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Elio sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pressing a kiss to my temple. “Aria, you truly showed me what pure love is: you, our baby, us… this moment. For that, I will cherish you forever,” he murmurs.
I look at him, then back at our son.
“I love you, too,” I whisper. “Both of you.”
Epilogue: Elio
The world seems quiet now that Elio Donatelli Junior has succumbed to the arms of slumber. He terrorized both his mother and me with incessant cries throughout the ride back to my private estate in Hudson Valley. We’ve just returned from our individual therapy sessions.
Aria decided to have her own therapy sessions so she could finally work on processing the grief and trauma she had carried all this time since losing her mother and then her brother.
After making sure Cortez was well on top of everything, ready to take over, I decided I needed to get away from the bustle of New York, so as soon as we had Elio Junior −we call him EJ− we moved to Hudson Valley.
It’s been three months of therapy, of digging through the wreckage of my childhood, of exposing wounds I thought were too deep to heal. And through it all, she’s been there. She’s never once let go.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Today was good,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “I feel like... I’m finally getting somewhere.”
Aria glances up, her eyes locking onto mine with that quiet intensity that always makes me feel seen. “Youaregetting somewhere, Elio. I see it every day.”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I want to give him everything I never had.” I look down at our son, his tiny fingers curled into fists. “A home filled with love. A father who’s present. A father who tells him, every single day, that he is wanted, that he is enough.”
Aria steps closer, her hand cupping my face, her thumb brushing over my cheek. “And he will, Elio, because you’re already that father. You’re already breaking the cycle.”
I close my eyes for a second, leaning into her touch. Her presence in my life makes me feel complete even when I know I’ve not totally figured out the broken pieces of my life. “Sometimes I’m scared. That I’ll mess up, that I’ll slip into the patterns I grew up with.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “No. You won’t. You care too much about your son to hurt him in any way. You’ve seen the damageit does firsthand and you’re fighting to be different. And I’ll be right here, beside you. All the way.”
I don’t deserve her. God knows, I don’t.
But sheismine, and I am hers. That, I will never take for granted.
As Aria and I step into the bedroom, I shrug off my jacket, unbuttoning my shirt slowly, my eyes never leaving her as she cradles our son in her arms. He’s curled against her, tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater even in sleep, his pacifier bobbing slightly between his lips.
My heart clenches at the sight.
Aria catches me staring and smiles, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?”
I take a slow step toward them, my breath hitching as I peer down to get a closer look. His little chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his soft curls, dark like mine, slightly damp from the warmth of her body. His round cheeks are full, his lashes long and delicate against his creamy skin.
“He looks just like you,” she murmurs, brushing a gentle hand over his tiny head.
I swallow hard, my fingers aching to touch him. “You really think so?”
Aria shifts him slightly, angling him toward me. “The exact same nose, the same little pout when he sleeps… He’s your twin, Elio.”
“Except for his eyes, of course.” My lips lift gently. “He has your big, dark eyes.”
My index finger reaches out, trailing down his cheek. His skin is impossibly soft. My throat tightens with pride. “God, look at him,” I whisper, shaking my head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe he’s ours.”
Aria’s gaze flickers up to mine, her eyes pooling with moisture. “I know.” She exhales softly, her fingers tracing his tiny hand. “Sometimes, I just sit and watch him, trying to understand how we made something this beautiful.”
I let out a breathless chuckle, brushing my lips against the top of our son’s head. His powdery, sweet, and distinct baby scent fills my lungs, grounding me.
A lump forms in my throat, and I close my eyes for a second, absorbing her words. When I open them again, she’s still looking at me like I’m something worth believing in.
I press a hand to the small of her back, my fingers spreading wide. She sighs against me, her body warm, familiar. “I should put him down before he wakes up.”
I nod, watching as she steps into the nursery. I follow, leaning against the doorway as she lowers our son into the crib with the gentleness of someone placing down a piece of their own soul.He stirs for a moment, releasing a cute, nasal murmur. His little lips part before settling again, his pacifier still in place.