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Chapter Twenty-Four

Francesca

W aking up is hard, like swimming to the surface of dark, thick water with lungs that won’t quite fill.

There’s a dull throbbing in my side, a deep ache that feels like it’s been carved into my bones, and my limbs are heavy, too heavy to lift, too tired to move.

My eyelids flutter open slowly, and the harsh, sterile light stabs into my skull. The scent hits me next—antiseptic, too clean, too sharp. Machines beeping steadily in rhythm with something… my heart, maybe. A tube in my nose. My mouth is dry.

A hospital? Why am I?—

Alessio!

Panic hits like a lightning bolt, sharp and all-consuming. My chest tightens, and I try to sit up, only for pain to lance through me like a spear. The monitor beside me wails, the beeping speeding into chaos, and I hear footsteps, a voice, the scraping of a chair?—

Suddenly he’s there… Dante, holding my face gently between his hands, his eyes frantic and shining with something that looks like relief and absolute devastation all at once.

“You’re okay, amore. I’m here,” he whispers, his voice breaking on the words. “Oh, thank God. Welcome back.”

“Alessio?” My voice is hoarse, barely a breath. “Alessio…”

He doesn’t even blink. “He’s fine,” Dante says, kissing my forehead like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. “He’s okay. Because of you. You saved him, Francesca.”

I close my eyes, a tear sliding down the side of my face.

“He’s okay?” I repeat, still needing to hear it again, needing it to be real.

Dante nods fiercely, resting his forehead against mine. “Yes. He’s okay. Thanks to my brave, completely unhinged wife.”

My lips twitch. It hurts, everything hurts, but he’s alive, and I’m still here. So it means that we won.

I try to speak again, but he hushes me, brushing my hair back with shaking hands.

“You’ve been out for days,” he murmurs. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I was scared too,” I whisper. “He was going to kill him.”

Dante’s jaw clenches, but his touch never falters. “I know. I know, my love.”

I stare at him, really stare, and the weight of everything crashes over me. The gun. The car. The pain. Alessio’s terrified face.

The last thing I remember is warmth blooming across my chest as I shielded the boy I’ve come to love like my own.

But now… it’s this. Dante, leaning over me, his eyes glassy, brushing my hair back like I’m a miracle he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again.

“Fulvio?” I ask weakly.

His gaze darkens. “Gone,” he says without hesitation. “He’ll never bother anyone again.”

“Good.” I wince as I shift, pain flaring through my side. “I hope you made him suffer.”

That earns a crooked smile. “Look at my little wife being bloodthirsty,” he teases, something reverent in his voice. “I like that.”

He leans down and kisses the back of my hand. “Let me call the nurse,” he says softly. “And then the kids. They’ve been asking for you every hour.”

“Lucia?” I whisper. “Alessio?”

“Lucia’s been drawing you pictures,” he says, rising from the chair. “And Alessio…” He pauses, swallowing hard. “He hasn’t let go of the teddy you gave him. Keeps saying you saved him. Because you did.”

I close my eyes, the tears slipping freely now.

“Tell them I’m okay.”

He bends, pressing his lips gently to my temple. “I will,” he says. “But they’re going to want to hear it from you.”

He turns to the door, and I hear his voice catch as he calls for the nurse. The weight of everything hasn’t passed yet, but for now, hope flickers where fear once lived.

The knock on the door is soft. A moment later, the doctor steps in, clipboard in hand, his expression drawn with the kind of exhaustion that comes from standing too often between life and death. Dante follows close behind and moves straight to my side.

“Open your mouth, love,” he murmurs gently, holding a spoonful of ice chips to my lips.

The first touch of cold is heaven, melting slowly on my tongue, soothing the raw ache in my throat. I close my eyes for a moment just to feel it.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Forzi,” the doctor says with quiet warmth. “It’s good to see you awake. You gave us quite a scare.”

I manage the barest nod, too heavy for words.

“You were lucky,” he continues. “Very lucky. The bullet missed any major arteries by a breath. We had to remove your spleen, and you lost a significant amount of blood. You flatlined for twenty-seven seconds on the table. But your heart wanted to fight.”

At that, Dante’s hand tightens around mine. A silent vow. A tether that keeps me here .

“Your vitals are stable now, and the worst has passed. But the next few days will be critical. You’ll be weak, and your immune system will need time to adjust. If you rest and let your body heal, there’s no reason you won’t make a full recovery.”

“Thank you.”

