Epilogue 2 #2
But in this moment, I feel more alone than I have in months. The letter in my hand has reopened wounds I thought had healed. My vision tunnels, the bakery’s colors fading to gray at the edges as my past reaches out with skeletal fingers to drag me back into its shadows.
“He’s coming,” Piper announces, returning to the table. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I nod, unable to form words as tears continue to stream down my face. The letter trembles in my grasp, Mom’s final confession—her last chance to explain herself—a weight too heavy for me to bear alone.
I need Raffaele by my side.
The bakery door flies open with such force that the bell doesn’t just chime—it clangs against the glass. Raffaele fills the doorway, his powerful frame tense with readiness, eyes scanning the room with predatory focus until they lock on me.
The crowd of Valentine’s Day customers parts before him as he moves toward me, that familiar dark energy radiating from him like a physical force.
In moments like these, there’s no mistaking what my husband is: a dangerous man barely contained in an expensive suit. A predator who would tear apart anyone who dared harm what’s his.
“Mogliettina,” he breathes when he reaches me, his hands immediately cradling my face, thumbs wiping tears I didn’t realize were still falling. “What happened? Who hurt you?”
I shake my head, unable to form words as relief floods through me at his presence. Instead, I press the crumpled letter into his hand and bury my face against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear while one arm cradles me.
“It’s from her mom,” I hear Piper whisper. “Just delivered. Some kind of time capsule letter.”
Raffaele’s body tenses against mine, his free hand stroking my hair as he scans the first few lines of the letter. “I’m taking her home,” he announces, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“Of course,” Raven nods, adjusting the twins who are now in their carrier. “Call us if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I’ll handle things here,” Allie adds, appearing beside us with concern etched across her features. “Take all the time you need, Alina.”
Raffaele’s arm tightens around my waist as he guides me toward the door, his body positioned slightly ahead of mine like a shield against the curious stares of customers. The frigid February air hit my tear-stained face as we step outside, making me shiver despite my heavy coat.
“Car’s this way,” he murmurs, leading me to where Colin waits with the SUV idling at the curb.
The drive home passes in a blur of silent streets and gentle snowfall. Raffaele keeps me tucked against his side, one hand resting protectively over my baby bump while the other holds the letter just out of my sight.
I stare unseeingly out the window, my mind racing with possibilities, with fears, with questions I’m not sure I want answered.
“I-I don’t know if I want to read it,” I whisper finally, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. “What if she kept something else from me? I-I can’t keep doing this, Raffaele.”
“The choice is yours,” he promises, his lips pressing against my temple. “But you won’t be facing it alone. We face it together or not at all.”
When we arrive home, he doesn’t lead me to our bedroom or the kitchen. Instead, he guides me toward the library, the room where everything began between us.
Where he first taught me how to play chess, where I first glimpsed the man beneath the monster everyone feared.
The library welcomes us with its familiar scent of leather-bound books and polished wood.
Without being asked, Raffaele steers me to the couch by the fireplace.
He settles into it first, then pulls me onto his lap, arranging me so my head rests against his shoulder while his hand continues its soothing motion over my bump.
“How do you want to do this?” he asks, holding up the letter. “We can read it, or burn it. Or hide it away.”
Taking a deep breath, I mentally ready myself. “Together,” I whisper, placing my hand over his. “I need to hear it, but I can’t… I can’t do it alone.”
He nods, unfolding the pages with careful movements. I close my eyes briefly, gathering my courage, then open them to focus on Mom’s familiar handwriting—the slightly slanted letters, the way her Y and G always dipped a little too far below the line.
My dearest Alina,
If you’re reading this, then I’ve been gone a year, and it’s time for me to finally be honest with you. I know it’s cowardly of me to be honest in death when I couldn’t in life.
I don’t have excuses. Only regret that I failed you as a mother, and the shame of that will follow me wherever I am.
By now, you know about the loan from the Russo family. I offered the bakery as collateral, but it wasn’t enough. So, I suggested you. God forgive me… I did. I truly believed I would fix everything before it ever came to that. I thought I had time. I was wrong.
Pride and fear guided more of my choices than I ever admitted. And in the end, I turned my mistakes into your burden. I’m so sorry, honey. If you ever believe anything I say, please… let it be that.
