Alessia
I wake slowly, my body aches with the slightest movement. The steady beeping of machines fills the quiet room. It takes a moment to remember where I am. When I do, the memories come flooding back. Panic begins to overwhelm me until I reach down and feel his warmth.
Antonio’s slumped in the chair beside my bed, his head resting on the mattress. His breathing is deep and steady, lost in sleep. Gently, I run my fingers through his hair. He stirs and his eyes blink open. He appears disoriented for a second, until his gaze locks onto mine.
“ Tesoro ,” he breathes and sits up straighter
“Good morning,” I whisper.
He swallows hard, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a tender, almost desperate rhythm. “I was so scared,” he admits, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m right here,” I assure him, though seeing the fear still etched on his face makes my heart ache. “You found me.”
But instead of relief, his eyes remain clouded with guilt.
“Antonio,” I murmur, my voice trembling. “Is our baby okay?”
“You know about the baby?” His expression shifts, surprised.
“My father told me,” I say, closing my eyes briefly to block out the memory. “That’s why he beat me. He was trying to kill the baby.”
Antonio’s expression darkens —his rage so palpable it seems to charge the very air between us. My breath catches at the intensity of his emotions. Slowly, he closes his eyes. His chest rises and falls as he draws in a deep, shaky breath, fighting to rein in the storm swirling inside him. His hands unclench, and the tension in his body eases, though the fire in his eyes still simmers.
With deliberate care, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to me. “He didn’t succeed.”
I take the ultrasound photo from his hands. Tears blur my vision as I stare at the tiny image.
“The baby’s really okay?” I whisper, needing to hear him say it again to make it real.
Antonio nods, his gaze softening as he leans closer. “The baby’s okay, tesoro .” He pauses, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m so proud of you. You fought like hell, and because of that, you saved both of you.” His thumb gently traces my cheek, his eyes filled with admiration.
A weight lifts from my chest. But something still feels off. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His eyes close for a moment, his face filled with conflict. When he opens them again, there’s a vulnerability there that I’ve rarely seen. “I’m so sorry, tesoro . I failed you.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, Antonio, you didn’t?—”
“I broke my promise,” he cuts me off, pulling his hand back.
“What are you talking about?”
“I promised that if I ever hurt you, I’d let you go.” He looks away, pain twisting his features. “And I broke that promise. You almost died because of me.”
I try to protest, but he continues. “As much as it’s killing me, I have to keep my word. I’ll make sure you and the baby are safe, always. Neither of you will ever want for anything. But I have to let you go.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Stop,” I say, shaking my head.
Tears brim in his eyes, but he says nothing.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I begin softly. “You did everything you could to protect me. You came for me. You saved me.”
His lips part to respond, but I press my fingers gently against them again. “You’re nothing like Val. You’re nothing like my father. They abandoned me. Hurt me. But you?” My voice softens as I lower my hand, resting it over his. “You’ve fought for me. Every single time.”
His breath shudders, and I squeeze his hand, willing him to believe my words. “I love you, Antonio.”
“You love me?” he breathes.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, and I’m not going anywhere. I need you. We need you.”
For a moment, the world stills. Antonio’s eyes search mine, and then his expression softens. His hand cups my cheek. “I love you, ,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion.
His lips find mine in a tender kiss, the weight of everything we’ve been through melts into that one moment. I pour all my love into it, hoping he can feel how much I mean every word.
But just as our lips part, there’s a knock at the door. The spell is broken as one of the guards steps inside, his expression tense. “Mr. Luciano, the police are here. We’ve held them off as long as we could. They’re demanding to speak with you both.”
Panic surges through me at the mention of the police. “Antonio,” I whisper, reaching for his hand.
“Shh,” he soothes, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll handle it.” He turns to the guard. “Is Baldini here?”
“He is,” the guard confirms.
Antonio’s voice hardens with authority. “Send them in, make sure he’s with them.”
Moments later, the door swings open, and two police officers enter, followed by Antonio’s lawyer, Lorenzo Baldini. The tension in the room thickens as they approach the bed, their expressions unreadable.
