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Her laughter dissipates the tension. "I know. I'm terrible. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," I murmur.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"When you laughed, it brought me back to all those moments, Mom, and I laughed together like this. Things are progressing quickly with Nico, and..." I hesitate, reluctant to sound sentimental or weird.

"You're like the daughter I never had," she says. "If you see me as a maternal figure, I won't object, sweet girl. In fact, I'll consider myself blessed."

"I can't believe how complicated everything has become," I murmur.

"Life is inherently complex. It never follows a linear path. I believed I would remain my husband's, then my son's, prisoner indefinitely. Nico thought he would forever remain silent while his father and brother committed atrocities— all to safeguard me. We could never have anticipated this. Sometimes surrendering to fortune or destiny proves wiser."

"I've never believed in destiny," I say. "The world has always seemed too cruel."

"And now?"

"I don’t know about destiny. But with Nico—and with you—there seems to be something... something that goes beyond rational explanation."

"Something magical," Gianna suggests.

"I wouldn't go quite that far."

"When you envision the future, do you see Nico there?"

"Yes."

"You answered without hesitation. You didn't even think about it."

"He's a good person," I murmur. "Which sounds crazy after last night, but he truly is. I... I care deeply for him."

"Don't torment me like that. I thought you were about to confess your love."

"Life isn't a fairy tale, Gianna. People don't fall in love within days."

"They don't? Are you absolutely certain about that?"

"Mostly," I reply, unable to ignore the twinge in my heart. "Anyway, it's time to work. I need to paint; I need to silence my thoughts."

Gianna sits upright, tilts her head, and grins. "Proceed then. Make me beautiful."

* * *

Gianna and I are relaxing on the back porch, sipping lemonade, when Nico returns. He's attired in an impeccable suit with a grim expression. When he catches sight of me, the severity in his features softens slightly. He kisses my cheek, then sits beside me, taking my hand.

Gianna beams at us, clearly delighted by how intimate we have become.

I grip his hand firmly. To say I've missed him would be an understatement. In the shadows of the night, it was difficult to know if his forgiveness was true. Now, with sunlight illuminating his intense features, I recognize his genuine forgiveness.

"I have news," he says. "About your mother."

"Tell me."

"I can hardly believe it myself," Nico mutters. "My contact in law enforcement was reluctant to divulge everything."

"Why?"

"Viktor. The Bratva."