CHAPTER 10
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3YEARS LATER...
Ariana's POV
The sort of tranquility I’ve felt is something I always thought was underrated, because up until three years ago, I had never known peace like this.No one really talks about it the way they should.People don’t appreciate peace or kindness as much as they should — and I used to hate that.
To say that my life has been a mess would be an understatement.But I’ve never wanted anything more than a normal, simple life.
Mafia-free.
Dad-free.
Stress-free.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, taking in the silence.Mornings are my favorite; they’re the only moments I have completely to myself.I get out of bed at my own pace, draw the curtains open, and let the early light pour in before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.When I look into the mirror, I barely recognize myself — I’ve never looked or felt this happy in years.It’s almost too good to be true.
Three years of happiness.Three years without mafia men, guns, or — thank God — Nicola and D’Angelo.Even saying that aloud feels surreal.I spent five long years trapped under their control, suffocating in their world.To finally be free of it still overwhelms me sometimes.It’s unbelievable.
Even so, I remain cautious — wary of who we talk to and what we tell them about where we live.
A lot has changed in three years.The day I was discharged from the hospital after a long recovery, I made the decision to move to New York.I needed a fresh start.Of course, Mom came with me.I couldn’t leave her behind — not after everything she sacrificed for me.She nearly gave up her life just to give me a chance at a normal one.
In those three years, I’ve learned so much.Mom taught me more about her culture and her native tongue.I even started studying midwifery — something I had always dreamed of before D’Angelo stole that dream from me.I’ve grown independent again.I’ve started to recognize the woman I was before Nicola.
Still, I can’t deny the scars.I’m not okay — not completely.I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, and I’ve been in therapy ever since.At first, I saw my therapist every day.Now, it’s three times a week.His name is Matt.
Matt helps me a lot — he walks me through my emotions, helps me understand the patterns, reminds me that I’m going to be okay.I believe him.But deep down, I can’t silence the fear that one day, Nicola might appear behind me again.
Nicola was arrested the same day he tried to kill me.He went to trial later that year and was found guilty on multiple counts — attempted murder, grievous bodily harm, abuse, sexual assault, and more.He was sentenced on so many charges that there was no chance he’d ever get out.When I heard the verdict, I felt like I was dreaming.
For so long, Nicola had seemed untouchable — a man who always got away with his crimes.Mom and I were relieved beyond words when he finally ended up behind bars.
That relief lasted until last year — when he escaped.
I still remember the day the investigators came to our home to deliver the news.The air left my lungs; it was as if I’d been dragged back into his captivity all over again.Since that day, paranoia has lived with me — fear, tension, constant prayer that he never finds us.Nicola was now a criminal on the loose — my ex-fiancé, the man who had once tried to end my life.Anything felt possible after that.
As for D’Angelo...there was nothing left to fear.He was long gone.Mom’s bullet ended it that day in the church, instantly.I’ll never forget the wave of relief that washed over me when I realized he was dead.
I shake the thoughts away and step out of my room to join Mom downstairs, where she’s setting the breakfast table.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she greets.
“Morning, Mom.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
