Luca nods, releases his hand, then steps toward the door. He spins. "Tomorrow night, the family is getting together for dinner. I would love it if you could come?"
My heart takes off in a sprint. I don't hesitate. "Sure. We'll be there."
Brax glances at me, then nods in agreement. "Count us in."
Luca's shoulders drop another notch, as though I just lifted a weight he has carried alone. "Good. I'll send you the details."
He gives us a final, loaded look, then steps toward the door. He opens it and pauses in the frame, turning back for one last glance. "Finzia, your mother would be proud of you. So would your father."
The words punch straight through my chest. My throat closes too tightly around any response. More tears fill my vision.
He dips his head, then steps into the hall and closes the door behind him.
The condo falls into silence once more. Only this time, it is not heavy with absence. It hums with something new.
I stare at the closed door, swaying slightly as adrenaline drains from my system. My knees wobble. The wall tilts an inch.
Brax's hands find my waist, steady and warm, anchoring me back in place. He searches my face. "Minx? You okay?"
I let out a shaky breath that is half laugh, half leftover sob. "I think so. I'm not entirely sure what just happened."
He brushes his thumb along my hip, then slides one hand up to my cheek, his palm cupping it gently. His grin slides over his face. "Sounds to me like you just got your family back. Or at least the stubborn, guilt-ridden, expensive-suit-wearing part of it."
I burst out laughing.
He glances behind me, then asks, "Did you get hot and bothered with the batter without me?"
I laugh harder.
He leans into my ear, murmuring, "I think it's time we get out the whipped cream."
32
Brax
Four Months Later
Four months ago, my life shifted so sharply it might as well have snapped into a new spine. One day, I had a wife who woke up braced for ambushes and rituals, and the next, I had a woman who slept through mornings because she finally trusted the world not to devour her in her sleep.
Now, it's summer in Chicago. Humid air presses through open windows, sunlight flashes off high-rises, and Valentina moves through our new penthouse with a softness that still knocks the breath out of my chest.
Everything is different.
My name carries weight again with the O'Malleys. Luca and Valentina talk almost daily. Sometimes it's short, and often it's longer. At times, they get emotional, in arguments, or cry with laughter.
Finn's gruff exterior has thawed to the point he introduced her to someone as "my daughter-in-law," then muttered about not making a scene when she squeezed him so tight he coughed.
And tonight, every thread of our stitched-together family is coming together under one roof for one reason.
I asked them to.
But that's not the biggest thing on tonight's agenda.
I adjust my suit collar in the mirror and glance toward the bedroom doorway. "Minx? You ready?"
Her voice floats back, tart and amused. "If you rush me, I'm changing into sweatpants."
I laugh and lean a shoulder against the wall. "You look hot in sweats."
