Chapter 23 The Truth
THE TRUTH
LUCIAN
There’s a sound I never get tired of.
Tiny. Unsteady. New.
My daughter’s laugh.
She giggles in the next room, Calista whispering something to her in Italian. The words are soft, affectionate. The same kind of softness I used to think I wasn’t built to hold.
But now….
I live for it.
It didn’t happen overnight.
With each job I took, I told myself it was the last. I lied to myself because I knew it wouldn’t be. There was always one more. A loose thread. A name that needed crossing off.
Until I held Aria, our daughter, for the first time. Until I saw Calista’s eyes in that little face, and something inside me…broke. Or maybe it didn’t break at all. Maybe it cracked open just enough to start healing the wounds inside.
The hollowness inside me—the pit I’d carried like armor—was already half-filled with Calista. Her love, her stubborn belief in me. But now it overflowed, hot and wild and terrifying.
It wasn’t merely love. It was devotion. It was terror and awe and a kind of fierce, helpless need to protect something so pure it made my bones ache. It was a surrender, stripping me down to bone and blood, making me pray I’m enough.
I spent my life thinking the shadows were all there was. Thinking the darkness in me was permanent, that no amount of wanting, no amount of trying, would ever fill the cracks left behind.
But one look at Aria, and every jagged edge inside me softened.
Every scar I carried became a story I was proud to survive, because now I had something worth surviving for. Because now I had someone who would see me not just as the man I used to be, but the father I chose to become.
I’d burn cities. I’d tear out my soul if it meant she’d never have to wonder if she was loved. I’d kill the whole goddamn world if I had to.
For our daughter.
For my wife.
For the family I never deserved—but will never stop fighting to keep.
The night the doctor clears Calista, we make love. I’m desperate to be inside her again—I missed her so fucking much. Six long weeks of not having her were torture.
She’s soft in places where she carried our child. I love to touch her, feel her, experience her resilience, her strength, let it seep inside of me.
Her body is warm, mine. She sees me as I see her—openly. She shows me all her love, even when I can’t. But not now. Since Aria, it’s like my heart has come open, and it bleeds. I take Calista in, stroke my hardness against her softness, the part of her that pushed our Aria out into the world.
“Caro,” she murmurs when I slide into her.
She’s warm. Delicious. I kiss her, again and again. I need her so much.
I sink into her. Deeper, every day, every minute, every second. She’s in me, part of me.
I’ve always loved her, but now, with our baby in her crib, safe in the nursery next door, I’m aware of all that is inside of me. I’m aware of my wife, my heart, her breath, the beat of her heart.
I shift so I can touch her clit, feel her come. She moans. Writhes. I’m so into this woman. There is no end, no beginning, just her.
How did I live so many years without her?
She lets go in my arms, softly crying her release. I press my face into her hair as I hammer in and out, feeling her spasms, feeling her milk me.
I explode—weeks of pent-up desire, a lifetime of love. I give it all to her. Everything. Whatever I have.
After, she curls beside me, one hand on my chest like it belongs there. It does. It always has and always will.
“I have something to tell you,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t look surprised. She rarely does anymore when it comes to me. She knows me, my soulmate.
“I gave it up. All of it. No more contracts. No more clients. No more blood.”
Silence.
“I told you I did, but I didn’t…not until now.”
She lifts her head, eyes soft but sharp—sharper than I give her credit for. “I know.”
I blink. “You…know?”
“I know you didn’t stop when you said you did.”
My stomach twists. “You know I lied. But—”
“You didn’t lie to hurt me. You are you, caro.”
Tears fill my eyes. They start to leak. She groans in despair. Sits up. Wipes my tears, looks at me like she’s studying something broken but beautiful.
“You’re darker than most.” She leans in, kisses my scarred jaw. “I accept that. I accept you.”
“Baby—"
“You’ve always had shadows. But you let me be your light. And now you’ve let Aria be your light.”
I cry. I let go of what’s heavy.
And all I can say is, “Thank you. For being you. For giving me you. For giving me Aria.”
“Forever, caro.” She settles against me again, holds me, heals me.
Because love like this—forgiveness like this—isn’t owed. It’s given. And I will spend the rest of my life earning it.
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