The comments were worse. Former colleagues, people I'd gone to journalism school with, people I'd considered friends—all of them publicly condemning me.
"He compromised everything journalism stands for."
"How could he not see he was being manipulated?"
"This is what happens when you lose your objectivity."
I closed the laptop before I could read more. My hands were shaking. Luca came over immediately.
"What happened?"
"The deposition leaked. Everyone's talking about it. They're calling it Stockholm syndrome. Saying I'm compromised, manipulated, complicit." I looked at him. "They think I'm a victim who doesn't know I'm a victim."
"You're not a victim."
"I know that. But they don't." I rubbed my face. "My entire professional reputation is being destroyed. Everything I worked for—gone. And there's nothing I can do about it."
He pulled me into his arms. "After the trial, after we prove our innocence, you'll rebuild."
"Will I? Even if we win, I'm still the journalist who dated a mob boss. That doesn't go away."
"Then you do something else. Something new."
I held on to him, trying to believe that. Trying to have faith that there was life after this trial, after these charges, after this public humiliation.
Two days later, Sandro invited us to his estate for a family gathering.
"Emilio and I have news," he said when he called. "We'd like to share it in person."
When we arrived, all three other couples were already there. The atmosphere was celebratory, a stark contrast to the stress and fear of recent months.
"Thank you for coming," Sandro said once everyone was assembled. "Emilio and I wanted to share something with our family."
Emilio stepped forward, and that's when I saw her—a tiny bundle in his arms, wrapped in a pink blanket. A baby.
"This is delayed because of her time in the NICU, but we were finally able to bring her home. Everyone," Emilio said, his voice soft with emotion. "Meet our daughter, Isabella."
The room erupted in congratulations. Julian and Stefan immediately moved closer to get a look. Matteo was grinning. Elio looked genuinely moved.
But it was Luca's expression that caught my attention. He was staring at the baby with something like wonder on his face—the first truly peaceful expression I'd seen on him in months.
"Would you like to hold her?" Emilio asked Luca directly.
"I—" Luca looked uncertain. "I don't want to—"
"You're family. Of course you should hold her."
Emilio carefully transferred Isabella to Luca's arms. I watched Luca adjust his grip, awkward at first, then settling as the baby made a small noise and nestled against him.
"She's beautiful," Luca said quietly.
"She is." Emilio beamed with pride.
I stood beside Luca, looking down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket. Isabella had dark hair and Emilio's eyes, and she was absolutely perfect.
"Look at her," Luca said to me. "She's so small. So perfect."
"She is."
