I choke on a sob when he answers nonchalantly, “Yes. I killed him.”
My mind spirals as I fight to grip reality. My father isn’t a nice man.Or should I say wasn’t?But that doesn’t mean I wish he were dead. I’d never met him. He could have changed. Twenty-five years is a lot of time for improvement, and he could have done it for me…
A faded memory smacks my inner monologue into submission. Children are molded by their parents’ actions. The way they’re treated, loved, and supported shapes their future. They learn by example, and only a sturdy foundation of security and love ensures they go into adulthood with good intentions.
Valeria’s vindictiveness and her it’s-all-about-me mantra prove her childhood didn’t have the stability mine did. My mother protected me—both back then and now.
The sheer terror on her face when she dragged me away from my father wasn’t manufactured. Fear like that cannot be made up. She was genuinely terrified, and I can see how Giovanni may have felt the same way when he was confronted with the truth.
An unfamiliar emotion loosens the heaviness on my chest. Is it grief or relief? I truly don’t know. If I had to give an answer, I’d lean toward the latter.
Whatever it is, Giovanni feels it too. “If you want to run,Valentina, I understand. But before you do, remember there will be consequences when I catch you.” His heavy pause steals my breath.
He didn’t kill my father to hurt me.
He did it to protect me.
“And I won’t delay my chase for even a second. Injured or not, I’ll be hot on your tail within minutes of you fleeing. You can run from me, Valentina, but the outcome of my chase willalwaysbe the same. You are mine, so when I catch you, I get to?—”
“Fuck me,” I fill in, whispering.
I’m still bewildered, but I also understand. My father was a horrible man. He was only kind to my mother until she fell pregnant; then it went downhill—fast. He would have killed me years ago if my mother hadn’t been brave enough to run, and my grave would have been right next to hers.
I don’t doubt that.
Giovanni is everything my father never was. He’s fierce, loyal, and extremely protective. Not just of me, but also of my family. Mytruefamily.
I crank my neck until I see Giovanni’s dark and tormented eyes. His decision wasn’t easy for him to make. He will stew over it for weeks to come. Possibly even months, and the knowledge clears away the sludge of his confession.
“I’m not going to run,” I whisper. “Yet.” The tic in his jaw weakens until it matches the beat of my heart monitor when I add to my confession. “I like being chased by you… because I know you’ll always catch me.”
“Always,” he agrees before he drags his index finger down my nose.
The gentleness of his touch and the soothing nature of his promise lengthen my blinks. My muscles spasmed so much today, you’d swear I haven’t slept in a year.
“Get some sleep,dolcezza.” He pulls me back until my body is cocooned by his. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Giovanni rubs my arms soothingly, but I can’t sleep. My guilt is too firm. “If I had just listened to you, your unborn child’s life wouldn’t be in limbo.”
“Ourunborn child.”
He firms his hold when the confidence in his tone causes a sob to rumble up my throat. Then he tells me everything. How Valeria refused to take the hormones necessary for egg retrieval because they can cause some patients to gain weight, and the one-hundred-thousand-dollar payment she paid the nurse at the clinic to switch our files. He even mentions how Luca was more an advocate of my rights than a co-conspirator.
When Luca unearthed the “apparent” mishap at the clinic, he wanted to come forward, but Valeria convinced him Giovanni wanted the procedure done as it occurred. Understandably, he was too fearful to go against a man as powerful as Giovanni.
That all changed when he saw me on my deathbed.
“Does that mean?” I take a breather when my voice cracks. If I cry, my mother will wake. She has a knack for knowing when her child is hurting.
As much as I love her, I don’t want her comfort right now.
Giovanni’s presence is more than enough.
It’s overwhelming in the best and worst ways when his fingers brush my cheek before sliding down to cradle my stomach. His touch is gentle and reverent, and when he speaks, the world stops spinning.
“It means this”—he cradles my stomach before his thumb moves in slow circles over my skin—“is ours. As it hasalwaysbeen.”
As his words ring on repeat in my head, everything fades until it’s just us and the God-honest truth.