He gives a respectful nod before slipping out, leaving only the hush of machines and the weight of what almost was.

It takes two more days before I feel remotely like myself.

I still tire too easily. My chest throbs with every deep breath.

I’ve seen the kids through video calls. Lucia’s sweet face pressed to the screen, her voice trembling as she tried not to cry.

Alessio lurking just off camera, pretending not to listen, though I knew better.

But I miss them. Desperately. There’s an aching quiet in this hospital room without their laughter, without their squabbles and songs and wild, perfect chaos.

My father hasn’t come. Not that I wanted him to or that Dante or Bruno would’ve let him within a hundred feet of this room.

Dante says it’s only a matter of time before he’s gone. And I believe him. I don’t ask how. I don’t want the details.

I don’t need vengeance; I need peace. For me, for Alessio, for Lucia, and most of all—for my mother. Wherever she is, whatever prison of silence or fear she’s trapped in, I want her safe. I want her to know I lived and that I broke the cycle. That she can too.

And if she ever finds her way back to me… I’ll be waiting .

When the nurse finally knocks with a smile and says, “They’re here,” my breath catches in my throat.

Lucia bursts in first, her wild curls bouncing with every step, a bright pink drawing clutched tightly in her hand. “Mama!”

She barrels toward the bed, only stopping when she sees the tubes and wires. Her lip wobbles, eyes wide.

I open my arms, wincing slightly. “Come here, baby.”

She climbs up carefully, curling into my good side, her little hands trembling as she hugs me. “I drew you a unicorn,” she says, her voice small. “With wings. So you can fly away from the bad men.”

Tears prick my eyes. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “Just like you.”

Alessio follows more slowly, his usual bravado stripped down to something smaller, more fragile. He stands by the foot of the bed, his lower lip pinched between his teeth.

“Cece,” he says quietly. “You saved me.”

I hold out my hand, and he comes, curling his fingers into mine as Lucia leans into my chest.

“I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”

Dante stands at the doorway, silent, watching. His eyes are red-rimmed, his expression unreadable.

“Come here,” I tell him softly.

He crosses the room and leans over, brushing a kiss to my temple, then one to each child.

And in that moment—crammed into this too-small hospital bed, tangled in wires and IVs, a child on each side and a man I never thought I’d trust again standing guard, I feel something I haven’t in a long time, if ever .

I feel whole.

It takes a full week before I’m finally allowed to go home, despite my daily requests and increasingly impassioned pleas. I feel like myself again, still a little sore, a little slower, but strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

Not that Dante allows it.

He wheels me out of the hospital like I’m made of porcelain, ignoring my scowl the entire time. When we reach the car, he bends and sweeps me into his arms without warning.

“I can walk, Dante!” I protest, half laughing, half-exasperated.

“I know,” he replies smoothly and still deposits me gently into the passenger seat like I weigh nothing. He even reaches across me to fasten the seatbelt, his brow furrowed in concentration.

I roll my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips gives me away. I love this, his care, his gentleness, the quiet way he shows me that I matter. That he loves me.

Dante Forzi loves me.

As he climbs into the driver’s seat, he glances over, a mischievous glint in his eye. “By the way, the kids have a surprise waiting for you. They made a welcome-home banner.” He grimaces. “Let’s just say… neither of them is destined for a career in the arts.”

I laugh, nudging his arm. “Don’t be mean. ”

He grins, his hand finding mine between the seats. “I’m not. I’m being honest. But they worked hard on it. They’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed them more.”

We drive in silence for a little while, the road quiet beneath us. I’m just about to ask what’s on his mind when he speaks first.

“I went to the judge with what Fulvio gave me. But it wasn’t enough. Not enough to take down Don Salvatore.”

“Why not?” I ask, glancing at him.

He exhales, eyes fixed on the road. “Because I needed to bring it in front of the council. And I didn’t.”

“Why?” My voice is softer now.

“Vito,” he admits after a beat. “Fulvio knew something about him. Something that could’ve destroyed him. He made mistakes, yes. But he’s not a bad man. He doesn’t deserve to be ruined.”

“So you chose your friend… over revenge?”

“I got revenge,” he says quietly. “Just not to the extent I promised you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I squeeze his hand. “You did what was right.”

He doesn’t even realize how much it means to me—this glimpse of the man beneath the fury. This man who chooses mercy when he could have chosen fire.

He looks over, eyes heavy with something unspoken. “Thank you for understanding.”

I open my mouth to say more, but then we round the corner, and the words fall away.