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Tony wipes his eyes with his sleeve, trying to hide the tears that have started to fall. "I'm sorry, Ava. For everything. For making things harder when you were just trying to protect me. For not listening. For being such a selfish jerk all the time. I just wanted to find out what really happened to Mom and Dad."
“I know, I know.” I squeeze his hand, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. The simple apology breaks something open inside me—relief and love and hope all tangled together.
I want to tell him that it was just an accident, not payback for the things our parents had done, but the reality is that I don’t know. And I don’t know if I’ll ever find out. Or if I want to.
"I'm going to do better," he continues, his gaze moving between me and Stefano. "I'm going to be the brother you deserve. The person he," he nods toward Stefano, "thought was worth saving."
I swallow hard, fighting back my own tears. "I'm holding you to that promise, Anthony D'Amato."
He attempts a smile, though it wobbles at the edges. "Is he...is he going to make it?"
I look at Stefano—the man who faced down the Fiori brothers for us, who fought beyond human endurance to keep us safe. Who loved me enough to let me go and loved me enough to bring me back.
"He has to," I say, willing it to be true. "He's too stubborn to die."
Tony nods, his expression solemn as he studies Stefano's still form. "I owe him my life. We both do."
We sit in silence for a while, the magnitude of everything that's happened settling around us. The family we've lost. The family we've found. The uncertain future that hangs in the balance with each beep of the heart monitor.
"You should eat something," Tony says eventually, sounding more like the protective older brother he's never quite managed to be. "I can go find some food if you want."
"That would be good," I admit, suddenly aware of the hollow feeling in my stomach. How long has it been since I had that sandwich? The baby needs nourishment, even if I have no appetite. "Maybe something simple. Soup, if they have it."
He nods, eager to be useful. "I'll find something. Anything else you need?"
"Just come back," I tell him, meaning it more than he probably realizes. "We need to stick together now."
After he leaves, I turn my full attention back to Stefano. The room feels too quiet without Tony's presence, the beeping of the machines too loud. Too ominous.
"See that?" I say to Stefano, stroking his hand. "Tony's finally growing up. Finally becoming the man I always knew he could be. All because of you."
I study his face, memorizing each line, each angle, the evidence of the life he's lived. The slight scar on his temple from some childhood accident. The faint laugh lines around his eyes that only show when he truly smiles. The stubborn set of his jaw, evident even in unconsciousness.
"You need to wake up and see it for yourself," I continue, my voice breaking. "You need to be here when the baby comes. You need to teach our child how to be strong and brave and impossibly stubborn, just like their father."
My hand drifts to my stomach, to the tiny life growing there—a miracle amid so much destruction.
"I never wanted this, you know," I confess quietly. "A baby. A family. I thought I'd just get Tony to safety, start over somewhere new, be free of all the complications and dangers of this life."
The monitors beep steadily, the only response to my admission.
"But now I can't imagine any other future. Can't imagine raising this child without you. Can't imagine walking away from whatever this is between us."
Tears spill down my cheeks, falling onto our joined hands. "I love you, Stefano Rega. I think I've loved you since we were kids, and you showed me that ridiculous knife trick behind the guest house. I definitely loved you the first time you kissed me in the garden, even though I was too young and scared to admit it. And I love you now—the man you've become, not just the boy I remember."
I lean closer, pressing my forehead gently against his. "So, you have to wake up. You have to fight. Because I've spent my whole life running, and I'm finally ready to stay. Ready to be yours, just like you always wanted."
My tears fall freely now, dampening his pillow, his cheek, his hair. All the emotions I've been holding back—fear, grief, love, hope—rush through me.
"Please," I whisper, the word a prayer and a promise. "Come back to me."
I press my lips softly to his, tasting salt and antiseptic and the faint metallic hint of blood still lingering. His lips are cool, unresponsive, but I pour everything I am, everything I feel, into that gentle kiss.
When I pull back, nothing has changed. The machines continue their rhythm. His chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. His eyes remain closed, his expression peaceful but vacant.
I settle back into my chair, never releasing his hand, determined to be here when—if—he wakes.
Minutes stretch into hours, marked only by the mechanical sounds of the life support equipment and the occasional footsteps of medical staff outside the door.