Chapter 12 – Almeria
Something feels wrong the moment I step through the front door.
It hits me like a scent I can’t quite place—faint but unmistakable. Off.
The silence. That’s the first thing.
No Luca running down the stairs, shouting “Mama!” like I’ve been gone for days instead of two hours. No cartoon theme songs echoing from the living room. No chatter from Maria, his nanny. Just the low hum of the air conditioner and the distant creak of old wood.
It’s a weekend and I let him stay up late on weekends, so it’s strange that I can’t hear or see him doing just that.
My chest tightens.
I drop the brown paper bag of flowers on the console table and move deeper into the house.
“Luca?” I call.
Silence.
My voice comes again, tighter this time. “Luca?”
Still nothing.
A strange, cold calm settles over me. The kind that comes just before the storm.
I move through the house—living room, kitchen, study, places that he would usually be in, but to my dismay, I meet each room emptier than the last. His drawings are still scattered on the table. His favorite stuffed bear lies half on, half off the couch. His juice glass from this evening sits abandoned with a full ring of condensation underneath it.
But no child.
My panic rises sharply. I turn and dash down the hall.
“Maria!”
She steps out of her quarters looking frazzled, adjusting her blouse like she just woke from a nap.
I don’t stop. “Where is he?”
She blinks, her brow furrowing in confusion for just a second, before realizing who I could possibly be asking about. “I—I thought he was with you.”
My blood freezes. “He was taking a nap when I left. Didn’t you see him in his room?”
“I assumed you’d taken him out with you…”
“You assumed?” My voice is shrill. “You assumed and didn’t check?”
She stammers, but I’m already past her, sprinting up the stairs, throwing open every door, every closet, every hiding place he’s ever crammed himself into before.
Nothing.
Luca is gone.
“No!” I scream out into the silence of the night in despair, allowing myself feel the fear I refused to accept when I first walked into the house and sensed that something was wrong.
***
I don’t know which of the staff calls Gaspare, but in less than twenty minutes, while I’m still yelling at everyone and no one in particular, he arrives at the house.
He storms in like a hurricane with five men behind him.
The second he sees me, I break.
“He’s gone,” I whisper. “I can’t find him. I looked everywhere.”
“Luca?” he says. “He’s not here?”
“No!” I reply angrily.
Why does everyone keep asking that? Who else would I be looking for so frantically?
He turns to one of his men. “Lock it down. Every exit, every road in a five-mile radius. I want footage pulled from every traffic camera.”
Enzo speaks into his comm. “We’re tracing all outgoing signals. We’ll triangulate.”
I fall onto the couch, shaking, barely able to think.
Gaspare crouches in front of me. His face is pale but focused.
“We’ll get him back.”
I nod because I have nothing else to hold onto.
“I should’ve been here,” he mutters.
“You always are,” I whisper. “Why weren’t you tonight?”
“I got a tip—some unrest brewing. I didn’t want it near you.”
My face falls, but my throat is top parched from sobbing and yelling to say the words hanging in them. Unrest? Is Luca’s disappearance tied to this unrest somehow?
I want to scream. Want to hit him.
But all I can do is pray.
Three hours later, while my mind goes on rampage, thinking of what could have happened to my baby, they find the van on a traffic cam five miles out.
Gaspare studies the footage like a man possessed.
“Warehouse. Industrial sector. Enzo, take four with you. I want sniper coverage. Matteo, you’re with me. We go in quiet.”
“I’m going too,” I say.
“No.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He turns, grabs my arms. “You stay here in case they try again. I’ll bring him back.”
His eyes shine with something I’ve never seen in him before.
Fear.
And beneath that… love.
I sit in Luca’s room with his favorite toy cradled in my arms like it’s a part of him.
Minutes stretch into eternities. I can’t eat. Can’t breathe.
Maria and Lisa take turns coming in to check on me. No words, just silence. Lisa comes with food. I eye her maliciously for expecting me to want to eat right now and she hurries out, muttering apologies.
And then, I hear the front doors burst open.
“ALMERIA!”
My heart sinks to my stomach as I hear him, my mind expecting the worst. I don’t remember when I stood up but I find myself running out of the room and rushing downstairs.
Gaspare storms in, blood on his shirt, Luca cradled in his arms.
My knees buckle at the sight of them.
Luca is crying, clinging to Gaspare’s neck, dirty and scraped but very much alive.
I sob as I gather him in my arms, holding him tighter than I ever have in my life.
Gaspare drops onto the couch, breathing hard, eyes never leaving us.
“I told you,” he rasps. “I’d bring him home.”
Hours later, Luca is finally asleep in his own bed, curled around his stuffed tiger, his chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm that doesn’t match the chaos of the day.
I sit on the edge of his mattress, watching him in the dim glow of the nightlight. He looks so small, even though he’s grown so much.
He barely spoke when I helped him bathe earlier. He just clung to me, eyes wide, quiet. And when dinner was brought up, he didn’t pick at it like he normally does. He didn’t push the broccoli aside. He didn’t stall or complain.
He just… ate.
Fast. Ravenous.
Like he hadn’t had anything decent all day.
