Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Kristen
Nico stares at me.
Just... stares.
I know he has things to say. I can see them building behind his eyes, stacking up like ammunition he's not ready to fire. But he keeps them locked down.
And honestly? It feels wrong.
Because here's the thing about Nico Sartori that I've learned over these past weeks: he's been more expressive than me from the very beginning. Not with flowery speeches or grand declarations—that's not him. But in the way he watches. The way he acts.
He's been showing me how he feels this whole time.
And I've been the one holding back. Building walls. Protecting myself.
He's dangerous in a thousand different ways yes. But he's never once used that danger against me. Every terrifying thing about him has been pointed outward, forming a shield between me and the world.
I move closer to the bed. My legs feel shaky, unreliable, but I make them work anyway. The chair scrapes against the floor as I pull it right up to his side.
Nico's eyes track my movement. He doesn't say anything. Just watches.
Okay, Thomas. Time to stop being a coward.
"I love you."
The words come out rough, scraped raw from somewhere deep in my chest. Not pretty. Not romantic. Just true.
Nico blinks. Once. Twice.
"I must have taken the bullet earlier than I thought," he says. His voice is hoarse, wrecked from surgery and intubation. "Because I'm clearly dead or hallucinating."
I huff out a breath that's half laugh, half sob. "You're such an asshole."
"Yeah." He doesn't deny it. "Come here."
I'm already close, but I lean in closer anyway, careful not to jostle the IV line or the monitors beeping steadily beside him. His hand finds mine and his fingers thread through mine with surprising strength for a man who almost died two days ago.
"Kristen." My name sounds different when he says it. Heavier. Like it means something. "I don't—" He stops. Starts again. "I'm not good at this."
"I know."
"I've never—" Another stop. His jaw clenches, and I watch him fight with himself, watch him struggle to drag words out of some locked vault inside his chest. "I've spent thirty years watching love destroy people.
Watching men in this life lose everything because they let someone matter. I swore I'd never be that stupid."
His thumb traces circles on my palm. Such a small touch. Such a devastating admission.
"And then you appeared." His voice drops lower. "And I couldn't stop watching you. Couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop wanting—"
He breaks off, and I see the frustration in the tight line of his mouth. Words aren't his weapon. Actions are. But he's trying anyway, bleeding them out for me.
"I love you." He says it like a confession. Like a crime he's admitting to. "I love you so badly it's made me stupid. Reckless. I walked into that warehouse alone because I didn't care anymore if—"
"Don't." My voice cracks. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."
His eyes meet mine. Dark. Intense. Unapologetic.
Oh, God.
I lean forward and kiss him.
His lips are dryl0, but when his good hand comes up to cup the back of my head, holding me there, I feel something slot into place inside my chest.
Like coming home to a place I didn't know existed.
When we finally separate, both breathing harder than we should be, Nico's gaze flicks to somewhere over my shoulder.
"The rabbit is watching."
I burst out laughing. Sir Floppington sits propped against the bedrail where I left him, his button eyes fixed on us with what I can only describe as judgmental curiosity.
"I missed you," I whisper. "So much. These past days—"
"How much?"
I blink at him. "What?"
"How much did you miss me?" His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Specifically."
"Are you seriously asking me to quantify my emotional suffering right now?"
"Yes."
"Fine." I settle more comfortably in my chair, keeping his hand in mine. "I missed you enough that I couldn't sleep. Enough that I kept reaching for my phone to text you before remembering I'd told you I hated you. Enough that Lily asked why I kept crying and I had to blame allergies."
Nico's expression doesn't change, but his grip on my hand tightens.
"Enough that when Vittoria called and said you'd been shot, I couldn't breathe," I continue, quieter now.
"Enough that the cab ride here felt like it lasted years.
Enough that sitting in that waiting room not knowing if you'd survive made me realize I'd rather have you making decisions I hate than not have you at all. "
Nico keeps staring at me.
"You could do better," he says.
I want to hit him.
