Valentina watched me, breathing shallowly, her posture strained from her bound hands. When I finished, I turned to her.
"Can you move?"
She nodded. Winced.
I helped her toward the van's torn opening, one arm around her waist, taking as much of her weight as she'd let me. She leaned into me—not because she had to, but because she needed the contact. I understood. I needed it too.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Getting closer.
"We need to move," Domenico called from outside. "Now."
Outside, my team had formed a perimeter. Three contractor bodies. Two more wounded and secured.
I helped Valentina down from the wreckage, and we moved away from the smoking van—far enough to breathe, far enough that the acrid chemical smell wasn't choking us. She leaned against a boulder, face pale, breathing shallow. Definitely bruised ribs.
I crouched in front of her. Cut the zip-ties from her wrists. She rubbed the raw skin, and something in her expression shifted—relief crashing into shock crashing into something else I couldn't name.
"Are you hurt?" My voice came out rough. "Besides the obvious."
"Cuts. Bruises. Ribs." She pressed a hand to her side, then suddenly to her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."
I steadied her while she dry-heaved, one hand on her back, the other bracing her shoulder. When it passed, she leaned into me, forehead against my chest.
"I've been feeling off for days," she said quietly. "Nauseous. Tired." She looked up at me, and something flickered in her eyes. Uncertainty. Fear. "Alessio, I—"
A helicopter roared overhead. FBI. More sirens on the highway above.
The moment fractured.
But I held her gaze, and in the chaos—the smoke, the sirens, the distant shouts of agents taking positions—the words I'd been holding back for weeks finally broke free.
"I love you."
It came out raw. Desperate. True.
"I've loved you since that motel room. Since you pointed a gun at me and demanded I stay back. Since you chose to trust me when you had every reason not to." I cupped her face carefully, thumbs avoiding the bruises. "I was going to wait. Find the right moment. But there is no right moment, and I almost lost you, and I can't—"
She kissed me.
Desperate and fierce despite her split lip, despite the pain it must have cost her. Her hands came up to grip my shirt, pulling me closer.
When we broke apart, she was crying and smiling at the same time.
"I love you, too," she whispered against my mouth. "I've been trying to find the courage to say it for weeks. I love you, Alessio Valestri. Completely. Terrifyingly. Forever."
I pulled her against me carefully, mindful of her ribs, and just held her. She was shaking—shock, adrenaline crash, relief all hitting at once.
"You're safe," I murmured into her hair. "I've got you. You're safe now."
"I know." She pressed closer. "I knew you'd find me. I knew you wouldn't stop."
FBI vehicles appeared on the highway above. Lights flashed. The helicopter circled back, kicking up dust.
Domenico approached. "Boss. We can still run. Vehicles staged ten miles west. A second helicopter is standing by."
I looked at Valentina, seeing the blood still on her face and exhaustion in her eyes. But something else too—determination.
"No more running," she said, meeting my gaze. "We have evidence. We have my mother's testimony. Now, we have Caldwell. Let's end this the right way."
