As Liliana sleeps, her breaths evening out, my phone buzzes sharply in the quiet. It’s Tomasso, his voice low. “We’ve got Renato. He’s at the safehouse, putting up a fight, but he’s not going anywhere.”
My blood surges, and the rage I’ve held since seeing Liliana in that dungeon roars back. I glance at her, and she looks peaceful for the first time since this whole mess began. I know if I tell her that her father has been captured, she will support what I have in mind for him. But I do not want to put the burden of knowing she supported her father’s execution on her.
“Sleep, Cara, I’ll be back,” I whisper to her sleeping form
I stand, the decision a fire in my veins, and leave her with Maria, who hovers silently at the door, her eyes wet but knowing to keep her distance.
The drive to the safehouse is a haze, the road blurring under the headlights, my mind on Liliana, and on the justice she deserves.
Renato is in the basement, bound but defiant, his face bruised, his eyes blazing when I enter. He struggles against the ropes, spitting curses, calling Liliana a jinx, a burden, and I see red, my fist slamming into his jaw before I speak.
“You don’t deserve her name in your mouth,” I snarl, my voice low, lethal. “You stood by while Vittorio tortured her, and I am happy my Liliana fired the fatal shot. The only regret I have is that his death was too quick, too fucking easy for what he did.”
Renato laughs bitterly, twisting in his bonds, “I should have killed that bitch as soon as I realized she was broken.” He spits.
But I do not give him another second to say another word. With my gun steady, I fire a bullet clean through his skull. He slumps, his defiance gone, and I feel no satisfaction, only a hollow relief that he’s gone, that he’ll never hurt her again. I leave the basement and hurry back to her side. Needing to be near her, to hold her, to erase the stain of her father’s betrayal.
I return to the bedroom, the lamp casting soft light over Liliana, who stirs as I enter, her eyes searching mine. I kiss her forehead before heading to the shower to wash away the grime of her father.
When I am done, I scoop her into my arms, careful of her injuries, and hold her close, her head against my chest.
“I love you,” I murmur, the words unstoppable, a vow I’ll never tire of. “I love you, Liliana. You’re safe now. Forever.”
She nestles closer, her body relaxing, her hands signing I love you against my heart.
I press my palm to her belly again, feeling our twins stir, a promise of life, and I kiss her hair, her temple, her bruised cheek, each touch a pledge to protect her, to love her, to be hers.
The night wraps around us, quiet and whole, and I hold her, my arms a fortress, knowing she’s mine, our family finally knit back with no more threats hanging over our heads.
34
LILIANA
A week has passed since the dungeon, and the bruises on my body are fading, the raw ache in my ribs softening to a dull throb.
The estate is quiet now, the golden light of late afternoon spilling through the windows, warming the bedroom where I sit on the chaise, my hands resting on my swollen belly.
The twins kick gently, a reassurance that they’re safe, thriving, despite the horror we endured.
Giovanni hovers, his presence a constant warmth, but his care has become a cage of its own, treating me like a fragile flower that might crumble at the slightest touch. He brings me tea, adjusts my pillows, checks my wounds with a tenderness thatborders on reverence, and while I love him for it, the weight of his caution grates on my nerves, chafing against the fire that still burns in me.
I’m healing, stronger every day, and I need him to see me as his wife, not a broken thing to be coddled.
I know Renato is dead, and his absence stirs no remorse in my heart; instead, relief flows through me, a quiet freedom from his cruel words, his betrayal. He called me a jinx, a burden, but his death at Giovanni’s hands has unshackled me, leaving only the love I carry for my husband, my twins, and the life we’re building.
I stand, my resolve firm, and go to find him, needing to reclaim us, to feel him fully, to prove we’re whole again.
Giovanni is in the study, his broad frame hunched over papers, the lines of his face etched with lingering guilt.
I pause in the doorway, watching him, my heart swelling with love and frustration. His dark eyes lift, catching mine, and he’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the room with that protective stride that’s become too familiar. “You should be resting,” he says, his voice soft but firm, his hands hovering as if I might break.
I shake my head, stepping closer, my hands signing, I’m not made of glass, Giovanni. I need you.
His brows knit together, concern flashing quickly before he pushes himself up on one elbow. “Liliana, you’re not healed yet. We have to be careful. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I sigh, frustration bubbling beneath my calm. I’m not a child. I’m not as broken as you think. I need this. I need you.
His gaze never wavers, but there’s a flicker of something I don’t quite expect—reluctance, maybe, or fear. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead, and I feel the familiar surge of love that’s threaded through every part of our story. But this time, I won’t back down.
