Chapter 31 #2
He looks older. The realization hits me like a slap. There's more silver at his temples, more lines at the corners of his eyes, deeper grooves in his forehead. This isn't the man I last saw. This is a grandfather of two babies I love.
"Valentina," he says quietly.
Seeing him after all these years cracks something in my chest. A sharp, stinging pressure rises behind my eyes. I stare at his mouth, as if the shape of it might morph into the man who used to bring me sweets behind my mother's back.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. No words emerge.
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He glances past me, taking in the condo over my shoulder. Then his gaze returns to mine. "May I come in?"
My brain screams every argument at once. This is Luca, my uncle, who vanished when I needed him most. It's the same man whose absence branded me nearly as deep as the iron.
My body answers before my brain does. I step back and to the side.
He crosses the threshold slowly, as if he expects the floor to open and swallow him whole. His nostalgic cologne wraps around me, tangled up with ghosts.
I shut the door behind him and press my back to it for a second, one hand still on the knob.
The silence between us stretches again, thick and charged.
He moves into the entryway, then stops, turning to face me fully. His gaze drags over my messy bun, my bare legs, and the batter smudge on my right hand. Something in his expression softens and tightens at the same time. Then he blurts out, "I'm sorry."
The words hang in the air.
For a second, I question whether I heard him correctly. Sorry isn't something I ever expected him to say to me.
I push off the door slowly, my hand dropping to my side. "You are…" My voice comes out raspier than I intend. I swallow and try again. "You're what?"
"Sorry," he repeats. The word sounds rough, scraped from somewhere deep. "I didn't know."
My heart slams so hard against my ribs that my vision blurs at the edges. My fingers curl into my palms, nails biting into my skin.
He takes a step closer, then appears to reconsider and stops again. "I did not know, Finzia." His voice cracks slightly on the term he used when I was small enough to sit on his knee.
Finzia.
Another emotion lodges in my chest. No one's called me that in years. Not since my parents moved me to Italy to hide. A strangled noise claws its way up my throat before I can stop it. It emerges as a half laugh, half sob. My tone comes out sharper than glass. "You didn't know I existed?"
He flinches as if I struck him. "That is not what I said."
"No?" My hands shake. I fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself like armor.
He closes his eyes briefly, as if bracing against an impact. When they open again, they're damp. "Your parents took you and disappeared before I had any chance to stop it. When news came that they had died in the accident, I buried my sister. They said you died with her."
Rage at Salvatore burns through my veins anew, hot and familiar. At the same time, a jagged shard of something else slices through my chest. I grit out, "They lied."
"Yes." He scrubs a hand over his jaw. "I didn't learn you lived until years later, and by then, you were in Salvatore's house, and part of his world."
My vision blurs. Hot moisture gathers, then spills over before I can stop it. I drag the back of my hand across my face, but more follow.
A confession rips from someplace so raw it nearly knocks me backward.
"I waited for you. When I was younger, I used to stand at the window and invent stories about why you hadn't come.
Every birthday, I pictured you walking in and twirling me in the air.
" A sob pushes through the words, jagged and humiliating.
His face crumples. Deep lines rearrange, turning his features into something devastated.
"I failed you and your mother. I chose what I thought was the safe path and left you with wolves.
I should have turned the world upside down to find out what happened inside that house.
I should have dragged you out if I had to crawl through their blood to do it.
I did none of that. I stayed away. I told myself you chose the Abruzzos, but I was wrong. "
"Chose?" I scoff.
"I'm sorry," he repeats.
The tears come harder, and my chest spasms. I press a hand there, trying to hold everything in as it cracks wider.
Part of me wants to rage, to throw every memory at him like knives.
Another part hears the wreckage in his voice and recognizes the agony there, different from mine but real. Yet all I can do is silently sob.
He moves before I can step away. One second, I'm standing rigid and shaking in the entryway. Next, his arms wrap around me in a rough, desperate hold. His broad chest anchors solid under my cheek. The scent of expensive soap and regret swirl around us.
For one suspended moment, my body locks.
Then something inside me snaps. A sharp sob bursts free, followed by another and another.
I clutch the front of his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric as years of abandoned hope spill out of me.
My shoulders shake. I press my face against him, hating that he still makes me feel safe and protected, just like when I was a little girl.
He lowers his chin to the top of my head, one hand cradling the back of my skull. His other arm bands around my back, holding me as if I might disappear. He murmurs, "I'm so sorry, Finzia. I was wrong."
My knees threaten to buckle. His hold tightens, supporting my weight. Tears soak into his suit.
"I hate you," I gasp, the words torn from somewhere deep as another wave of grief crashes through me.
He holds me tighter and says softly, "I know. You have every right."
"And I missed you," I add, the admission ripping my throat raw. "I missed you every single day."
His body jolts as if I stabbed him. His breath shudders against my hair, and I realize he's crying too.
