Page 132 of The Ruin I Chose

We sat in the living room. My mother and Vihaan sat opposite us. Marcello looked smaller somehow—less like the man who’d once intrigued me, more like the man who’d let me see him bleed.

He didn’t rehearse a speech. He just looked them in the eye. Unmasked. Unarmed. Unafraid. He laced his hand with mine, circling his thumb—like he needed it to anchor him to the moment.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he said. “But I love her. I love Kyra. I want to be part of their lives—yours too, if you’ll have me.”

He looked at me and said, “Roxanne is the light I didn’t know I was searching for. And with your blessing, I’d like to build something real. To be hers. In every way that matters. In every way I never knew I could be.”

My mother studied him for a long time. Then walked over and cupped his face like she was weighing his soul.

“If you ever make her walk through fire again,” she said, “I’ll drag you back through it myself.”

Marcello nodded. “I know.”

She kissed his cheek. “Welcome to the family.”

Vihaan didn’t say anything, just offered a brotherly hug. Quick and brief.

Later that night, after the house had quieted, I found Marcello in Kyra’s room. She was asleep—curled up beside him, one hand resting on his chest like she’d claimed him.

He looked at me over her head, eyes soft, voice low.

“She wouldn’t let go,” he whispered.

I smiled and walked over, brushing Kyra’s hair off her forehead.

“She missed you. We all did.”

Marcello reached for my hand and pulled me gently onto the bed beside them. I lay down, facing him. Our fingers twined over Kyra’s back—a quiet bridge between past and future.

He looked at the ring on my finger, then at me—like he couldn’t believe I was real.

“You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

He kissed my knuckles, then my temple. I pressed my hand to his chest, feeling the steady thump beneath my palm—proof that he was still here. Still mine.

The city hummed outside—cars, voices, life. But inside this room, everything was still and sacred. Like time had bowed to love.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he said.

He leaned in, lips grazing my ear.

“I’ll love you the way only a patient man can… and want you like a starving man at the edge of madness. Slowly. Endlessly.”

He nipped my ear.

“Until being mine feels as natural as breathing—like your body remembers me more than it remembers its own pulse—until every touch that wasn’t mine fades like it never mattered.”

I bit my lower lip, heat blooming in my chest.

“Is that a promise?” I murmured, kissing him slow.

His hand tightened on my hip—just a little possessive, just a little desperate.

“It’s a vow, amore. One you’ll feel in every breath, every sigh, every shiver… because I’ll never be done loving you.”

“Slow down, Mr. Vitale.” I smiled. “Let’s get you healed first.”

He kissed me again, and we lay there in silence, staring at each other. Kyra stirred between us, sighed, and settled again. Her tiny fingers curled around mine—like she was stitching us together.