Page 60 of Jayson (Gatti Enforcers #3)

T he wind outside is whispering again.

I’ve never figured out what it’s saying—only that it never stops. Even in summer. Even when the fog rolls in so thick it swallows the estate whole. Jayson says they remind him of me. Quiet. Relentless. Refusing to be silenced.

I think maybe they remind me of him, too.

The house we built is all clean lines and glass, old wood and iron. It took two years of renovations—twice as long as planned—but it was never about deadlines. It was about presence. About creating a space that didn’t just hold our lives, but witnessed them.

Jayson’s somewhere inside, probably in the office-turned-observatory he never admits to loving. It’s filled with starmaps, satellite prints, and sketches of constellations.

Today is slow. Quiet. Heavy in a good way.

My hand rests over my stomach, still flat but knowing. I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to wait until the moment felt real. Until it felt like joy, not fear.

It does now. Maybe because this life we made doesn’t feel borrowed anymore. It feels like it’s ours .

That evening, I find him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, sauce simmering on the stove like he’s been doing this forever. There’s flour on his cheek. A streak of basil on his knuckle. He looks more like a man in love than a man with blood on his hands.

And maybe now, he’s both.

“Hey,” he says, turning when I enter.

“Hey.” I bite my lip, nerves fluttering.

He pauses, reading me instantly—the way he always does. “You okay?”

I nod. Then cross the kitchen slowly and place his hand over my stomach.

It takes him a second.

Then his eyes widen. “Wait?—?”

I nod again.

And he sinks to his knees right there on the cold tile, pressing his forehead to my belly like it’s the holiest place on Earth.

When he looks up, there are tears in his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d live long enough to deserve this.”

I touch his jaw. “You deserve this,” I tell him. “ We deserve this.”

Later, we sit on the porch swing, blanket over our legs, stars flickering into existence above us.

The air smells like salt and garden soil.

Honeysuckle clings to the edge of the railing, and somewhere off in the distance, the wind howls against trees like they’re whispering secrets we’re not meant to hear.

Same sky. Different season.

His fingers thread through mine, warm and sure. A little rough from working on the new wing of the house, but gentle as ever when he holds me.

He leans in, breath brushing my ear. “Will you marry me again? ”

I turn to him, brow lifted. “Didn’t we already do that? Twice?”

“This time’s different,” he murmurs, voice low. “This time we’ll have a special guest.”

His hand drifts to my stomach, resting lightly over the barely-there curve neither of us can see yet—but both of us feel.

I smile, tears catching at the edges of my lashes. “She or he won’t remember it.”

“She or he will feel it,” he grins. “Like the stars. You don’t need to know their names to know they’re watching.”

We fall into silence, our eyes lifting to the sky—ink-dark and endless, freckled with constellations. The kind you don’t get to see in the city. Out here, they’re vivid. Sharp. Like someone pressed diamonds into velvet.

“There,” I say, pointing up. “Do you see Lyra?”

“The harp,” he nods. “That one I remember.”

“Lila,” I say quietly. “Your sister.”

His fingers squeeze mine. “Always watching.”

I scan the sky again. “And there’s Cassiopeia. The queen on her throne. Upside down most of the time, but still holding court.”

“You,” he says, grinning into my temple.

“And Orion,” I whisper. “The hunter. Belt, shoulders, knees.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “That one used to feel like me. Before.”

“Still does,” I say. “But now you hunt for peace. Not blood.”

He swallows hard.

I rest my head against his shoulder. “Do you think she’ll grow up knowing the constellations?”

He nods. “She’ll know all of them. I’ll teach her. From this porch. Wrapped in blankets and too much hot chocolate.”

“I want our child to know what it means to look up and feel held. ”

“She will,” he promises. “Because she’ll know us.”

The stars keep blooming above us, brighter now—like the night sky knows we’re paying attention. Vega pulses in Lyra. Altair in Aquila. Deneb trailing behind them like a promise.

“The Summer Triangle,” I murmur. “Three stars, three constellations. Ancient navigators used them to find their way home.”

Jayson leans his head against mine. “So will she.”

We sit like that until the night deepens and the sky becomes an ocean of light.

And in the quiet, I wonder if the baby already knows the sound of his voice.

If she can feel the way he wraps me in his arms. The way he talks to my belly when he thinks I’m asleep. The way he looks at me now—like I’m starlight and survival and everything he never thought he’d be allowed to have.

And maybe she can’t see the sky yet.

But maybe, like love, she doesn’t have to.

Maybe some things are felt before they’re ever seen.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the third and final book in the Gatti Enforcers series. I’d greatly appreciate it if you could please take a moment to rate and review the book to help me reach more readers!