Like he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to eat again.
That broke me more than anything.
I stroke a hand over his soft curls and lean down to kiss his temple. I don't want to leave. I want to curl up beside him and hold him all night long.
But before I can slip under the covers, a quiet voice cuts through the silence behind me.
“You planning to sleep in here now?”
I glance over my shoulder, even though I know who it is.
Gaspare stands in the doorway, arms folded loosely across his chest. The hallway light casts a soft amber outline around his bare torso. He looks tired. Bruised. But the softness in his eyes cuts straight through me.
“I just wanted to be near him.”
“I figured.”
I look back at Luca, my voice barely above a whisper. “He ate like he hadn’t been fed all day. He didn’t even argue about the peas. Just wolfed everything down in minutes.”
Gaspare moves closer, slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile.
“He was scared. Kids don’t know how to say it out loud, so it comes out like that. In silence. In appetite.”
I nod, throat tight.
“I didn’t want to wake him,” I murmur. “But I didn’t want to be away from him either.”
Gaspare steps up behind me, places a hand lightly on my shoulder. “You need to sleep too.”
“I can sleep here.”
“You won’t. Not well. Not like this.”
I don’t respond.
So he crouches beside me.
“He’s safe, Almeria. He’s home. And he needs you to be okay, too.”
His voice is gentle but firm.
It’s enough to get through to me.
With a sigh, I rise from the bed, pressing one last kiss to Luca’s forehead.
Gaspare threads his fingers through mine and leads me quietly out of the room.
Back in my room, I hesitate for only a second before crawling under the sheets. Gaspare slides in beside me, surprising me. But I’m grateful he doesn’t leave.
The silence wraps around us, heavy and full of everything we’re not saying.
I have questions I want to ask. Where was Luca? Who took him? Why?
But I have a feeling I won’t get the answers from Gaspare. At least not tonight.
“You were right,” I whisper. “He was scared.”
Gaspare turns on his side to face me. “You both were.”
I nod, staring at the ceiling.
“I hate this,” I admit. “This feeling. Of being out of control. Of not being able to protect him myself.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “You did protect him. You’ve been protecting him for eight years.”
“But I didn’t today.”
“You trusted me to,” he says. “And I’m glad you did.”
The air changes—shifts subtly between us.
There’s a charge humming beneath the quiet.
I turn toward him.
His face is close. So close.
“You don’t see the way he looks at you when you come through that door,” I say. “Like you are everything.”
He blinks slowly, his voice low. “He gets that from you.”
I smile faintly, but it fades as I reach out and touch the cut on his cheek. “Does it hurt?”
He shrugs. “Only when I’m not looking at you.”
My heart stumbles.
“Was that a line, Colosimo?”
He leans in slightly. “Would you stop me if it was?”
“Probably not.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. “You should sleep.”
“You first.”
He chuckles. “Stubborn.”
“But you married me like this,” I remind him.
He pauses. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”
I don’t know why, but something in that statement, and hearing him say it out loud without hesitation, undoes me.
Gaspare looks at me like I’m something holy and untouchable, like I’ll disappear if he blinks. His eyes are heavy with emotion—soft and intense all at once. He cups my face, fingers trembling slightly, brushing hair from my cheek before leaning in and kissing me—slow and sweet, like a confession.
His lips are warm, coaxing, unhurried. This kiss isn’t about dominance. It’s about rediscovery. His mouth moves over mine, deepening with every slow stroke until the ache between my legs becomes impossible to ignore.
But before he can lower me back onto the bed, I stop him.
“Wait.”
He freezes, eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.
But there isn’t any.
Not anymore.
I push gently at his chest until he leans back. I sit up, straddle his lap, and cup his jaw in both hands. “Let me,” I whisper.
Surprise flickers in his expression—followed by something darker. Desire.
He lets me push him down onto the pillows.
I kiss his chest first, letting my tongue trail over every scar, every shadow of his past. He gasps when I bite softly at his collarbone, his hands fisting the sheets beside him.
My fingers trail down his torso, over the tight plane of his abs. I pause just long enough to meet his gaze.
His chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths, eyes locked on mine like he’s already close to losing control.
And when I lean down and take him into my mouth, he groans—a deep, helpless sound that vibrates through my core.
I take my time.
My tongue teases. My lips slide over him slow and wet, swallowing every inch of him at my pace, enjoying the way he tenses beneath me, one hand burying itself in my hair, the other clenched at his side.
“Almeria,” he rasps, voice fraying. “You’re going to kill me.”
But I don’t stop.
I want him unraveling. I want to taste his surrender.
I want to claim him the way he’s claimed every part of me.
Only when he’s trembling and cursing under his breath do I finally rise from his lap.
His eyes are wild, every inch of him strung tight.
He reaches for me—but I push him back down and straddle him slowly, guiding him inside me inch by inch until I’m filled completely.
We moan together.
His hands fly to my hips, gripping tightly as I begin to move. Slow circles. Deep rolls.
He groans my name, his head tipping back against the pillow.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes.
