Page 58

Six months pregnant, my belly curves under the thin gown, our baby a quiet promise beneath my skin. The technician moves the wand, her smile gentle, and the room fills with the steady thump of a heartbeat, fast and strong, a rhythm that makes my throattighten. Enzo’s grip tightens, his breath catching, and I feel it too, the weight of this moment, fragile and sacred.
The screen flickers, a grainy image sharpening, and I see it—our baby, tiny limbs curling, a profile delicate but fierce, already carrying the fire I know she’ll inherit.
“It’s a girl,” the technician says, her voice soft, and the words hit like sunlight, warm and blinding. A girl.My daughter.
Tears prick my eyes, spilling over. I seem to do that a lot these days. I turn to Enzo, his face a mirror of my awe, his own eyes glistening.
“A girl,” he whispers, his voice rough, cracking with emotion, and I nod, my heart too full to speak, love for him, for her, swelling until it hurts.
He leans close, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath warm on my skin. “I’ll always protect you,” he murmurs, his voice low and fierce, a vow that wraps around us. “Both of you, Fina, no matter what.”
His hand moves to my belly, resting there, and I feel our daughter shift, a flutter under his palm, as if she knows his promise, trusts it. I cover his hand with mine, tears falling freely now, not from fear but from joy, from the life we’re building, scarred but whole.
“I know,” I whisper, my voice trembling, believing him, needing him, loving him more than I thought possible.
The technician steps out, giving us a moment, and I think of how far we’ve come. Our enmity, the forced alliance, Adriano—it’s behind us now.
Enzo’s love, his confession that night in the manor, has changed everything, a light in the dark of my doubts. I’m not the girl I was, bound by a deal, fighting for scraps of trust. I’m his wife, his partner, a mother, and the strength of that fills me, steady and sure.
Outside, in the waiting room, Riccardo’s there, his face lighting up when he sees us. He’s different now, softer, the distance between us gone. We’re closer than ever, siblings forged in fire, his worry for me during my kidnapping a bridge we’ve crossed together.
“Everything good?” he asks, his voice casual but his eyes sharp, and I nod, smiling, my hand still in Enzo’s.
“A girl,” I say, and his grin widens, genuine, a rare warmth that makes my heart ache with gratitude. He hugs me, careful of my belly, and I feel the bond we’ve rebuilt, stronger than before.
We step into the afternoon sun, the city alive around us, and I think of Papa. His health is strong again. He’s planning a feast tonight, a celebration of family, of survival, and I’m eager to see him, to share this news.
Enzo’s arm wraps around me, his touch protective, and I lean into him, my heart full. Our daughter’s heartbeat echoes in mymind, a song of hope, of love, and I know this is just the beginning, our story far from over.
We still have to deal with Adriano.
The manor’s warmth fades as Enzo leads me down the stone steps to the basement, his hand firm in mine, his jaw set with a purpose that mirrors my own. The ultrasound’s glow, our daughter’s heartbeat, still pulses in my chest, a fragile light against the darkness we’re descending into.
Adriano waits below, his betrayal a wound we must seal, and though my heart pounds, I’m not afraid. Enzo’s love, his vow to protect us, steadies me, and I know this final reckoning is ours to share, a justice for the pain he inflicted.
The basement air is cold, heavy with damp, the rough walls lit by a single bulb that casts jagged shadows. My boots echo on the concrete, each step a weight, but Enzo’s grip keeps me grounded, his eyes meeting mine, fierce yet tender.
“You can stay upstairs,” he says, voice low, rough with worry, but I shake my head, my resolve unyielding.
“I need to see this through,” I say, my voice steady despite the chill creeping up my spine.
“For Lucia, for our girl, for us.” He nods, a flicker of pride in his gaze, and we move forward, side by side, into the heart of our vengeance.
Adriano sits chained to a chair, a broken shadow of the silver-haired serpent who held a knife to my throat. His face is gaunt, skin ashen, eyes hollow from days of torture, his once-crisp suit now torn and stained with blood. Bruises bloom across his jaw, his lip split, yet his gaze, when it lifts to mine, still carries a spark of defiance, a dying ember of the man who thought he could shatter us.
My stomach twists, not with pity but with fury, remembering his cruel laugh, the blade pricking my skin, his vow to kill Enzo and steal our world.
Enzo steps forward, his presence a storm, his gun gleaming in the dim light like a promise of finality. “You betrayed my mother,” he says, voice low, each word a blade. “You framed the Rossis, sparked a war, and you dared lay hands on my wife.”
Adriano’s lips twitch, a weak sneer, his voice rasping, barely audible. “You’re nothing, Enzo. You're weak. Lucia was blind, and so is she.” His eyes flick to me, venom in their depths, and my blood surges, my fists clenching, but I hold still, letting Enzo lead, trusting him to end this once and for all.
I watch, my breath shallow, as Enzo raises the gun, his hand steady, his eyes cold but burning with a fire I know too well. “This is for Lucia,” he says thickly, “for Fina, for our daughter.”
“Your father will be disappointed, ”Adriano taunts, even as the gun presses against the skin of his head.
The shot cracks, sharp and final, and Adriano’s head jerks back, blood blooming dark, his body slumping lifeless. My heart lurches, relief and horror tangling, but I don’t flinch. This is justice, raw and necessary, for the lives he tore apart, the fear he sowed.
Enzo lowers the gun, his shoulders rigid, and turns to me, his eyes searching mine, asking if I’m whole. I nod, stepping close, my hand on his arm, anchoring us both in this moment of closure.