Chapter 29
MARCO
I open my eyes to the soft winter light filtering into my room. Christmas morning.
For the first time in decades, the day feels like something more than just another twenty-four hours to endure.
My chest throbs dully where Frank's bullet tore through me.
The doctor says I'm lucky.
An inch to the left and I'd be in a pine box instead of this bed.
But pain is an old friend of mine, and this physical discomfort is nothing compared to the years I spent denying myself happiness.
Beside me, Gabriella sleeps peacefully. Her hand rests protectively over her stomach, over our child.
The thought of being a father still sends a jolt through me.
Please, God, don’t let me fuck this up.
I’ve been home three days, and while I’m still like a decrepit old man, each day I’m a little stronger.
Yesterday, Roman helped me hobble through a few high-end shops, cursing me the entire time for refusing to stay in bed.
I reach carefully into the nightstand drawer, feeling for the small velvet box hidden there.
Not the necklace.
That's wrapped and under the tree downstairs. This is something more permanent.
Gabriella stirs beside me, and I quickly shut the drawer.
There's time for that later.
Right now, I want to savor this moment of quiet before the day begins.
I'm not foolish enough to think everything is fixed.
Frank is dead, but whoever orchestrated the attacks on Antonio's business is still out there.
Blackwood remains a threat.
And I still have decades of emotional baggage to work through.
But for the first time in my life, I'm not facing these challenges alone.
I have a woman who sees past my wall to the man inside.
I have a child on the way who will need me to be better than my father ever was.
I carefully ease myself up against the headboard, wincing at the pull of stitches.
The pain reminds me that I'm alive.
The woman beside me reminds me why living matters.
I make my way to the bathroom.
I piss, brush my teeth, and throw on a robe.
I grab the box from the bedside table and then head down to the kitchen taking the back stairs.
“Merry Christmas, Don Calabresi,” Maria greets me in the kitchen where she’s working with the cook.
“Didn’t I give you the day off?”
“Yes, sir. We’re just making sure everything is ready for Christmas.” Marie smiles up at me, and it occurs to me that I’ve never seen her smile.
At least not to me.
That’s Gabriella’s doing.
She’s changed my attitude, which has changed the atmosphere in the home.
“I was planning on—”
“Please, let us help, sir,” Joseph, my chef, says. “You’re still recovering, and we know you want something special for Mrs. Calabresi.”
I think I’m grinning at their calling Gabriella Mrs. Calabresi.
We’re not married yet, but thinking about it makes my chest swell.
But since smiling is new to me, it’s possible I look like a doofus.
“Thank you. Will you set it up by the tree?” I make a mental note to give them an extra bonus on top of their usual holiday bonus.
“Yes, sir.”
I make my way toward the living room and what greets me along the way steals my breath.
Somehow, overnight, even more decorations have shown up.
My austere home has transformed into something from a holiday film.
Garlands of evergreen drape the staircase, punctuated with red berries and gold ribbon.
The scents of pine and cinnamon hang in the air.
In the living room, a massive tree stands, its branches heavy with ornaments and lights of all colors.
I approach it slowly, drawn by a childlike curiosity I thought had died decades ago.
Among the standard decorations are several I don't recognize, handcrafted pieces that must hold meaning for Gabriella.
For the first time, I see my home through different eyes.
Not as a fortress against the world, but as a sanctuary that can hold joy, laughter, memories.
The kind of place where a child might actually want to grow up.
I look in front of the fireplace and see two large white boot prints.
“Looks like Santa made it,” says a voice behind me.
I turn to find Maria carrying a tray of coffee.
“He didn’t have me on the naughty list this year, I guess.”
She shakes her head. “You were never on the naughty list, Don Calabresi.”
She knows what I do for a living, so it’s an odd statement, but I take it for what it is. I was the one who kept Christmas at bay, not a magical man with a sleigh and eight reindeer.
"Coffee, Don Calabresi?" Maria offers the tray.
I take the cup, but my eyes remain on the tree, on this new world taking shape around me.
"It's beautiful," I admit. "All of it."
What would my father think of me now?
The thought comes unbidden, but this time, I flick it away like a gnat.
I’m stronger than him, I realize.
Because I have love.
I have the love of a brother in Roman.
The love of a mentor in Antonio.
And most of all, the love of Gabriella, a woman who challenges me, excites me, makes me feel whole.
Maria leaves and returns with Joseph, setting up a splendid breakfast near the tree and the warm glow of the fire in the fireplace.
“Oh, my,” Gabriella gasps as she enters the room.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Calabresi,” Maria says. “I have tea for you.”
