In between bites, Amauri looks up at me. Not casually. Carefully.
"The bad men are gone?" he asks, mouth still half full, voice low like he's testing whether saying it out loud will make them come back.
The question lands square in my chest.
"Yes," I assure him. "They're gone." Praying he won't ask for details.
He watches my face the way Jenna did earlier, searching for cracks, for doubt. I keep my expression steady. Certain. He nods once, absorbing that, then goes back to his plate. Two bites later, he adds, quieter, "The helicopter was really cool."
Jenna stills beside him.
"But," Amauri continues, shoulders hunching just a little, "it was also… really, really scary."
My jaw tightens. I say nothing. I let him finish.
"I always wanted to fly in a helicopter," he continues, poking his pancake thoughtfully. "Just… not like that."
Something sharp twists under my ribs.
"Maybe," I try carefully, "I can take you one day. Just for fun." I pause, watching his eyes lift. "I have one. If you'd like."
His fork freezes midair.
"Really? You have a helicopter?" his voice jumps an octave.
Jenna shoots me a look. Sharp. Warning. "Massimo?—"
"What?" I pretend innocence, lifting my hands. I can't help it. I wink at her.
"He's cool, Mummy."
She snorts despite herself.
"And," Amauri adds solemnly, "he has soldiers working for him."
That one… that one hits different. I don't correct him. I don't glorify it either. I just nod once, slow and careful, like I understand the weight behind the words. I feel all the empty places inside me—the quiet spaces I carved out just to survive—start to fill. Not with rage. Not with vengeance. With something I spent ten years hating because it reminded me of what I'd lost.
Love.
Unavoidable. Relentless. Territorial in ways no empire ever was or will be.
I watch my son drown pancakes in syrup like it's his birthright. I watch Jenna watch him, pride and worry braided tight in her expression. And I let it happen. Because for the first time in a decade, the space in my chest doesn't feel hollow. It feels claimed.
After breakfast, Jenna nudges Amauri gently from his chair.
"Go take a shower," she tells him, brushing syrup from his chin. "And brush your teeth. Properly. I'll be right here."
He groans like this is the worst injustice of his life, but he slides off the chair and pads down the hall anyway, already calling back, "Ididbrush them, last night!"
She waits until the bathroom door closes before she turns back to me. And then everything spills.
"I need to get back to my house," the words tumble over each other. "I—I need to get it cleaned up. I need my phone. I need to call his school…" Her eyes widen as panic catches up to her. "Oh my God. His school. I haven't even called them. They'll think Amauri is tardy and?—"
I step forward and place my hands on her shoulders, firm, anchoring. "Breathe, Jenna. Breathe."
She looks up at me, and those eyes—those damn eyes—hit me straight in the chest. I could get lost in them. I did, once. Lost everything.
"Jenna," I continue, and my insides tighten, "I swear to you—had I known. About Amauri. Had I been able to… get up… I would have taken care of you." Her breath stutters. "Both of you, I would have never let you go." Her eyes well instantly, and I feel her shoulders begin to shake beneath my hands. "You've always been the love of my life." There's no point hiding it now. "Always."