I really, genuinely want to smack him across his stupidly handsome face. But I'm a good person, and he just had surgery, and there are probably nurses nearby who would frown upon me assaulting their patient.
He must see it in my expression because he laughs. The sound is rough, cut short by what I assume is pain from his chest wound, but it's real. Genuine.
"Does this mean you're coming home with me?"
I blink at him. "What?"
"Home." He says it like it's obvious. Like we've already had this conversation and I'm just slow on the uptake. "With me. You and Lily."
"I—" My brain short-circuits. "Nico, I can't just—"
"You said you missed me." His thumb traces circles on my palm again. "You said you couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop crying. That's not fair."
"Not fair?" I stare at him. "You got shot. In the chest. And you're talking about what's fair?"
"You left me." Simple. Direct. Like he's stating a fact, not making an accusation. "I'm not letting that happen again."
"That's not—" I shake my head, trying to organize the chaos of my thoughts. "Nico, I don't know how to do this. I don't know if it's okay to just... move in with your family. With all of them. Into that compound where people carry guns and have secret meetings and—"
"We can live wherever you want."
That stops me cold.
"What?"
"Wherever you want," he repeats. "The compound. An apartment. A house somewhere else. I don't care. As long as you're there."
My chest aches. This man. This infuriating, terrifying, impossibly tender man.
"You need to be sure about this," I say quietly. "These past days, when we were apart, all I could think was... I have a kid, Nico. I come with a four-year-old who needs stability and routine and someone who won't disappear on her. I can't just—"
Nico looks at me like I've started speaking Mandarin.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "And?"
"And?" I repeat. "And that's a lot. That's a whole other person you'd be taking on. A child who needs attention and patience and—"
"Kristen." He cuts me off. "I've never been close to a kid before. Never wanted to be. Never thought I could be." His jaw tightens. "But Lily is your world. And you're mine. So she's mine too. That's just how it works."
My eyes sting. I try to blink it away, but he's not done.
"Besides," he adds, and there's something almost amused in his voice now, "Lily is doing us a favor."
"A favor?"
"The first woman between the two of you who pulled me close was her." His eyes meet mine. "Not you with your cold ass walking around, pretending you didn't want me."
A laugh bursts out of me. Loud and unexpected and completely inappropriate for a hospital room.
"My cold ass?"
"You heard me." His mouth twitches. "I brought you to dinner. I gave you a job. I kept trying to talk to you. And you kept running away like I was contagious."
"You were intimidating!"
"I was interested." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "But Lily? She showed me a drawing of a rabbit with wings and asked if I wanted to keep it. Didn't even hesitate. Just decided I was worth trusting."
I remember that moment.
"She's braver than me," I admit.
"Lily's going to be impossible after this," I warn him. "She already thinks you hung the moon. If we move in, she'll probably try to rename all her rabbits after you."
"I can live with that."
"And I have conditions."
His eyebrow rises. "Conditions."
"No more making decisions about my life without asking me first." I hold up a finger.
"That one might be difficult."
"Nico."
He sighs. "I'll try."
"And I want to finish my medical studies." Another finger. "I want to become a nurse. A real one. With a degree and everything."
"Done."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He pulls my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Anything else?"
I lean forward, careful of his injuries, and brush my lips against his.
"Yeah," I murmur against his mouth. "Stop getting shot."
"I'll add it to the list."
Nico
The kiss is soft. Gentle. Nothing like the desperate, consuming way I usually want her.
But I'm hooked up to machines and there's a hole in my chest where a bullet used to be, so gentle will have to do.
Kristen's fingers trace my jaw, careful to avoid the IV line. Her lips taste like hospital coffee and something sweeter underneath—relief, maybe. Hope.
I'm about to pull her closer when the door swings open.
"Nicolò, I brought you—"
My mother freezes in the doorway, a container of what smells like homemade soup in her hands. Her eyes dart between us. Kristen on the edge of my bed. My hand tangled in her hair. Our faces approximately two inches apart.
For exactly three seconds, nobody moves.
