I pull back, surprised. "What?"
"Your friend. The one who helped you. I want to know about her."
We move to the living room, settling on the sofa with cups of tea.
"Scarlett's the closest thing to family I've had since my father died," I admit.
"She's a nurse at Mount Sinai now. She's always been the practical one while I'm..." I trail off, not sure how to describe myself anymore.
"The one who married a mafia boss to avenge her father?" Damiano suggests, his mouth quirking up at one corner.
I can't help but laugh. "Something like that." I squeeze his hand. "Scarlett's stayed with me through everything."
"I'd like to meet her," Damiano says, surprising me again.
I study his face, searching for signs of distrust or calculation, but find none. Just genuine interest.
"I'd like that," I say softly.
I glance at Damiano's face, taking in the harsh lines etched by exhaustion. The last hours have been hell for him—for all of us. The warehouse, Lucrezia, Byron's confession, everything crashing down at once.
"You need to get some sleep," I say softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. "When was the last time you actually slept?"
His jaw tightens under my palm. "I tried before you came back from the hospital, but..." He shakes his head. "Couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucrezia in that warehouse."
The raw pain in his voice makes my chest ache.
"We need to try again," I tell him, taking his hand and standing. "I need sleep too. The baby needs it." I can't explain how easy it is to me saying so. Like I was pregnant my entire life.
At the mention of our child, something softens in his expression. He nods and follows me without resistance.
We don't bother changing, just kick off our shoes and sink into the bed together. I curl against him, my head on his chest, his arm around me.
"Just close your eyes," I whisper. "I'm here."
The steady thump of his heart beneath my eargradually slows. His breathing deepens. Within minutes, he's asleep, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
I remain awake, watching him. In sleep, the hard lines of his face ease. The permanent furrow between his brows smooths out. He looks younger, almost peaceful. My fingers ghost over the tattoo on his neck.
Just days ago, I would have seen this vulnerability as an opportunity—a weakness to exploit in my mission to destroy him. Now, I only feel protective. I want to shield him from nightmares, from the ghosts that haunt him.
The man Byron taught me to hate doesn't exist. Or maybe he does, but he's only one part of Damiano—the part he shows the world to keep his family safe. The real Damiano is here, sleeping beside me, trusting me enough to let his guard down completely.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Two weeks have passed in a blur of doctors visits, business meetings, and sleeping with Zoe curled against my side. Tonight, for the first time since everything happened, I've gathered everyone for dinner.
The dining room buzzes with conversation as our family and closest associates gather. I stand at the head of the table, my gaze sweeping over the faces of those I hold dear. Zoe sits to my right, a soft glow about her that makes my heart swell. To my left, Lucrezia manages a small smile, the first I've seen since that terrible day two weeks ago.
Enzo sits beside her, protective as always but less rigid than before. Alessio and Noah take their places further down, deep in conversation about a football game theyare going to attend. Daniel stands by the door, ever vigilant. Even Scarlett is here, sitting beside Zoe after finally meeting the family yesterday.
The sight of them all together fills my chest with something I haven't felt in years – hope.
I clear my throat, and the room falls silent. All eyes turn to me, expectant.
"Family," I begin, my voice steady and warm, "we've been through hell these past weeks. We've faced betrayal, violence, and loss. But we've also shown incredible strength and unity."
My hand finds Zoe's shoulder, squeezing gently. The weight of her engagement ring catches the light – a new addition from three days ago when I finally did things right. Properly. On one knee with words that came straight from my heart instead of calculation.
