"Sit," she says, nodding toward the stool at the counter. "Eat."
I slide onto the seat, watching as she plates up a heaping portion of pasta, steam curling off the fresh sauce, the scent alone making my mouth water. She sets it in front of me with a satisfied nod.
I take the first bite.
Heaven.
The tang of tomatoes, the silk of olive oil, the bite of garlic and basil—it’s warmth, comfort,homein a way I hadn’t expected. I take another bite, then another, and for a moment, nothing else exists except the pure, sensory bliss of food and the way it fills something hollow inside me.
Then my mind betrays me.
Where is Marco right now? What is he doing? Will he come back?
I set my fork down, my appetite vanishing as quickly as it came.
Valentina watches me carefully, her own plate untouched. "You’re thinking about him."
I shake my head. "I don’t know what I’m thinking."
She sets down her knife. "I used to tell myself the same thing."
I glance up. "What do you mean?"
Her lips press together, as if debating whether to say more. Then she nods, as if making a decision.
"When I left Luca, I thought I was doing the right thing," she says. "I ran, thinking I could build a life without him. And I did. I opened a café in Sicily. I had friends, security, a little world that was mine."
Her voice dips lower, softer. "But I was alone. I told myself I was free, but every day felt empty. No one challenged me the way Luca did. No one made mefeelthe way he did. I told myself I left for my son, but the truth?" She meets my gaze. "I think I left because I was scared of how much Ineededhim."
I swallow, the words settling like stones in my chest.
"I had everything, Sofia. But I didn’t havehim." She looks down at her hands. "And I realized too late that life meant nothing without the person who made it matter."
Before I can respond, the sound of small footsteps fills the air.
I turn just as a boy rushes in, dark curls tousled, his face still soft with sleep. Valentina’s expression shifts instantly—her features softening, her posture loosening.
"Leo," she murmurs, reaching for him. "What are you doing awake?"
The boy rubs his eyes, mumbling something about a bad dream. Without hesitation, Valentina pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He melts into her embrace, safe, secure.
And something inside me aches.
He’swhole.He has both of his parents. He has a mother who would cross oceans for him and a father who, for all his ruthlessness, would burn the world to keep him safe.
I press my hand to my stomach, feeling the faintest flutter beneath my palm.
"What made you come back?" I whisper.
Valentina meets my eyes, and there’s no hesitation in her answer. "I realized Luca was the only place I’d ever truly belonged."
A lump rises in my throat.
She sighs, brushing Leo’s curls from his forehead. "The Salvatores…they’re not like the Lombardis, Sofia. They don’t just take. Theygive.They built Nuova Speranza from the ground up. They keep the worst of the world at bay. They protect what’s theirs."
I let out a slow, shaky breath.
"And Marco?" I ask, the words barely more than a whisper.
