are.

“Matteo.” I sit up and stare at his back. “Matteo, come back to bed.”