One of the officers clears his throat, eyes flicking between Antonio and Baldini before he speaks. “We have some questions for Ms. Moretti,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “We’d prefer to speak with her alone.”
Antonio’s jaw tightens instantly. “Absolutely not,” he snaps, his voice sharp. “I’m not leaving her.”
Baldini steps forward, his voice low but firm. “Officers, my client has the right to have legal counsel present during any questioning.”
Before tensions rise further, I speak up, squeezing Antonio’s hand again. “I’m willing to answer your questions,” I say, my voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in my chest. “But both Antonio and our attorney will remain in the room.”
The officers exchange a glance, clearly weighing their options. After a tense moment, the one holding the clipboard nods. “Very well,” he says, conceding. He flips through his notes, then looks back at me. “Can you tell us what happened? Who did this to you?”
Antonio’s fingers are intertwined with mine, a silent promise that he’s with me through this. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, finding the poise I was raised to embody. I know exactly what I need to say, and more importantly, what I can’t. In our world, truth is layered, and I’ve learned how to navigate it carefully.
“My father had me abducted from my photography exhibit,” I begin. “I don’t know where they took me. The place was unfamiliar, some kind of warehouse, but my father was there. He… he beat me.” I take a shaky breath. “He was trying to kill me—and my unborn child.”
The officers exchange a glance, scribbling furiously on their notepads. Every word I say is measured, balancing between the truth and the pieces I must leave unsaid. I can’t involve Antonio in this—not more than he already is.
One of the officers looks up, his tone professional but probing. “Do you know where your father is now?”
I pause, my heart pounding in my chest. I know exactly where my father is. He’s dead. Antonio made sure of that, but that’s not something I can admit to them.
Antonio squeezes my hand gently in silent support.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He left me there to die.”
The words are true, but they don’t tell the whole story
The officers jot down more notes, their faces impassive. “You’re certain you have no idea where he might be now?” the other officer presses.
I shake my head again, keeping my voice as steady. “No. As I said, when my husband found me, my father had already left. He’s been hiding for months, I’m sure he’s crawled back into whatever hole he came from.” I keep my gaze fixed on them, hoping they don’t see the cracks in my story.
A pause hangs in the air before the officer continues, his tone more pointed. “Your husband passed away over a year ago, Ms. Moretti. Are you sure your memory is intact? It’s possible the concussion could be affecting it.”
The use of my maiden name makes me pause. I hadn’t noticed until now, but it stirs a memory of what my father said—his final threat about erasing any trace of my marriage.
“My name is Mrs. Luciano,” I correct him, my voice firm but controlled. “And my memory is just fine. My husband is right here,” I say, glancing over at Antonio, feeling the steadying presence of his hand in mine.
“There’s no record of a marriage between you and Mr. Luciano,” one of them says cautiously, watching for my reaction.
Before I can respond, Lorenzo steps forward. “Mrs. Luciano has been through a traumatic ordeal. She needs rest,” he states, his eyes steady on the officers. “If you have any further questions, please direct them to my office.”
Reluctantly, they gather their notes and leave the room without further protest.
The moment they’re gone, I turn to Antonio, my heart racing. “They said we aren’t married,” I whisper, the weight of my father’s manipulation crashing down on me. “This is his doing.”
Antonio’s expression darkens, but his voice remains calm. “What do you mean?”
I take a shaky breath. “My father told me he had any record of our marriage destroyed. It was part of his plan to give me to that man.”
Antonio looks at Lorenzo, who nods. “I’ll look into it,” he says before excusing himself, leaving us alone.
For a moment, there’s silence between us, the tension from everything that’s just been said lingering in the air.
I take a deep breath. “What happens next? With us?”
Antonio’s gaze softens as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches out to cup my cheek. “You’re my wife in every way that matters. I don’t care about papers or licenses. I love you.”
Tears begin to fall. “I love you so much, Antonio.”
His thumb wipes my cheek. “We’ll get through this, tesoro . I swear it. You, me, and our baby. Together.”