For a second, everything goes still. Just her and the garden and the curve of her smile that once unraveled me. I feel it—peace. The kind I never thought I’d have. The kind built from fire, forged in loyalty, and finally, finally real.
I remember the girl I met in art class—the one who made me believe in something softer, something outside the blood.
The same girl who became the mother of my child, who faced me again in a blood-soaked gallery with fire in her eyes and a dagger behind her ribs. She hated me. Feared me. Left me.
But she came back.
And this time, I’m never letting her go.
She’s not just mine.
She’s everything.
Forever.
Leo passes by and slaps me on the shoulder. “You look happy, boss.”
“I am.”
“Feels weird.”
I laugh. It does. Peace always did feel foreign in this life—like wearing someone else's skin. But now, watching Giuliana and Daniel in the glow of something we've finally earned, it doesn’t feel foreign.
It feels right. “Get used to it.”
Later that night, I carry my son upstairs while Giuliana turns off the lights. She stops in the hallway, looking at our family's portraits on the wall.
“They would’ve been proud of you,” she says.
“I hope so.”
She steps closer, slipping her hand into mine.
“They would’ve loved Daniel.”
I nod. “They would’ve.”
We stand there for a long time, wrapped in silence, her hand warm in mine. Then, without a word, I drop to one knee. Her breath catches, and when she looks down at me, her eyes shine with tears—soft, disbelieving, full of everything we’ve survived.
“I’ve been waiting twelve years to keep the promise I made the night I took you up the backstairs into my room for the first time,” I say, voice thick with everything I feel.
"Giuliana Vitale..."
I take her hand, press my lips to her knuckles.
"Will you marry me?"
