I struggled hard, but eventually gave up.
This was probably our last embrace, our last meeting.
At that thought, I couldn't help feeling sad.
"I fucked everything up." His voice came from above my head, muffled and hoarse. "I was greedy. I thought I could run an empire and keep you hidden, thought I could have both power and you. But I was too greedy. Being greedy meant losing it all."
My hand stopped on his chest. My eyes started burning again. Before meeting Enzo, I never realized what a crier I was.
"Chloe," he spoke almost against my hair, every word breathy, like he was afraid speaking louder would shatter someone's heart. "Give me one more chance. Please."
Please.
When that word left his mouth, my eyes welled up. Tears finally fell.
Damn it, I didn't want to feel sorry for him. I shouldn't feel sorry for him. But I couldn't help it.
I thought about those things he'd mentioned so casually. How did he give up everything? He said it like it was nothing, but I knew every single thing meant gambling with his life. How did he get that bandage on his left arm? How many nights did he stay awake to earn those dark circles? I could barely control my voice from asking.
He'd thrown away everything he'd built in New York and run alone to this nowhere town—for me.
The old Enzo Falcone wasn't like this. He was strong, proud, and never bowed to anyone.
But still, I couldn't say yes. Last time I gave him my heart, what did I get? Lies. Imprisonment. Watching the man I loved marry someone else in a church. If I trusted him again and got hurt again, I'd break completely.
I didn't hug him back.
I waited for his arms to slowly loosen, then stepped back and shook my head.
Enzo watched me shake my head. His lips pressed tight. But he didn't ask. He took a deep breath—his chest seemed to tremble.
"I'll wait," he said. "However long it takes. I'll be a good father. I'll prepare a warm home for the child. No matter how much time you need to forgive me, I'll wait."
Then he looked at me for a long time. With that infinitely gentle gaze. Then turned and left, taking part of my heart with him.
I stood in the doorway watching him disappear around the corner.
Then I closed the door, went inside, sat on the couch, and stared at the ceiling.
I replayed everything we'd had in my mind.
Actually, I understood him. I really did. His obsession with power came from Carmine's pressure. Choosing the alliance marriage with Valentina was practically the only path in that world. We were both people damaged by our parents. He expressed love through control; I protected myself by running.
What we were best at happened to be what the other feared most.
This understanding made me ache, but understanding didn't equal forgiveness. He could've told me the truth. Could've sat down before the wedding and talked to me properly. Could've let me make my own choice. But he didn't. Again and again, he chose deception; again and again, he chose to decide for me. He treated me like something that needed protecting, not a person with the right to know the truth.
That was the most painful part. Not the betrayal itself—that from start to finish, he never treated me as his equal.
Whatever. It was over. He was gone. This was the best outcome.
I wasn't in the mood for work. I called Grandma Ruth to take the day off. She just said "okay" and hung up. I loved that about her—never pried, always gave me maximum respect.
During the day, I took the envelope out of my bag and put it back three times. But in the afternoon, I finally put the bank card and property deed in the deepest drawer, covered them with old magazines. Out of sight, out of mind.
It rained that evening.
At first just a light drizzle, tapping softly on the windows. I ate something, showered, changed into pajamas, and got into bed. My belly felt heavy, forcing me to lie on my side. When I turned over, I was as clumsy as a beached whale.
