MasukDante's POVI'd rather stand here having finally said it, I thought, than live one more day as the coward who never did.The gunshot cracked through the room, enormous, deafening, ringing off the old stone walls.And I waited.Nothing came.I opened my eyes.The gun was no longer at my forehead. It was pointed past me, at the wall, a fresh hole punched clean through the old plaster, a thin drift of white dust sifting down through the golden light. And Luca was staring at me with an expression I had never once seen on his face in all the years I'd known him.Surprise. Real, genuine, undisguised surprise."You didn't flinch," he said slowly, almost to himself. "You stood there ready to die for her and you didn't even flinch.""No," I said. "I didn't."He lowered the gun the rest of the way, let his arm drop to his side, and shook his head slowly, something almost like wonder settling over his hard, scarred face."I spent my whole life believing love was a weakness," he said quietly. "A
Dante's POVAfter Dahlia and Andrea disappeared down the hall toward the baby's room, their voices fading into soft laughter, I turned to Luca."I need to talk to you," I said. "Alone."Something moved behind his eyes. He knew me too well — better than anyone alive, really — and he heard the weight sitting under those few words. He studied my face for a second, then gave a short nod."Come with me."I followed him through the old stone house, our footsteps echoing off the worn floors, until we reached his study. It was a beautiful room, the kind of room that had held a hundred years of serious conversations — dark wood everywhere, tall windows thrown open to the vineyards rolling gold and green in the afternoon sun, shelves of old books climbing the walls, the whole place smelling of leather and paper and dust. He crossed to the big desk by the window and lowered himself into the chair behind it, and gestured to the seat across from him."Sit.""I'm fine standing," I said.He looked a
Andrea's POV"I'm so glad," I said, and I meant it with every single piece of me. "I'm so, so glad, Dee. You deserve this. You deserve all of it." Then, more gently, softer: "But what about you? How are you really doing? Not the baby — I can see she's perfect. You. How are you, really?"She let out a long slow breath, and gave me a small, honest, tired smile."It's beautiful," she said. "It really, truly is. Being her mother — it's the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me in my whole life. I look at her and I don't even have words for it." She paused, and her smile turned a little rueful. "But I won't lie to you. It's also completely overwhelming. She's so small, and so new, and I'm terrified all the time that I'm going to get something wrong. That I'll miss something. That I won't be enough for her." She reached out and gently straightened the little blanket tucked around Dove. "I didn't exactly have the best example of what a mother's supposed to be, you know? So I'm a
Andrea's POVDahlia led me down a cool stone hallway, our footsteps soft on the old worn floors, and then she pushed open a door and brought me into the baby's room.And oh, it was beautiful. The whole room was done in soft, gentle white — white walls, sheer white curtains drifting lazily in the warm breeze coming through the open window, a little white rocking chair tucked into the corner, soft white blankets folded neatly over the rail of the cot. A mobile of tiny stitched clouds and stars hung above the crib, turning slowly. Sunlight came pouring in through the gauzy curtains and lay across everything in long warm golden bars, catching the dust motes drifting in the air. It smelled of clean laundry and baby powder and something faintly sweet.It looked like a room an angel might live in.Which, of course, was exactly right. Because an angel did live here.Dee crossed the room to the little white cot and leaned over the rail, murmuring something soft and low, and when she straighten
Andrea’s POVAnd I hadn't said anything to that. Because I understood it completely. God, did I understand it. Who was I to tell him not to do the one thing that was holding him upright?So I let it go.And then Luca called and told us he wanted us all to fly out to Italy to meet the baby.My mum was already there — she'd been there since Dahliahad the baby, helping her with the newborn. And they'd finally chosen a name. The most beautiful name I'd ever heard.Dove. Dove Romano.A dove. A little bird of peace, born to two people who had walked through so much war to reach her. I thought it was perfect. I couldn't stop saying it over and over in my head. Dove. I could not wait to meet that little angel, to finally hold her in my own arms, to be an aunt in person instead of just a face on a phone screen.Mrs. Cruz was coming too — Luca wouldn't dream of leaving her behind, and honestly I think she'd have hidden herself in the luggage hold if he'd even tried.We all sat together in Luca'
Andrea's POVIt had been a week since Dante was discharged from the hospital, and he was doing so much better.The bruise at his temple had faded to a faint yellow-green. The stitches on his cheekbone had come out. His arm was still in its cast, and would be for a while yet, but he moved more easily now, less carefully, less like a man made of broken glass. Mrs. Cruz had finally, grudgingly, decided he was well enough to leave his room, and she watched him do it like a hawk, ready to march him straight back to bed at the first sign of him overdoing it.We spent very little time together, even though we were living under the same enormous roof.That was the strange thing about it. We were closer than we'd been in two months — same house, same meals, passing each other in the hallways — and yet somehow further apart than ever, both of us so careful, so polite, so terrified of stepping wrong. We'd nod at each other in passing. Say good morning. Ask how the arm was doing. And then retreat
Dahlia’s POVThe words hung in the air like ice.My head jerked up, my heart instantly pounding. “What do you mean followed?” I asked, my voice trembling as I turned around in my seat. Through the back window, I saw headlights—bright
Dahlia’s POVThe hum of voices dipped lower the second Luca stepped into the room. It wasn’t silence, but it was close enough to feel strange, like someone had turned down the volume of the world just for him. Heads turned, conversations slowed, and I could feel the shift in the air. Some people whi
Dahlia’s POVI smiled through my tears, my chest aching in that soft, painful way that comes from loving someone too much. Yes, I wanted him to remember. I wanted him to wake up one day and look at me the way he used to, with recognition and certainty.But even if he didn’t…Even if the memories ne
Dahlia’s POVI spent the afternoon in my painting room, alone with my thoughts. The sunlight coming through the big window made everything warm and soft, but my mind wasn’t focused on my brushes or the half-finished painting. It kept drifting back to last night—Luca’s hands on my skin, the way he w

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