“Merry Christmas. Thank you.”
Maria and Joseph leave us.
“I love it when they call me that,” Gabriella says, a radiant smile lighting her face.
“Tea?”
She snorts. “Mrs. Calabresi. Merry Christmas, Don Calabresi.”
“Merry Christmas.” I give her a kiss.
She takes in the setting, her eyes wide with wonder. "Marco…"
Her voice trails off as she absorbs the breakfast spread, the twinkling lights, the carefully arranged table.
The surprise on her face transforms into something luminous.
It feels like a gift.
"You did all this?"
"I wanted to give you Christmas," I say simply. "A real one."
"It's perfect." The joy in her eyes makes me believe the magic of Christmas might actually be real.
I help her into her chair and then sit across from her.
Once her plate is filled with eggs and waffles covered in syrup, I ask, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm pregnant, not made of glass," she replies, but her eyes sparkle with affection rather than annoyance. "The baby and I are perfectly fine."
I always heard women felt sick early in pregnancy.
But maybe not Gabriella.
I reach across the table and take her hand. "You should see Dr. Bellini. He's the best obstetrician in New York.”
Gabriella's laughter fills the room. "Marco Calabresi, feared Mafia Don, already researching obstetricians." She squeezes my hand. "Should I expect armed guards at the delivery room door?"
"At least four," I reply without hesitation, only half-joking.
The thought of her vulnerable, of our child vulnerable, heightens every protective instinct I possess.
She shakes her head, still smiling. "And I suppose you'll want to interview the nurses personally? Background checks on the pediatrician?"
"That goes without saying." I smile back, enjoying the banter.
"You're impossible," she says, but her voice is tender.
"I'm thorough." I pour more hot water over her tea bag in her cup. "And when it comes to you and our child, I won't take chances. You two are my life."
Her expression softens. "I know. It's one of the reasons I love you."
The words still catch me off guard, not because I doubt them but because I'm still learning to believe I deserve them.
I reach for the small velvet box I'd slipped in my robe pocket.
This isn’t a Christmas present, but it’s the gift that matters.
I don’t want to wait a moment longer.
"I have something for you.”
“Time for presents already?” She claps with childlike excitement.
“This one is special.” I rise and move toward her, dropping to one knee.
This is how it’s done, right?
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns.
"I know this might seem rushed," I begin, opening the box to reveal the emerald-cut diamond set in platinum. "A week ago, I was still fighting against us. But nearly losing you, nearly dying, has a way of clarifying what matters."
The lights from the Christmas tree catch the diamond, sending fractured rainbows across her face. “Marco—"
“I thought love would make me weak. But you’ve shown me that I was wrong. You don't weaken me, Gabriella. You make me stronger. Better."
Her eyes glisten, but she remains silent, letting me finish.
"I'm not good with words like this but… well… I understand now that my happiness is bound to yours. I don't want to waste another day without you."
I hold the ring higher, an offering and a promise.
"Marry me, Gabriella. Not because of the baby, not because of our families, but because I love you. Because I want to build something with you that's stronger than anything I could build alone."
Then her face transforms with a joy so pure it steals my breath.
She launches herself into my arms with enough force to make me wince, but I wouldn't trade this pain for anything.
"Yes. God, yes. Finally."
I hold Gabriella close, and suddenly, I'm laughing, a genuine, heartfelt laugh that erupts from somewhere deep inside me.
The sound startles us both.
When was the last time I laughed like this?
Not the fake chuckle used in business or the cold laugh that precedes violence, but this pure expression of joy.
"What?" Gabriella pulls back slightly, her eyes dancing as she studies my face.
"Nothing. Everything." I shake my head, still smiling. "I just realized I've spent forty-six years afraid of this moment, and now that it's here, I can't remember why."
She slips the ring onto her finger. "Fear makes us do strange things.”
I turn my head to kiss her palm, marveling at how this simple gesture now feels as natural as breathing. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"
“You mean stubborn, suspicious—"
"Perfect," I finish for her, and I mean it.
She kisses me, and I feel the last of my resistance melt away.
This woman, with her fierce intelligence and unwavering heart, has accomplished what no enemy ever could.
She's broken through my defenses and shown me that surrender can be victory.
"I love you.”
She laughs, the sound washing over me, cleansing away the darkness. "It took you long enough to admit it."
"I'm a slow learner," I concede, "but I'm catching up."
“Stick with me, Marco. You and me… we’re going to rock this life.”
I have no doubt that she’s right, and I’m so fucking looking forward to it.