25. VALENTINO
25
VALENTINO
When I find Layla again, she’s talking to Mattia.
My first instinct is to step in, to be by her side, to protect her, but then it dawns on me that Mattia is not a stranger to her. He’s her half-brother.
Mattia has always been an enigma. Despite being Silvano’s son, he has never inherited his father’s cruelty or his reckless behavior. If anything, he’s the most level-headed Salvatore I know.
I hang back, watching them from a distance.
Layla’s posture is tense, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she’s holding her very soul together.
Mattia listens intently, nodding at her words. Then, after a brief exchange, he gives her a firm nod and disappears back into the house.
I don’t hesitate any longer. I rush over to Layla.
“Hey,” I murmur, my arm instinctively wrapping around her.
She feels so fragile, so exhausted.
She doesn’t resist. Instead, she buries her face into my chest, her fingers curling against my jacket.
“H-he said yes, Valentino. He’s agreed to… to test for us.”
My whole body exhales with relief.
I tighten my hold on her, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before catching myself.
That’s not my place anymore. But right now, none of that matters.
“Layla, this is good news.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Let’s get back to the hospital.”
The drive back is different this time.
Less tense. Less suffocating.
Layla isn’t curled into herself like before, withdrawn behind a wall of silence. Instead, she sits a little more relaxed, her hands loosely folded in her lap. Every so often, she glances at me, like she’s trying to figure out how to navigate this new version of us.
We’re still on unsteady ground, still balancing between what we were and what we might become, but something is shifting.
And honestly? It’s a relief.
She exhales, resting her head lightly against the seat. “It’s nice to have hope again.”
I steal a glance at her.
The weight of the last few days is still etched into her features, but something about the way she says it, it’s lighter.
“Yeah.” My fingers tighten around the wheel. “It really is.”
She turns toward me, a small smile playing on her lips. It’s not the effortless kind, the ones she used to give so freely, but it’s something.
I find myself wanting to see more of that .
Over the next few days, the atmosphere at the hospital feels different.
Lighter, almost.
Mattia and a few of the other Salvatores have been in and out getting tested, keeping Layla company while I stepped away.
I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually starting to get along with them.
They’re nothing like Silvano.
Mattia is easy to talk to. He’s calm, reasonable, not the kind of man I’d expect to come from that bloodline. Then there’s Emanuel, Silvano’s younger cousin, who’s been hovering around Layla, genuinely concerned about Vincent. Even Sofia, Mattia’s younger sister, has been bringing Layla food and coffee whenever she gets the chance.
Maybe I misjudged them. Maybe Silvano was the outlier.
When we step into Vincent’s hospital room, he’s awake.
His tiny body looks even smaller against the vast whiteness of the sheets, but his eyes brighten slightly. “Mommy.”
Layla is by his side in an instant, brushing her fingers through his hair.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Vincent blinks up at her, then looks past her at me. “You came back.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“Of course, buddy.” I sit beside the bed, reaching for his hand. “I told you I’d always be here.”
His fingers, so small in mine, curl around my hand weakly.
God. He’s been through so much, and all I want to do is fix it.
Layla watches the interaction, something undeniable in her eyes. Maybe she’s realizing, just as I am, how much this little boy means to both of us.
She reaches out, covering my hand with hers.
And this time, neither of us pulls away.
After Vincent falls back asleep, I exhale sharply and make a decision.
“Come with me.”
She blinks, turning her head slightly. “What?”
“Let’s get out of here for a bit.” I stand, reaching for her hand. “There’s a pond nearby. Just a short walk.”
She hesitates. I can tell she’s unsure whether she should leave, even for a few minutes, but eventually, she nods. “Okay.”
The night air is crisp, cool against our skin as we step outside. The hospital lights fade into the distance as we walk down the quiet pathway toward the pond.
Neither of us speaks at first, but the silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s waiting.
The pond shimmers under the moonlight, the surface still except for the occasional ripple from a passing breeze.
Layla stops by the edge, wrapping her arms around herself.
I take a breath, my heart pounding.
Now or never.
Before I can say anything, Layla interrupts, “I owe you an explanation.”
“I wish I could say that you were the only reason that I kept this a secret,” she begins with a deep sigh. “But I guess I had my own shit holding me back.”
I pause, trying to think of the most sensitive way to phrase what I was about to say next. Until I realize that there was no sugar-coating reality. “You mean the thing with your father.”
She nods, “I’ve always wanted to know who he was, but my mother wouldn’t tell me. When I finally found out... well, you saw how that went.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I feel a sharp pang in my chest.
I reach out, placing my hand over hers.
“Layla, no one should have gone through what you did. I know that your experiences shape your understanding of the world, but I would have never done that to Vincent.”
I begin to grow overwhelmed with emotion, “I would have never abandoned him.”
