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SOPHIE

The echo of silence is louder than anything else in this room.

Alessio hasn’t left my side in two days.

He’s been here for every shudder of pain, every beep of the monitor, adjusting pillows, grabbing ice chips, even picking fights with nurses when the pain meds were late.

I can tell the staff is counting the hours until they can send me home.

But I’ve gone quiet.

Not because I don’t see him.

But I’m afraid to believe in him again.

He holds my hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. Like if he lets go, I’ll vanish.

I pretend to sleep, just to avoid the way he looks at me. Like I’m breakable. Like I’m his.

There’s a stillness inside me I can’t shake. A numbness that settled deep the moment everything started bleeding out of me.

But all I can think about is her. Natalia.

The way she cornered me. The glint of something feral in her eyes. The cold metal of the knife pressed against my skin. Her voice, low and velvety, almost soothing if not for the venom laced beneath every word. Calm. Steady. Twisted.

I remember the smell of her perfume, the chill in the air, the certainty in her tone like she’d already decided how this would end. I thought I was going to die. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. My body locked up, frozen between fear and helplessness.

Then he came. Alessio burst through the door like a storm. I don’t remember much after that, just the sound of boots hitting the floor, the chaos, the pressure in my belly, and the heat of blood down my thighs.

He held me like I was already gone. Whispered things I couldn’t process over the shock of it all.

And now… Now the adrenaline is gone, and all that’s left is me. This bed. The monitors. The silence. And him.

He’s trying. God, he’s trying. But the fear’s still here. So is the doubt.

Because love didn’t stop him from leaving. But he did come back. He came back when it counted. I just don’t know if that’s enough to let him in again. But I still want to believe he can fix it.

I don’t reach for him. I let my fingers rest limp in his palm.

My eyes drift toward the window when he talks. I can’t give him what he needs. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Still, he stays.

If silence is all I can manage, he’s willing to sit in it with me. And wait. For a sign. For a word. For anything that might mean we still have a chance.

A few days later, I've been cleared by the doctor to finally go home.

Denver offered for me to stay with him and Clara until I'm fully recovered. But I declined. As much as being alone again scares me, I need to get over the trauma of everything on my own.

There were nights in that hospital bed where sleep didn’t bring peace, only memories. I’d close my eyes and see Natalia. When I'd hear her voice and remember the feeling of being helpless. My life in someone else's hands. I’d jolt awake in a sweat, heart pounding, body trembling.

But Alessio was always there.

Every time.

His hand already wrapped around mine. His other brushing the hair from my face. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t say anything profound. Just held me. And somehow, that was enough. Enough to slow my breathing. Enough to remind me I wasn’t alone. That she didn’t win.

For those moments, I felt safe again. But now Alessio isn’t here.

Nikolai doesn’t meet my eyes. “He has things to take care of. Important matters."

I nod and pretend it doesn’t sting.

Nikolai drives me home. He insisted, probably at Alessio’s request, but doesn’t say much during the ride.

When I open the door to the apartment, I know before I even step inside.

No shoes by the door. No half-drunk espresso cups on the counter. No scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

Just stillness. Cold and sterile. It feels like abandonment all over again. And that’s what makes it worse, because he had been trying.

During those long hours in the hospital, he was... everything. When I was asleep, he’d whisper to the baby, soft, sweet nothings like he was already a father trying to win their heart.

Once, I woke to find a folded note on my bedside tray. You’re stronger than you think, dolcezza . I’m not going anywhere.

He even smuggled in Italian pastries from the place near our apartment.

One afternoon, he brought pizza wrapped in a napkin like it was contraband, grinning like a kid getting away with something.

“Hospital food’s a crime,” he’d whispered, setting it beside me. “This is how I make bail.”

When the nurses caught him, they scolded him for bringing in food that I wasn't allowed to have yet. But of course, in typical Alessio fashion, he won over the staff by having a pizza party for them too.

Every chance he got, he called me dolcezza, his little nickname for when I was giving him attitude.

That word used to annoy me, make me roll my eyes. Now, it feels like a thread tugging at something tender inside me, proof that he still sees me, still loves the version of me that doesn’t always make it easy.

I gave him the silent treatment more than he deserved. But what he didn’t know was how many times I had to stop myself from turning to him, from wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him like none of this had broken us.

