"Always," he echoed, rhythm never faltering.
When the orgasm came, it was gentler than before but somehow more profound—rolling through me in waves that seemed to synchronize with his own release, both of us crying out quietly, breathing each other's names.
We stayed joined for a long moment after, neither of us wanting to break the connection.
Finally, he carefully withdrew and pulled me against his chest, his hand settling protectively over my stomach where our babies grew.
Protective. Reverent. Gentle in a way that made my throat tight.
"When you said you loved me," I whispered, voice still raw from everything, "after the crash, with Caldwell unconscious and blood everywhere—I thought I might be hallucinating. That the crash had scrambled my brain and I'd imagined the whole thing."
His arm tightened around me. "You didn't imagine it."
He shifted, turned me to face him in the darkness. His hand cupped my jaw, thumb stroking my cheekbone.
"I meant every word," he said quietly, fiercely. "I love you, Valentina. Not because of adrenaline or crisis. I love you because when I look at you, I see the future I never let myself imagine."
Tears slipped down my cheeks. "I love you too. So much it terrifies me."
"Promise me something," I said.
"Anything."
"Promise me we'll face everything together. No more secrets. No more protecting me by keeping me in the dark. We're partners. Equals."
His forehead pressed against mine. "I promise. No more secrets. We're in this together—all four of us."
His hand remained on my stomach, thumb tracing slow circles over where our twins were growing—too small to feel yet, but undeniably there. Real. Ours.
"Two reasons to survive whatever's coming," I said, covering his hand with mine.
"Three reasons," he corrected, bringing my hand to his lips. "You. Them. This future. I'm fighting for all of it."
When we broke apart from another kiss, his voice was rough with emotion. "When this is over—when Marco's in prison and we're safe—I'm going to marry you. Properly."
"Is that a proposal?"
"It's a promise." His eyes held mine. "You're already mine in every way that counts. But someday, when we're free, I want the world to know it too."
"Then yes," I whispered. "Whenever you ask, the answer is yes."
He settled me back against his chest and pulled the blanket over us both.
I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his hand protective over our growing children, and let myself believe we'd survive this.
That love was stronger than blood debts and vengeance.
That we'd make it to the other side.
Together.
Morning shattered that fragile peace like a bullet through glass.
Alessio's phone rang at 6:47 a.m.—Agent Morris, voice tight with controlled urgency, even through the speaker.
I watched his expression change as he listened. Watched the color drain from his face. Watched his jaw clench with that particular tension that meant catastrophe.
"Understood. We'll be ready." He hung up, sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
