My breath caught.
"I love you," he repeated, his voice deeper. "I've loved you since we were eight years old, in that damn slum, when I first saw you fighting those older kids."
My brain went blank. I'd always seen him as a brother, as family.
He kept talking, a hint of self-mockery in his voice. "I watched you fall for that Russian bastard. I watched you break, and I broke too. I've been waiting for you, Elena. Waiting for you to look back at me just once."
He reached out to touch my cheek, but stopped mid-air.
"Give me a chance." His tone turned pleading. "I'll raise Stella like she's my own daughter. I'll give you and her the best life. I don't need you to love me right away. I just need you to give me a chance."
I looked at him. Marco Bernardi. Handsome, gentle, a doctor who managed to stay decent despite running in Italian Mafia circles. Any woman would go crazy for him. But I wasn't those women.
Stella let out a tiny whimper in my arms. I looked down—she was scrunching up her little face, obviously hungry.
"Marco, my heart is dead." I forced the words out, saying each one carefully. "On that Christmas night, my heart died with the man I loved. What's left in my body now is just an empty shell. I can't give you the love you want."
He watched me in silence, the color slowly draining from his face. Those usually smiling lips pressed into a hard line. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and slowly stood up.
"I understand," he said quietly.
He didn't push it. He just bent down, pressed a cold kiss to my forehead, then turned and left the room.
I knew I'd hurt him. But lies were crueler than truth. Igor had taught me that.
After leaving the hospital, I faced the most practical problem—money.
I'd been selling my handmade crafts at the local market, but the income was wildly unstable. Some days I'd sell several pieces, other weeks nothing at all. That kind of life made me anxious. I needed a steady income, a job that would let me take care of Stella.
Marco seemed to forget about that day's confession and went back to his old self. He'd visit me and Stella every few days, bringing baby supplies and food.
This particular day, he came again.
"Elena." He stood in the doorway, carrying several shopping bags. "I have a proposal."
Marco knew about my recent job hunting. I held Stella, watching him.
"I want to hire you directly to take care of my grandmother,Elena." He paused, looking at me with sincere eyes. "I'll pay you—much more stable than those crafts. And the hours are flexible. You can bring Stella with you."
I was stunned.
"Marco, taking care of your grandmother is my responsibility. You don't need to pay me."
"Elena, you can't split yourself into that many pieces." His tone brooked no argument. "You can't find a stable job and take care of both Stella and my grandmother."
"Besides," he added, a gentle smile playing at his lips, "if I hired some other caregiver, I wouldn't feel comfortable. Just yesterday, I saw a news story about a caregiver abusing an elderly patient... Please, consider it helping me out."
I looked at him. Those warm brown eyes were full of sincerity. He'd given me a reason I couldn't refuse.
"Okay." I finally nodded. "Thank you, Marco."
He smiled—that gentle, considerate big brother again. "You don't need to thank me, Elena. We're family."
Marco's salary was indeed generous. After several months, I'd saved up a decent amount. I rented a shop space in a good location in town and named it after Stella.
"Stella's Handmade" opened quickly, specializing in affordable handmade necklaces.
The first year, I barely broke even, but word spread among local tourists.
