Or end one.
The moment Loretta and I came into view, they straightened.
Ciro stepped forward first—my second in command—6’1, broad-shouldered, scarred, and unshakable.
“Boss.”
His voice was steady, respectful.
I gave a single nod. “Get her to the airport. Private jet. No detours.”
My gaze hardened. “You stay with her until she’s wheels-up.”
Ciro met my eyes, understanding the weight behind the order. “Understood.”
I stepped aside, lowering Loretta carefully back into her chair.
Ciro moved in, taking hold of the handles with the same steadiness I had used.
But before he could move—I stepped around to face her again.
Dropped into a crouch so we were level.
So she didn’t have to look up.
“So listen to me,” I said quietly.
Her eyes met mine, focused and present.
“If you ever need me—any hour, any day—you call.”
I held her gaze, letting the words settle.
“I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing,” I said, then added after a brief pause, “I’ll come.”
She tried to smile. It hurt to see—not because it failed, but because it cost her something.
Still, it was there. And this time, it reached her eyes—for the first time in months.
Her hand lifted in a small wave, her fingers trembling, but she didn’t stop.
I reached out and brushed my thumb lightly along her cheek.
Then I leaned in.
Pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her left cheek.
Careful. Gentle.
A promise without words.
When I pulled back, I didn’t look away immediately.
I let myself see her.
Alive. Still here.
Then I stood.