There’s something else you deserve to know. About your father. Johnny wasn’t your biological father, Alina.
I met a man the summer before you were born. A Dutch tourist named Willem van der Meer. The affair was brief but passionate, and when I discovered I was pregnant, I never told him.
Johnny and I were having problems, but when I told him about the pregnancy, he was so happy he stayed, believing you were his.
And I let him.
Sabrina found out after Johnny’s suicide. She overheard me, and she threatened to tell everyone. I panicked. I thought if I gave her what she wanted, if I kept her happy, she would leave you alone.
As I’m writing this, I don’t know why I thought that. It sounds foolish now. We can be blind to the harm we cause, even when we believe we’re doing our best.
You should know that Willem died of a heart attack in Amsterdam. He never knew about you, and for that, I’m also sorry.
I don’t expect your forgiveness. What I did… I don’t know if it can be forgiven.
But I need you to know that I loved you. In my own flawed, selfish way, I thought I was protecting you. I see now that I was only protecting myself.
If you have children one day, I know you’ll be a better mother than I ever was.
Forgive me if you can. Remember me if you can bear to.
But most of all, live your life fully, Alina. Not shaped by my mistakes, or anyone else’s.
With all my love,
Mom
A sob escapes me, my entire body trembling with the weight of Mom’s last words. But even as it feels like my heart’s breaking all over, I know one thing for certain. Johnny was my dad in all the ways that count.
He was there for me. He raised me. He loved me, made me laugh, and… he was my dad. It’s that simple.
Being with Raffaele and finding my role in the Russo family has taught me something very important. Family can be found. Raven and Piper are more my sisters than Sabrina ever was.
We don’t need to share DNA for that to be the truth.
The letter falls from my shaking hands, fluttering to the floor like a wounded bird. My chest heaves with sobs I can no longer contain, grief and rage and confusion colliding inside me until I’m gasping for breath.
Raffaele’s arms tighten around me, one hand sliding into my hair to cradle my head against his chest. “Breathe, Piccola,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away a tear trailing down my cheek. “Just breathe with me.”
His words anchor me, pulling me back from the edge of despair. No matter how our story began, what matters is what we’ve created together.
“I need to see her,” I whisper suddenly, the words surprising even me. “I need to go to her grave. Today. Now.”
Raffaele studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Whatever you need.”
He helps me to my feet, his hands never leaving my body as if he fears I might shatter if he lets go. And maybe I would. But as we prepare to confront the ghosts of my past, I find strength in the solid reality of his presence beside me.
The cemetery gates creak with winter’s stiffness as we push through, the iron cold enough to sting my gloved fingers.
February in Cleveland shows no mercy—brittle air slicing through my wool coat despite its thickness, finding the gaps around my neck and wrists. I clutch the letter tighter in my gloved hand.
Raffaele walks silently beside me, close enough that I feel his heat but not touching. He knows this moment belongs to me alone. At least until I’m ready to share it.
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Raffaele asks, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. “We could come back tomorrow.”
I shake my head, my eyes fixed on the path ahead that winds between headstones partially buried in crusty snow. “No. I need to do this today.” My voice doesn’t waver, surprising even me with its steadiness. “I want it over and done with.”
My boots crunch through patches of ice as we navigate the rows of graves, my steps deliberately slow to accommodate the precious cargo I carry beneath my coat.
Mom’s headstone is simple; polished granite with her name, dates, and the words ‘Beloved Mother’ etched beneath. The sight of it sends a fresh wave of anger crashing through me. Beloved mother. As if that tells the whole story.
Next to hers is Sabrina’s, which is almost identical with the ‘Beloved Sister’ engraved into the stone. Both of their names are followed by dates that encompass a life cut too short. No mention of them being liars. No warning about the secrets buried beneath the polished surface.
This is for me and not for them. For the version of them I thought them to be, not how they turned out.
“Could you give me a few minutes?” I ask, not looking at my husband.
Raffaele nods once, squeezing my shoulder before retreating to wait beneath a bare oak tree twenty yards away. Close enough to watch over me, far enough to grant privacy. Always the perfect balance of protection and respect.