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“Because your brother didn’t deserve to be remembered as a traitor. Not by you. He was just a lost soul… like Daniele. A good heart who lost his way before he even knew how to come back.”

My chest aches, sharp and slow. “And what about you?”

“I’m not the one you loved.”

The words shouldn’t have hurt—not after everything—but they did. Because he still didn’t get it. He still thought he wasn’t enough. Still believed that losing me was just the cost of his silence.

“You ran out to save him,” I say, my voice steadier now. “You could’ve walked away, but you didn’t.”

“I was too late,” he mutters.

“But you tried.”

He looks away then, his jaw locking like he’s holding back everything that has been building inside him for months.

“I hated you,” I whisper. “I woke up with it. Slept with it. Carried it like a second skin.”

He didn’t flinch.

“I know,” he said.

“And still…” I swallow. “I kept loving you.”

His eyes flick to mine, the faintest shimmer in them.

“I know that, too.”

I take a step closer. Then another. The space between us wasn’t cold anymore. It was full. Full of things we hadn’t said, and things we still couldn’t.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to take your brother from you twice.”

And that… that is what finally breaks me.

The tears come then—not for Antonio, and not for the war that stole everything from all of us.

But for him. For the man who carried every burden alone except the one that mattered most—his heart.

I step into his arms without thinking, and he pulls me in like I am something precious. Like he doesn’t quite believe I am real. Like letting go would cost him everything.

“You didn’t kill him, Matteo,” I whisper against his chest.

“Doesn’t change what happened.”

“No,” I say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. “But it changes everything else.”

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me like he wants to believe it—like maybe hearing it out loud will make it true.

I reach up, my fingers brushing along his jaw, rough with days of exhaustion and silence.

“You’ve punished yourself long enough,” I whisper. “Let me carry some of it now.”

His eyes flutter shut, just for a second. And when he opens them again, something in him has shifted.

Not all the weight was gone—it wouldn’t be, not yet—but something inside him had cracked open.

He leans in, not all at once, but slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him.

I don’t.

Our lips meet—soft at first, uncertain. Then deeper. Like we were are trying to memorize the way this feels after everything we’ve lost, everything we’ve nearly destroyed.

It doesn’t erase the past.

But it feels like a beginning.

When we pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm and uneven.

“I love you,” I say, because I can’t hold it back any longer. “Even when I tried not to. Even when it hurt.”

His hand cradles the side of my face, gentle, reverent.

“I never stopped,” he murmurs. “Not for a second.”

We stand there for a while, just holding on. Just breathing.

Grief doesn’t disappear. Love doesn’t fix everything.

But sometimes, it is enough to know the truth.

Sometimes, it is enough to come back to each other.

Even if it is through fire.

Even if it is after everything.

Three months later…

Three months have passed since the funeral, but the weight of our loss still clings to the penthouse like an unshakable fog.

I watch Matteo struggle in silence—burying himself in work, speaking less, retreating into his own world.

He is a strong man, a powerful man, but even the strongest have their breaking points.

And I fear he’s nearing his—or he’s already found it and is simply existing now.

The scent of warm bread and sugar fills the small bakery as I stand beside Ginny, watching as the baker carefully packs the gender reveal cake into a pristine white box. It’s a delicate thing, hiding within it a secret that will soon change our lives forever.

I can’t contain my excitement. The thought of a little human with equal parts Matteo and me growing in my belly… This baby is a beacon of hope in the midst of the deep grief we’re moving through—our small light at the end of the tunnel.

Ginny glances over, smiling softly. “How are you holding up?” she asks, running a hand over her small bump.

Yes, only a few days after I found out I was pregnant, Ginny found out she was expecting again. Nico and Sofia, her wild little twins, are currently running circles around us, their laughter echoing through the bakery like little bursts of joy.

There’s something so comforting, so grounding, about going through this experience alongside her. Watching her with her two little ones, knowing she’s done this before—it gives me a strange sense of peace.

I feel a gentle kick and instinctively rub my bump, letting this little one know I’m right here.

I sigh. “I’m okay. I think Matteo is the one I worry about the most.” I meet Ginny’s gaze. “I don’t know how to help him. He won’t talk about it. He just… works. I get that he doesn’t want to drown in his sorrow, but I worry that avoiding it will only cripple him down the line.”

Ginny nods knowingly. “It’s hard. These men—they carry everything on their shoulders, thinking they have to be strong for everyone else. Sometimes they forget that we’re strong, too. We made vows to them just like they did to us.”

I chuckle. “Exactly. I just want to be there for him, but I don’t know how to break through.”

“You just have to keep trying,” Ginny says. “He’ll let you in when he’s ready. And in the meantime, you just love him. Hold him that extra bit longer, kiss him softer and more often, and remind him you’re there. That’s what we do.”