“You say that now—” she starts, but then corrects herself, “I know that now, but back then… You remember our first night together?”
“You know how much the both of us drank, but despite that, I remember most of it.”
I remember how she made me feel. Excited, charged-up, happy, and then confused when she left abruptly never to be heard from again.
“Well, I overheard you talk on the phone.”
I frown, trying to remember, but I cannot recall this specific part. “What are you talking about?”
She smiles, but it’s small, bittersweet. “That morning… I heard you on the phone. You were talking about how you would never be caught by a pregnancy. How it was always on to the next one for you.”
Her voice cracks slightly on the last words, and something inside me shatters.
I stare at her, stunned. “Layla… no.” I rake a hand through my hair, the weight of it all hitting me at once. “That wasn’t about you.”
She glances at me, skeptical. “How do you know?”
“Because I remember exactly what I said.” I step in front of her, forcing her to look at me. “I was talking about Quinn, about her intentions with my father. I was worried she was using him.”
Layla stiffens. “Quinn?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I would’ve never said that about you. Never.”
“And the part about always moving on to the next one?”
“I was always so focused on my career, I was talking about opportunities, business opportunities, not women.”
Her eyes search mine as if trying to find the truth in them.
And when she does, she lets out a shaky breath.
“God.” She laughs, but it’s full of disbelief. “I spent so long thinking you would see me as some kind of… toy or opportunist. That’s why I ran. And that’s why I didn’t come back when I found out.”
I take a step closer, my fingers itching to touch her, but I hold back. “Layla, if I had known that’s what you thought—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She shakes her head. “I kept Vincent from you. I kept the truth from you because of a stupid misunderstanding. I’m sorry, Valentino. I’m so, so sorry.”
Her voice is small, broken, and it wrecks me.
“I don’t care about that anymore. I care about what happens next.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me.
The cold air feels sharper now, the tension between us thick and unyielding.
I swallow hard, knowing I can’t leave anything unsaid tonight. “I love you, Layla.”
She gasps softly, her lips parting.
I step closer, cupping her face gently. “I’ve loved you since the first day I met you. And I meant every word I ever said to you. It’s not the arrangement, it’s not some role we’re playing. It’s real.”
Tears spill over her lashes, but she doesn’t look away.
I tilt my head slightly, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “Tell me it’s real for you, too.”
Her lips tremble, her voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”
I exhale, my chest aching with relief.
And then she whispers the words I didn’t even know I was desperate to hear. “I love you, too.”
I don’t wait another second.
I crash my lips against hers, pouring everything into the kiss, every feeling, every regret, every moment we lost.
Her mouth is warm, soft, perfect, molding against mine in a way that makes my chest ache.
I can’t get enough.
My grip tightens, fingers pressing into her as if making sure she’s real, making sure she’s not going to disappear.
She lets out a soft, breathy sigh, and that’s it. That’s all it takes for me to lose every ounce of restraint I have left.
I angle my head, deepening the kiss, tasting her fully, desperate to make up for every second we lost. Every moment I spent wondering if this was real. If I had imagined the way she looked at me, the way I felt drawn to her from the start.
Her hands slide up my chest, fisting my shirt, holding on as if I’m the only thing keeping her standing.
And maybe I am.
Maybe she is for me, too.
I tilt her head back slightly, giving myself more access to her mouth, to everything she’s willing to give me.
My tongue traces the seam of her lips, and she parts for me so easily, so willingly.
She tastes like sweet wine and longing, and I drink her in like she’s the only thing that will quench this unbearable thirst.
A hunger builds inside me, my body instinctively pressing her back until she’s against the nearest tree, my hands slipping down to her hips, her waist, the curve of her lower back.
Her body molds against mine perfectly, her chest rising and falling in sync with mine.
The soft sounds she makes against my lips drive me insane, a mix of want and relief, like she’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.
I kiss her deeper, pouring everything I can’t say into the way I move against her, every unspoken word, every sleepless night spent thinking about her, every ounce of love I feel but don’t know how to express.
She responds with the same urgency, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging me impossibly closer, as if she wants to get lost in me completely.
And God, I want that.
I want her.
Not just for this kiss, not just for tonight.
I want her forever.
When we finally pull apart, we’re breathless, our foreheads resting against each other, our lips still hovering just inches apart, reluctant to break the connection completely.
Her hands remain tangled in my hair, her breath coming in soft pants against my lips.
I stare at her, my thumb brushing across her cheek, tracing the place where my lips had just been.
Her eyes flutter open, hazy and full of something undeniable.
“Valentino…” she whispers, her voice still laced with the remnants of our kiss.
I press my lips against hers again, soft, slow, reverent.
A promise.
Whatever happens next, we face it together.
I won’t let her go.
Not this time.