Then my mother's face transforms into something I can only describe as triumphant, she puts the tray on a drawer next to the door and she starts clapping.
Like she's at the opera and just witnessed the best performance of her life.
"Mamma—"
"When did this happen?" She sets the soup down on the side table, completely ignoring my attempt to speak. "How long has this been going on? Why did nobody tell me?"
Kristen pulls back, her cheeks flushing that shade of pink I've become obsessed with. "Mrs. Sartori, I can explain—"
"Aria," my mother corrects automatically, waving her hand. "We are past formalities now, clearly." She looks between us again. "When is the wedding?"
I choke on nothing.
Kristen makes a sound like a startled cat.
"Mamma."
"What?" She settles into the chair beside my bed like she's planning to stay for the entire interrogation. "You almost died, Nicolò. Life is short. I want grandchildren before I'm too old to chase them."
Kristen opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
I would find this hilarious if my chest didn't feel like someone parked a truck on it.
"We haven't discussed—" Kristen starts.
"Marriage," my mother finishes. "Yes, well, you should. Soon." Her expression shifts, becoming suddenly serious. The change is so abrupt that even Kristen goes still. "Nicolò Sartori."
Fuck.
The full name. Nothing good ever follows the full name.
"You are not having this woman work for us anymore, correct?" My mother's voice could cut glass. "Now that you are together?"
Kristen looks at me with barely concealed panic. I would laugh, but I'm exhausted and everything hurts and I haven't slept properly in days.
"Aria." Kristen stands, her hands raised like she's approaching a wild animal. "I appreciate everything your family has done for me and Lily. Really. But Nico and I just... we literally just had this conversation. Five minutes ago. Before you walked in."
"Five minutes is plenty of time." My mother is unmoved. "I decided to marry Giuseppe in three."
Kristen remains silent because what can she even say?
"Rest now. You look terrible." Aria says.
"Grazie."
"I will send Vittoria to sit with you." She glances at Kristen. "Unless..."
"I'm staying," Kristen says quickly. "If that's okay."
"Of course it's okay." My mother smiles. "Welcome to the family, Kristen. Officially."
She sweeps out of the room before either of us can respond, leaving the soup and approximately seventeen unanswered questions in her wake.
Kristen stares at the closed door.
"Did your mother just..."
"Adopt you? Probably." I shift on the bed, trying to find a position that doesn't make me want to scream. "She's been wanting to do that since the night you saved her."
"I performed the Heimlich maneuver. I didn't donate a kidney."
"Same thing, in her mind."
Kristen laughs.
"Come here," I say.
"You need to rest."
"I need you. I'll rest better if you're here."
She hesitates for only a moment before climbing carefully onto the bed beside me. The hospital mattress isn't meant for two people, but I don't care. Her head finds the space between my shoulder and my jaw, her body curving against mine like she was designed to fit there.
"Your mother is terrifying," she whispers.
"You have no idea."
"She's already planning our wedding."
"Probably picked out the venue years ago." I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Just waiting for me to stop being an idiot."
"Took you long enough."
"Almost dying helped clarify some things."
She goes still against me. "Don't joke about that."
"Who's joking?"
Her fingers find mine, interlacing carefully to avoid the IV. "I thought I'd lost you."
"You didn't."
"I know. But I thought—" Her voice catches. "I thought you'd die thinking I hated you."
"I knew you didn't." That's not entirely true, but she doesn't need to know about the dark hours in the warehouse, bleeding out on cold concrete, wondering if I hate you would be the last words I ever heard from her.
"Liar."
"Sometimes."
She lifts her head to look at me, and there are tears in her eyes that she's trying very hard to hide. I reach up—slowly, because everything hurts—and brush my thumb across her cheekbone.
She kisses me. And then pulls back.
"Sleep," she orders.
I want to argue. Want to keep talking, keep touching her, keep confirming that this is real and she's here and I didn't fuck everything up beyond repair.
But my body has other plans.
The last thing I feel before sleep drags me under is her fingers tracing patterns on my palm and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
For the first time in weeks, I don't dream of losing her.