Enzo doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. The silence does enough talking for both of us.
I findthe note on the kitchen counter. Cream paper. Heavy. Elegant. His handwriting is unmistakable, decisive, slanted slightly forward, like he never hesitates even when he's saying something gentle.
I read it once. Then again. Then I press it to my chest like an absolute idiot and laugh softly at myself, a small, breathless sound that feels… young. Ridiculous. Lovesick.
God. I haven't done that in years.
It reminds me of the notes he used to leave me. Folded into my bag. Slid under my door. Sometimes just a word. Sometimes a sentence that meant everything. We used to joke that we'd leave each other breadcrumbs across the city. Those notes are still at the house. The thought hits me out of nowhere.
Massimo's people were thorough, I know that. Clothes. Documents. Amauri's things. Everything obvious. But there's a box they wouldn't have found. Hidden under the loose floorboard in the closet. Pictures of us, printed and faded at the edges. An old disposable phone I never had the heart to throw away. Messages saved like talismans. Notes he wrote me that I couldn't risk keeping out in the open. A past I buried, not erased.
"Mummy!" Amauri's voice pulls me back. "There is apool."
I smile automatically. "There is?"
He grabs my hand and drags me toward the balcony like it's a matter of urgency, pointing wildly the moment we step outside.I smile to myself, assuming he must have discovered the rooftop pool. But no. That's not what got him so fired up.
"There," he says, practically bouncing. "Down there!"
I follow his finger. Below us, tucked between towers, is something that makes me blink twice.
"Oh my God," I laugh. "That's not just a pool, that's a waterpark."
Slides. Blue and white with curves that catch the sun. Splash zones. A lazy river. It looks like something out of a dream.
"Can we go?" he asks, already hopeful. "Please?"
"You bet," I say without hesitation.
His grin could power the city. As he launches into a breathless plan involving races and slides and something he callsthe big splash of doom, my mind wanders just a little. To Massimo. Maybe I could talk him into opening it just for us tonight. Just the three of us. No crowds. No noise. Amauri would lose his mind.
"I wish we could live here," Amauri sighs happily, leaning against the railing. "Forever."
Something in my chest tightens. I tuck the note back against my heart, smiling into the sunlight. Maybe. A knock at the door startles me. I open it to find an older woman standing there, posture relaxed, despite the several guards in the foyer. Her eyes are kind but observant. The kind of presence that doesn't demand trust, but invites it.
"Jenna Whitford?" she asks gently. "I'm Esther Bonnet." She holds up a card.Therapist."Mr. Manetti sent me," she adds, like she already knows how much that matters.
My chest tightens. Of course he did.
Amauri appears at my side immediately, peeking around my leg with open curiosity. "Are you a doctor?"
Esther smiles at him, warm and unthreatening. She looks like she's in her fifties, with the warmest eyes I've ever seen."Something like that. I talk with kids. And grown-ups too, sometimes."
Amauri considers this. "Do you fix nightmares?"
"Sometimes," she replies honestly. "And sometimes I just help people understand them."
He nods, satisfied enough. I step aside to let her in, and emotion swells unexpectedly in my throat. Massimo has so much on his shoulders right now—enemies, betrayals, ghosts clawing their way back into the light—and still, he thought ofthis. Of Amauri.
Of his son.
The contrast hits hard.
Carter would never have done this.
The thought comes sharp and unwelcome, and I shudder despite myself. He wasn't cruel to Amauri. Not overtly. Not in ways that would leave bruises or headlines. He was something worse. Distant. Like Amauri was a guest in his own home. Tolerated. Ignored. Alwaysother.
The memory surfaces unbidden.
