Page 106

When I'm settled back against the pillows, she doesn't return to her chair. Instead, she perches carefully on the edge of the bed, as if she’s afraid I might shatter if she gets too close. Her hands hover uncertainly before one settles on my cheek, feather-light.
"I thought I'd lost you," she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. "They said...the doctors said..."
She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. I can read the fear on her face, the exhaustion etched into every line of her body. She looks like she hasn't slept properly in days.
"You can't get rid of me that easily," I say, attempting humor despite the situation.
She laughs, the sound watery and fragile, before leaning forward to press her lips against my forehead. Then my cheeks. My nose. The corner of my mouth. Each kiss gentle, reverent, as if she's relearning the landscape of my face.
"I love you," she says between kisses. "I'm so sorry. For everything. For running. For not trusting you. For almost getting you killed."
"How long?" I ask, struggling to focus through the fog of what must be serious painkillers.
She pulls back slightly, one hand still cradling my face. "Three days. You've been unconscious for three days." Her voice catches. "I was starting to lose hope."
Three days. It feels like minutes and eternity simultaneously.
"The baby?" The question is urgent, suddenly the only thing that matters.
Her free hand moves to her stomach, a smile breaking through her tears. "Fine. We're both fine. Tomasso got us to the hospital in time."
Relief floods through me, so intense it's almost painful. My wife and child are safe. Everything else—my injuries, the Fiori brothers, the aftermath of what happened at the warehouse—can be dealt with later.
"I dreamed," I say, the words coming slower now as exhaustion pulls at me again. "About us."
"What kind of dream?" She strokes my hair back from my forehead, careful to avoid the bandages I can now feel wrapped around my head.
"Our wedding. Not the hotel one. A real one." The memory of it glows in my mind, surprisingly vivid. "Somewhere sunny. By the ocean. You were wearing white, but not—not like a prisoner. Like a bride. A real bride."
Her smile widens, though tears still track down her cheeks. "That sounds beautiful."
"It was. You were." I fight against the heaviness of my eyelids, needing to see her face just a little longer. "Happiest I've ever been."
She's quiet for a moment, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that cuts through the medication haze. "We could have that, you know," she says finally. "A real wedding. Somewhere sunny. Once you're better."
The offer hangs between us, weighted with everything we've been through. With everything we've done to each other. The lies, the manipulation, the forced marriage, the desperate attempts to save each other.
"You'd marry me again?" I ask, genuinely surprised. "After everything?"
"I would." Her voice is steady now, certain in a way I've rarely heard from her. "I'd marry you a hundred times, Stefano Rega. The right way. Because I choose to, not because I have to."
Something warm unfurls in my chest, something that feels dangerously like hope. After years of searching for her, of obsessing over her, of forcing her into my life—she's choosing to stay. Choosing me.
"I might hold you to that," I murmur, feeling myself drifting despite my efforts to stay awake.
She laughs softly, pressing another kiss to my forehead. "Rest now. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" I ask, unable to stop the word from slipping out. After a lifetime of people leaving—my brothers to death, my father to his empire, my mother to her grief—I need the reassurance more than I care to admit.
"I promise." She squeezes my hand, her eyes never leaving mine. "No more running. No more lies. Just us, figuring this out together."
I want to tell her that I love her. That I'm sorry too, for the fear and pain I caused her. That I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of this second chance.
But the darkness is pulling me under again, gentler this time. Not the cold void of near-death, but the warm embrace of healing sleep.
The last thing I'm aware of is Ava's hand in mine, her thumb tracing small circles on my skin. An anchor. A promise.
A future I never thought I'd have.