83 | Truth
The night is silent, wrapping the mansion in a stillness broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond.
I lie beside Aurelia, her warmth curled against me, her hair spilled across the pillow, her breathing soft and even in sleep.
The gold ring on her finger glints in the moonlight, matching mine, a tether that binds us.
My hand hovers over her cheek, not touching, because I don't want to wake her, but God, I want to hold her.
My phone suddenly vibrates on the nightstand, a low buzz that pulls me from her, and I grab it, slipping out of bed and into the hall.
It's my mother who's calling me.
"Ma," I answer the call, my voice low, rough from sleep, keeping it quiet to not disturb Aurelia. "What's going on?"
Her voice is crisp, all business, the way it gets when she's channeling the Costa name.
"Luciano, the Costa Ball is happening this year and it's at your mansion," she says, "The family needs to show strength, especially now."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning against the wall, because the ball, our annual spectacle of wealth, power, and connections,is the last thing on my mind.
It's a place where the elite in their finest suits and gowns trade favors, deepen alliances, and bid at the auction like their money buys absolution.
"Why now?" I ask, my voice edged, because I'm thinking of Aurelia, of her therapy, her fight, not some fucking gala.
"It's tradition," she says, her tone softening but firm. "And Aurelia is Mrs. Costa now. She should host it, show the world she's your wife, your equal. It's her place."
I glance back at the bedroom door, my heart twisting, because Aurelia's place is with me, yes, but not under their scrutiny, not when she's still healing, still raw from sessions with Dr. Navarro.
"I don't know," I say, my voice low, protective. "She needs to focus on getting better, Ma. This... it's too much."
"Of course," she says, and I hear the rare softness, the mother, not the matriarch.
"But she can handle it, pick a theme, let professional planners do the rest. Spring, maybe, since it's March. This could be good for her, give her something to claim."
I sigh, because she's not wrong, Aurelia can handle it. But I won't push her, won't risk her for tradition.
"I'll talk to her, she will decide for herself," I say, my voice final, a promise to put her first, always.
"Good," she says, and I hear the smile in her voice. "You've got a month, so don't dawdle. Oh, and Nonna is here, she says to send her regards to your wife."
In the background, Nonna's voice chimes, warm and Italian, "Saluti alla tua sposa!"
I manage a small smile, despite everything.
"Okay," I say. "Goodbye, Ma."
I hang up, the phone heavy in my hand, and turn, only to find Nico standing in the shadowed hall, his scarred face lit by the faint glow of a lamp.
"Everything ready?" I ask, my voice dropping, all business now, because the ball's a distraction, but this, this is life or death, Aurelia's safety, my vow to end the threat haunting her.
Nico nods, his eyes steady, unyielding.
"Yeah," he says, his voice low, rough. "The crew's set to dig up the grave tonight. We're good to go."
I nod, my jaw tightening, because it's Ciara's grave we're opening, a ghost I need to see for myself, to know she's dead, to know she's not hurting my wife.
I won't risk Aurelia—not her heart, not her mind, not a single fucking breath.
"I'm watching," I say, my voice cold, a vow of its own. "I need to see it, Nico. No doubts."
He doesn't question it, just nods again, because he gets what she means to me, what I'll do to keep her safe.
"We leave in an hour, boss," he says before turning and leaving the hallway.
I slip back into the bedroom, the darkness wrapping around me, and stand by the bed, watching her sleep, her face soft, her freckles faint in the moonlight.
The ball, the grave, it's all noise, secondary to her, to the way she's fighting, healing, becoming more with every session.
I think of her in a gown, hosting, radiant, but only if she wants it, only if it lifts her, not breaks her.
────??────
The graveyard is full of shadows with the moon hanging above.
It's past midnight, and the cold cuts through my coat, but I don't feel it. I only feel the anger and determination burning in my veins.
I stand by Ciara's grave, my eyes fixed on the crew digging, their shovels slicing through dirt with a rhythm that's almost a heartbeat.
Gabriele's among them, his suit dirt-streaked, his face tight with resentment as he labors, a fitting punishment for the way he disrespected Aurelia, or the way he keepsdisrespecting me.
At one point, I will kill him.
Nico's beside me, his scarred hands in his pockets, his silence a steady presence, like a blade ready to be drawn.
He's the only one I trust here, the only one who knows what this means to me.
The videos, the photos, the taunts, they've haunted Aurelia, twisted her pain, and I'm done guessing.
If Ciara's alive, if she's the one behind this, I'll find her, and I'll end her, because no one threatens what's mine, no one hurts the woman who's my soul.
The digging slows, shovels scraping stone, and my pulse kicks up, a dark anticipation coiling in my gut.
"Faster," I order, my voice low, cutting through the night, and the crew obeys, Gabriele's glare meeting mine before he bends back to work, his hands blistered, his pride bleeding.
I don't care, let him hate me, let them all fear me, because this is about her, about ending the nightmare that's made her doubt, made her sink into pools, made her cut where I can't see.
Nico shifts, his voice quiet, steady.
"You sure about this, boss?" he asks, not doubting, just checking.
I don't look at him, my eyes on the grave, on the truth waiting below.
"I need to see it," I say, my voice rough, a vow. "No body, no certainty. I won't risk Aurelia's life, not a fucking chance."
He nods, falling silent, and the crew hits the coffin, a dull thud that echoes like a gunshot.
My heart lurches, not fear but something sharper, a need to know.
"Open it," I order, stepping forward, my boots crunching on frost-kissed grass, my shadow falling over the hole like a sentence.
They hesitate, just a second, and I glare, my voice a blade.
"Now."
Gabriele grunts, hauling the lid with the others, dirt cascading, and the coffin creaks open, revealing nothing.
No body, no bones, just an empty box, lined with faded silk, mocking me.
My blood runs cold, then burns, a rage so raw it's a roar trapped in my chest.