And now he’s not here.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Alessio: Had a few things come up. I’ll be off the grid for a few days. Don’t worry. We’ll talk soon, dolcezza. I love you, my heart, forever yours.

I read it three times, waiting for something more.

But there’s nothing.

That night, I lie in bed, curled on my side with one hand resting protectively over my belly.

My phone is dim in my palm, the screen lighting up my face as I scroll through old messages from Alessio. They’re sweet. Short. Safe.

Thinking of you. Rest, dolcezza. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.

They’re his words, his voice in my head. But there’s something missing. Like he’s writing from a distance. Like he’s drifting.

He’s still in my life… but it feels like he’s slipping through my fingers.

I blink back tears I refuse to shed and whisper into the dark, “Why aren't you here?”

The only reply is silence and my own doubt curling tighter around me.

The next morning, there’s a knock at the door.

I move slowly, my body still sore, every movement reminding me that healing isn’t linear.

When I open it, I freeze.

My father stands there, holding a paper bag of groceries in one hand and wearing a sheepish smile that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

"It's fine."

I step aside, letting him in. No words. Just the soft squeak of the door closing behind us.

He sets the bag on the counter and turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

We sit. Not on the couch, but at the kitchen table. Just far enough apart from each other that it’s not quite comfortable.

He clears his throat. "I wanted to check in on you. See how you’re really doing."

I glance away, unsure what to say, so I just shrug.

"I still stand by what I said before," he adds gently. "About wanting to make things work between us. I know it’s going to take more than words. And I know I don’t deserve your trust yet... maybe I never fully will. But I meant it, Sophie. I want to be in your life. And the baby’s. If you'll let me."

I nod slowly, emotion catching in my throat. "Thanks, Dad, that’s... good to hear."

He gives me a tentative smile.

"I brought your favorite, those lemon cookies you used to eat straight out of the box," He opens the box and hands it to me.

"Dad, I don't do that anymore," I lie, taking the box and shoving one cookie into my mouth.

His smile is full, the corners of his lips almost reaching his ears. "My girl."

That pulls a small laugh from me. Just a breath of one. But it’s something.

***

The next day, Denver shows up.

He brings lunch, sandwiches from that little corner deli I used to love but haven’t had the appetite for in weeks.

I raise an eyebrow but say nothing as he sets them on the counter and pulls out two cans of sparkling water.

We talk about how Clara’s pregnancy is going. About my recovery. About how weird it feels to be in my own apartment again.

And then Denver leans back in the chair and says, "The merger’s done. Officially signed, sealed, and profitable. You and Alessio did good, Soph. We’ve got new clients asking for you by name."

I blink. “Seriously?”

He nods. “Dad and I talked. We want to offer you a spot at Prestige. Senior partner. Flexible hours. Good pay. You don’t have to decide right now.”

A beat passes.

I can’t quite speak.

“You deserve it.” He gives my hand a small squeeze. “After everything, you really do.”

He convinces me to get out of the apartment for a bit, just to swing by the office, grab a few things, feel normal again.

We drive in silence, the city blurring past. I watch the familiar skyline shift into unfamiliar streets.

I glance over at him. “This isn’t the way to the office.”

Denver just grins.

I frown. "If you're kidnapping me, I've been there and done that already."

He shakes his head. "Shut up, we're almost here, you goof."

A few turns later, we pull into a quiet gated community. Lush trees. Cobblestone roads. Everything feels too calm, too intentional.

A modern Mediterranean-style house perches on a hill. White stone walls. Warm terracotta roofing.

And standing at the front door, like he’s been waiting there for me forever, is Alessio. I don’t move. Not right away.

After Denver pulls up into the long driveway, I open the car door slowly, the air thick with something I can’t name.

My heart pounds like it’s trying to break free from my chest. I’m not sure if I want to cry, scream, or run into Alessio’s arms.

Denver leans casually over his seat. “Oh, and FYI, did you hear he broke Cash Carson’s nose?”

I whip my head around to stare at my brother. “What?”

He shrugs, far too pleased with himself. “Apparently, Alessio's fist met Carson's face. Guess he’s not great at turning the other cheek when someone disrespects you.”

I turn back toward the house, stunned.

Alessio lifts a hand in greeting, eyes locked on mine.

He’s not just standing in front of a house.

He’s offering me a future.