I exhale and nod, accepting the advice. “You’re right. He needs time.”

The baker hands us the box, and I smile in gratitude before we walk out to our cars. I see my bodyguards posted up by the back door waiting. Neither Dario nor Matteo lets us touch the wheel while pregnant, and though I wanted to fight him at first, I know he does it for his own peace of mind.

“Dinner at our place next week?” Ginny offers. “He won’t admit it, but I know Dario is dying to get another round of chess in with Matteo.”

I laugh. “Those two are secretly besties.”

“Yup.” She laughs with me. “How does Thursday sound? Maybe tacos—I’ve been craving Mexican food like crazy.”

I nod. “That sounds perfect.”

We hug briefly before parting ways. I place the cake gently on the passenger seat before settling in and letting Tony drive me home. My fingers tap anxiously against the leather of the seat as I think of my husband—of how distant he’s been. Maybe tonight will be the night I reach him.

When I arrive home, the penthouse is quiet. Matteo’s study door is slightly ajar, and I peek inside to see him hunched over his desk, paperwork spread across the surface, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

I step inside, my voice soft. “You’ve been at this all day.”

He looks up, the dark circles beneath his eyes evidence of too many sleepless nights. But when he sees me, something in his face softens.

“I have to make sure everything is in order,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t have the luxury of slowing down.”

I approach, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You do,” I whisper. “You just don’t let yourself.”

Matteo reaches up, taking my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my palm. “I can’t lose you, too.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, then slowly guide his hand to my small but growing bump. “You won’t,” I promise. “The threats are gone, and there’s peace—well, as much as this world will allow, anyway. We’re okay, amore mio. We’re fine.”

His eyes soften as he runs his fingers gently over my stomach. The baby instantly recognizes their father’s touch and starts jumping.

“I’ll protect you. Both of you. Always. How was our little mango today?”

Matteo has a pregnancy app on his phone that shows the baby’s size each week. He takes such pride and joy every time we reach a new fruit or vegetable. This week, we’re a mango.

“They were fine.” I smile, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “But I think it’s time we finally figure out exactly what we’re having. I got the cake—it’s in the kitchen.”

He looks at me, confused for a moment, before realization dawns. I grin and nod toward the kitchen.

“Come on,” I say, tugging at his hand. He threads his fingers through mine and lets me lead the way.

Matteo follows me into the kitchen, his fingers laced tightly with mine, the warmth of his touch grounding me. The cake sits on the counter, an innocent thing hiding a life-changing secret. I grab two glasses of sparkling juice, handing one to him as excitement flutters in my chest.

“Close your eyes,” I say, my voice filled with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” I laugh. “Just trust me.”

He exhales, shaking his head but complying. We both close our eyes, and I count down. “Three… two… one.”

We dig into the cake, pulling out a slice, the sound of glass against porcelain the only noise in the room.

“Okay, are you in?” My voice shakes with anticipation.

“Yeah.” I can hear the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Okay.” My heart pounds as I peek open one eye, and the sight steals my breath.

Blue.

I gasp, and Matteo’s eyes snap open. He looks down at the glass of cake in his hand, at the unmistakable blue filling, and for the first time in months, his face truly lights up.

“A boy,” he whispers, as if he can’t quite believe it.

Tears prick my eyes as I nod. “A son.”

He sets the glass down and pulls me into his arms, his embrace firm and unwavering.

“Maria,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice thick with emotion. “A son.”

I wrap my arms around him, feeling the weight of his grief lift—if only for a moment. This is exactly what we needed.

“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his jaw. “All of us.”

Matteo pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining. “I swear to you, I will do everything to protect this family.”

His arms tighten around me, and I feel the tremor in his breath.

“Daniele would have been so happy,” he murmurs, voice breaking slightly.

I nod against his chest, blinking back tears. “He would have been the best big brother. I wish—” My voice catches, and I take a steadying breath. “I wish he could be here. But I know he’s looking on with joy in his heart over this moment.”

Matteo exhales sharply, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. “I miss him every second.”

I lift my head, cupping his face in my hands. “Me too. But he lives on with us, amore. And he would want us to live—for you to live.”

His gaze softens, and for the first time in months, I see something beyond the sorrow—a quiet acceptance, a flicker of hope. He places his palm against my stomach once more, his fingers spread protectively over our growing child.

“A son,” he whispers again, as if grounding himself in the truth of it. “Our son.”

I lean into him, letting my forehead rest against his. “And he’s going to have the best father.”

Matteo kisses me deeply, pouring every unspoken word into the press of his lips. When we part, he holds my gaze, his voice unwavering.

“Forever and beyond, Maria?”

“Forever and beyond.”

There is no man I would rather face life with than him.