"We're both broken," I admit. "We both have trauma that isn't healed. Probably won't ever be fully healed. In the beginning, I thought that meant we'd destroy each other. Two damaged people crashing together and making everything worse."
"What changed your mind?"
I think about the shower. About holding him while he cried. About the way he laughs on roller coasters like a kid experiencing joy for the first time.
"I realized we can help each other," I say. "Not fix each other—that's not how it works. But help. Support. Be there when the nightmares come and the memories get too heavy." I pause. "Also, the sex is incredible."
Sophia's eyes go wide. "Marina!"
"What? It's true. The man is?—"
A pillow hits me square in the face.
"Stop!" Sophia is laughing now, her cheeks flushed. "I do not need details about Dante's?—"
"I wasn't going to give details!"
"You were absolutely going to give details. I know that look."
I throw the pillow back at her, and she catches it, still laughing. The sound fills the room, and for a moment, everything feels normal. Like we're back in school, staying up too late and talking about boys who didn't carry guns or have body counts.
But we're not in college anymore. And the boys we love are dangerous men.
The laughter fades, and I study Sophia's face. She looks better than she did at the funeral—the color has returned to her cheeks, and the hollow look in her eyes has softened. But there's still something fragile underneath.
"How are you?" I ask. "Really?"
Sophia sighs. She pulls the pillow against her stomach, her hand resting over where the baby grows.
"When I thought Lorenzo was dead..." She trails off, swallowing hard. "I was convinced I'd lose the baby. The stress, the grief—I could feel my body shutting down. Like it knew there was no point in continuing."
My chest aches. "Soph."
"But then he walked through that door." Her voice cracks. "And I couldn't even be angry. I wanted to be. I wanted to scream at him for putting me through that. For making me bury an empty casket while I carried his child."
"Did you? Scream at him?"
"For about three hours." A small smile crosses her face. "Then I cried for another three. Then we didn't leave the bedroom for a very long time."
"Okay, now who's giving details?"
She throws the pillow at me again.
We settle back into the couch, the movie still playing forgotten in the background. Sophia leans her head on my shoulder.
"I can't forget what they went through," she says quietly. "Dante, Vittoria, Lorenzo—they watched all of us fall apart. They carried that weight while we grieved something that wasn't even real. The guilt on Dante's face when he told us the truth..."
"He thought he'd lost us," I say. "All of us. He was prepared for everyone to hate him."
"I could never hate him. Not after what he did to protect this family." Sophia's hand finds mine again. "He loves you, you know."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"Good." She squeezes my fingers. "Because if he hurts you, I'll have Lorenzo kill him."
"Sophia!"
"What? I'm a mafia wife. I'm allowed to make threats."
