The weeks stretched on. Morning brought no answers.
Domenico was still tracing the blocked number—proving harder than expected to identify the owner. Which itself raised red flags. Legitimate numbers didn't hide that thoroughly.
I found Valentina and Livia in the kitchen making breakfast, laughing over some shared joke. The scene was domestic, warm, everything I'd wanted for Valentina.
"Morning, grumpy," Valentina called when she saw my face. "Coffee's ready."
I accepted the mug, watched Livia flip pancakes with easy competence.
Normal. Safe. Right.
So why couldn't I shake the feeling we were standing at the edge of a cliff?
"You okay?" Valentina asked quietly, reading my tension.
"Fine. Just tired."
"Liar." But she smiled, kissed my cheek. "After breakfast, help me start setting up the nursery? I know we don't have much time left, but I want to be prepared."
"Of course."
Livia glanced over her shoulder. "I can help too. If you want."
"We'd love that," Valentina said immediately.
We spent the morning painting the safe house guest room that would temporarily serve as nursery—soft yellow walls, white trim, the color of sunshine and hope.
Livia was surprisingly skilled, her brush strokes even and precise.
"Did this for my mom's shop once," she explained. "Helped her redecorate."
"You're good at this," Valentina said, examining the wall. "This is perfect."
They smiled at each other, and I felt like an outsider watching something I couldn't fully understand. Sisterhood. Connection that didn't require shared history because shared blood provided its own language.
Valentina moved to dip her brush in the paint tray, and I saw her wince slightly—her hand going to her lower back. At thirty-one weeks, everything was starting to ache—her back, her hips, her feet. The twins were running out of room, their kicks and rolls now visible from across the room, rippling beneath the stretched fabric of her shirt.
"You okay?" I was beside her immediately.
"Fine. Just the usual pregnancy aches." She smiled. "The babies are getting bigger, changing my center of gravity. Dr. Morrison said it's normal."
"Maybe you should take a break. Let us finish."
"I'm pregnant, not broken." But she let me guide her to the chair anyway. "Though sitting for five minutes does sound nice."
Livia set down her brush and wiped her hands on a rag. "I'll get you water. And those crackers you like."
She disappeared into the kitchen.
Valentina looked up at me, and I saw it in her eyes—the joy, the gratitude, the relief of not being alone anymore.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For letting her stay. For not… for giving her a chance despite your instincts."
"She makes you happy. That matters more than my paranoia."
"It's not paranoia. It's caution. There's a difference." She took my hand, pressed it against her belly where the twins weremoving. "But I think she's real, Alessio. I think she's exactly who she says she is. My sister."
I felt the flutter beneath my palm—our children, growing stronger every day.