I ride him harder, my nails dragging across his chest, our bodies moving in sync. He meets me thrust for thrust, the bed rocking beneath us, the headboard tapping against the wall in time with every movement.
When I start to lose control, when my body begins to tremble around him, he sits up—sliding his arms around me, mouth crashing into mine—and flips us with one hard thrust.
Now he’s on top, driving into me deep and slow at first—deliberate strokes that make me feel every inch of him. Each thrust fills me completely, dragging a whimper from my throat as the friction builds and heat spirals out from my core.
My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him closer, deeper.
He groans my name, voice ragged. “You feel like heaven.”
And I do—I feel it. Every grind of his hips. Every stroke that stretches and presses in the perfect way, stroking that sensitive spot inside me until I’m writhing beneath him, clutching his shoulders like I might fall apart if he stops.
“Oh my God,” I cry out, voice breaking as he slams into me harder. “Don’t stop. Gaspare, please—don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
He pounds into me with growing urgency, the rhythm wild, perfect, relentless. The bed rocks beneath us. The headboard continues to tap the wall. My breath comes in broken gasps, every nerve ending lit on fire.
His lips find my neck, sucking, biting just enough to make me cry out again as the tension in my belly coils tighter and tighter.
I arch up to meet him, every thrust pushing me closer to the edge. My moans fill the room now—loud, shameless, unstoppable.
“Right there—right there—yes, yes—!”
I explode around him, body convulsing, walls clenching, back arching off the bed as my orgasm crashes through me like a storm. I cry his name, shaking, undone.
Gaspare shudders, groaning deeply as he thrusts once, twice more before he buries himself to the hilt, holding still as he spills into me with a broken gasp.
We collapse together, skin slick with sweat, hearts racing in sync.
Gaspare wraps his arms around me, pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, then my neck.
“This wasn’t gratitude,” I whisper against his skin. “It was love.”
He pulls me closer, whispering back: “I know.”
We lie wrapped in silence, skin against skin, our breaths slowly returning to normal as the sweat on our skin starts to dry off. Gaspare’s arms stay firm around me, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
I rest my head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat grounding me. It’s steady. Strong. Comforting in a way I never expected to find in him.
But I can’t sleep yet. Not completely. Not with the fear still lingering behind my ribs like a ghost refusing to leave.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I murmur, starting to sit up.
Gaspare hums, his hand trailing down my arm as I slide out of bed and reach for his shirt. I pull it on over my head—it smells like him, warm and masculine and grounding.
As I head toward the bedroom door, his voice stops me.
“You forget where your bathroom is, angel?”
I freeze, glancing over my shoulder.
“Hmm?” he adds, teasing, half-smiling in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. “You planning to take the scenic route?”
My throat tightens.
“I, um… I’m parched. I was going to grab a glass of water.”
One of his eyebrows rises.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” I say too quickly. “Thirsty. Really thirsty.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “By all means then, go hydrate.”
I nod once—too sharply—and slip out the door before I embarrass myself further.
But I don’t go to the kitchen.
My feet move on instinct.
To Luca’s room.
The door creaks open softly, and I step inside, breath catching at the sight of him curled up in bed, hugging his stuffed tiger tightly.
He’s okay.
He’s here.
And yet I can’t stop staring, can’t stop remembering how it felt when I thought I’d never see him again.
My baby.
My miracle.
I walk over, crouch beside the bed, and press my fingers gently to his forehead, brushing back a strand of hair. His face is relaxed, soft with sleep. His little mouth twitches, and he shifts slightly, murmuring something incoherent.
He doesn’t wake.
A few months ago, he would have.
The last time there was a raid near my shop, he couldn’t sleep through the night for weeks. Every siren, every sharp sound, had him crawling into my bed, trembling.
But now…
Now he’s sleeping through the night.
Through everything.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, resting my hands in my lap, letting the ache of the day roll through me.
“Your water trip take a detour?”
I flinch at the sound of Gaspare’s voice.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, shirtless, eyes soft.
I smile faintly. “Caught me.”
He walks over slowly, his bare feet silent against the floor.
“Wasn’t thirsty after all?”
I shake my head.
“No. I just needed to see him. Needed to be sure this wasn’t some dream I’d wake up from.”
Gaspare crouches in front of me, his hands resting gently on my knees.
“He’s okay.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But I didn’t. Not for hours. I didn’t know if I’d ever hold him again.”
Gaspare says nothing for a long moment.
Then, quietly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I failed you. Both of you.”
I reach out, touch his face.
“No, Gaspare. You didn’t. You kept your promise.”
He leans into my hand.
“Tonight, I realized something,” I add. “He’s not a little boy anymore. The last time he faced danger, he couldn’t sleep without nightmares. But now… he’s growing. And you brought him back to me before he could break.”
Gaspare presses a kiss to the inside of my palm, then stands and offers me his hand.
“Come back to bed,” he says. “He’s safe now. And so are you.”
I let him guide me back down the hall, fingers laced with his.
And when we slip beneath the covers, and he pulls me back into his arms, I rest my head over his heart and breathe in the truth I’ve been running from:
I trust him.
I love him.
And whatever comes next… I’m not alone.
Not anymore.