We stand there for what could be seconds or hours. My sobs slowly quiet, turning into softer cries. His hand moves in slow, careful strokes over my back, just like when I was a little girl, and he was my entire world.
Finally, when my throat aches and my head throbs, I pull back.
He lets me go immediately, as if he is afraid any prolonged contact might overstep some boundary. His eyes are red, the whites streaked with veins. A damp stain spreads across the front of his shirt where my face pressed.
I swipe at my cheeks with shaky fingers.
His words come out hoarse. "If there is even the smallest chance that one day you might allow me back into your life in some capacity, I will do whatever it takes to earn it. But I will not demand it. I have no right to demand anything of you. I hope you can forgive me one day."
He looks older than ever, standing there, shoulders bowed under the weight of his choices in a way I've never seen. It's not the Luca who rules rooms with a single glance. It's a man stripped of titles and pretense, asking for mercy.
The strange pressure in my chest swells until it aches.
Forgiveness.
If anyone else asked, it would sound saintly and ridiculous. Forgiveness is not a currency in my world. It is a luxury for people who did not grow up in blood-soaked halls.
Except I know exactly how much it cost me every time the Omni chose vengeance and I had to be their administrator. And I don't want to be shackled to ghosts.
So I stare at Luca, taking in the regret carved into every line of his face, the way his hands shake, the wetness in his eyes. I think about little me at the window and Zara holding her babies. Then I think about the life Brax and I are trying to build, and it's not anchored to old wounds.
The answer rises in me without hesitation. "Okay."
His brows crease with confusion. "Okay?"
"Okay. I forgive you," I declare.
He staggers back a half step, as if the words physically struck him. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Moisture spills over his lower lashes, drawing fresh tracks down his cheeks. "You forgive me?"
"Yes. Holding onto the past doesn't make either of us winners. We both lose, and I've already lost enough," I state.
A short, broken sound escapes him. He lifts a hand as if he might reach for me again, then drops it. "I don't deserve that grace."
"No one in our world deserves much of anything," I reply, a wry edge slipping in.
Emotion flickers through his gaze, too complicated to name. He finally swallows hard. "Thank you. I..." He takes a deep breath.
The door opens, and Brax steps inside. He protectively steps next to me. "Luca. What's going on here?" He cautiously glances between us.
Luca rises taller. "I was apologizing to Valentina. And I must leave now, or I'll miss my meeting."
Disappointment hits me, along with surprise. He just got here, but what should I have expected?
Luca steps closer to me. He asks, "May I?"
For a split second, I consider telling him no out of sheer spite. Then I nod. He draws me into a second hug, gentler than the first but no less sincere. His lips press briefly to the top of my head, just like they did when I was small.
He murmurs, "I will not disappear again. If you ever want to talk, shout, throw things, or just sit in silence, I am a phone call away."
I swallow hard. "We will see how brave you are when I throw things."
His mouth tilts in the shadow of a smile. Amusement fills his tone, and he replies, "You always had a good arm."
I softly laugh at a flashback of when I was a little girl and had a temper tantrum. I got mad at him and threw his candy back, only to beg for it again an hour later.
He lets me go and turns to Brax.
The two men regard each other for a long beat. The air between them hums with unspoken things, but there's a shared protectiveness over me.
Luca extends his hand. "Thank you."
Brax takes his offered hand, gripping it firmly. "You're welcome."
Luca nods, releases his hand, then steps toward the door. He spins. "Tomorrow night, the family is getting together for dinner. I would love it if you could come?"
My heart takes off in a sprint. I don't hesitate. "Sure. We'll be there."
Brax glances at me, then nods in agreement. "Count us in."
Luca's shoulders drop another notch, as though I just lifted a weight he has carried alone. "Good. I'll send you the details."
He gives us a final, loaded look, then steps toward the door. He opens it and pauses in the frame, turning back for one last glance. "Finzia, your mother would be proud of you. So would your father."
The words punch straight through my chest. My throat closes too tightly around any response. More tears fill my vision.
He dips his head, then steps into the hall and closes the door behind him.
The condo falls into silence once more. Only this time, it is not heavy with absence. It hums with something new.
I stare at the closed door, swaying slightly as adrenaline drains from my system. My knees wobble. The wall tilts an inch.
Brax's hands find my waist, steady and warm, anchoring me back in place. He searches my face. "Minx? You okay?"
I let out a shaky breath that is half laugh, half leftover sob. "I think so. I'm not entirely sure what just happened."
He brushes his thumb along my hip, then slides one hand up to my cheek, his palm cupping it gently. His grin slides over his face. "Sounds to me like you just got your family back. Or at least the stubborn, guilt-ridden, expensive-suit-wearing part of it."
I burst out laughing.
He glances behind me, then asks, "Did you get hot and bothered with the batter without me?"
I laugh harder.
He leans into my ear, murmuring, "I think it's time we get out the whipped cream."