Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
TWO MONTHS LATER
Antonella
"What about chocolate?" Kristen flips through the bakery catalogue spread across the kitchen island. "Everyone loves chocolate."
"Bruno doesn't have a sweet tooth." I lean over her shoulder, scanning the options. "He barely touches dessert at dinner."
"Then why are we planning a birthday cake?"
"Because it's his birthday." I smile. "And because he deserves something normal. Something that isn't business or family drama or—"
"Brooding in his room?"
I laugh. "He's gotten better about that."
Kristen raises an eyebrow. "Has he?"
"In his own way."
Two months.
Two months since Bruno took me to St. Catherine's.
Two months of something I never expected.
Happiness.
Real, actual happiness.
Bruno is still Bruno. Still gruff. Still demanding. Still possessive in ways that should annoy me but somehow don't. He still growls at anyone who looks at me too long. Still insists on knowing where I am at all times.
But he's softer now.
In his own way.
Miracles don't exist. I know that. Bruno won't wake up one morning transformed into a gentle, easygoing man. That's not who he is. That's not who I want him to be.
But he laughs now. Sometimes. When Lily says something ridiculous or when I tease him about his grey hair. He reaches for my hand during family dinners. He falls asleep with his arm around my waist and wakes up pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
Small things.
Quiet things.
Things that matter more than grand gestures ever could.
"What about this one?" Kristen points to a dark chocolate torte with minimal frosting. "Simple. Not too sweet. Sophisticated."
"That could work."
"We could add espresso to the batter. Make it more bitter."
"Bruno would appreciate that."
Kristen grins. "A bitter cake for a bitter man."
"He's not—" I stop. Reconsider. "Okay, he's a little bitter."
"A little?"
"He's working on it."
The kitchen door swings open and Nora waddles in. Her belly has grown significantly in the past two months. She looks exhausted but happy.
"What are we planning?" She lowers herself onto a stool with a grateful sigh. "Please tell me it's something fun. I've been trapped in that bedroom for three days with nothing but pregnancy books and Pietro's hovering."
"Bruno's birthday party," Kristen says.
Nora bursts out laughing.
"What?" I frown. "What's funny?"
"Bruno." Nora wipes her eyes. "Having a party. With people. And cake. And presumably some form of celebration."
"It's his birthday."
"Antonella." Nora reaches over and pats my hand. "Bruno is going to hate every second of it."
"He won't—"
"He will." Nora's smile is fond. "He'll sit in the corner glaring at everyone. He'll refuse to blow out candles. He'll probably threaten at least two guests before the night is over."
"That's..." I trail off. "That's probably accurate."
"But he'll love that you planned it." Nora squeezes my hand. "Even if he never admits it. Even if he complains the entire time. He'll love that you cared enough to try."
Something warm spreads through my chest.
"You think so?"
"I know so." Nora's eyes soften. "You're good for him, Antonella. Everyone can see it. Even Nico, and that man never admits anything."
The kitchen door opens again. Giulia enters carrying a tray with three cups.
"Coffee for the ladies," she announces. "And herbal tea for Nora."
Nora groans. "I miss coffee."
"The baby doesn't." Giulia sets the tea in front of Nora with a pointed look. "Drink."
Kristen takes her cup with a grateful smile. Giulia places mine in front of me—coffee with cream, exactly how I like it.
The smell hits me.
Rich. Bitter. Familiar.
My stomach lurches.
I push back from the island, hand flying to my mouth. The nausea crashes over me like a wave. Sudden. Violent. Overwhelming.
I barely make it to the sink before I'm vomiting.
"Antonella!" Kristen is beside me in seconds, pulling my hair back. "Are you okay?"
I can't answer. My body heaves again. Again. Until there's nothing left.
When it finally stops, I'm shaking. Sweating. Gripping the edge of the sink like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
Kristen rubs my back. "That came out of nowhere."
"I'm fine." My voice sounds weak. Unconvincing. "I've just been feeling off lately. Tired. A little nauseous. It's probably stress."
"How long?" Nora's voice cuts through. Sharp. Knowing.
I turn to look at her. She's watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"A few days," I admit. "Maybe a week. It comes and goes."
Nora exchanges a glance with Kristen.
"Antonella." Nora's tone is gentle now. Careful. "When was your last period?"
"What?" I blink. "I'm not—that's not—"
"When?"
I think back. Try to remember.
"Three weeks ago," I say. "Maybe four. I had it. I'm regular. I've always been regular."
"Was it normal?"
The question stops me.
Was it normal?
I remember being surprised by how light it was. How short. One day instead of my usual four or five. I'd attributed it to stress. To the upheaval of my new life. To everything happening with my father and Gianna and Bruno.
"It was..." I swallow. "It was different. Shorter. But I had it. I definitely had it."
Nora's expression doesn't change.
"Sometimes," she says slowly, "what we think is a period isn't actually a period. Sometimes it's implantation bleeding. It can look similar. Feel similar. But it's not the same thing."
The words don't make sense.
They can't make sense.
"No." I shake my head. "No, no, no. I'm not—I can't be—"
"Antonella."
"We've been careful." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. We haven't been careful. "I mean, we haven't been careful, but I've been tracking my cycle and—"
"Tracking doesn't always work."
"I'm not pregnant."
But even as I say it, doubt creeps in.
The exhaustion I've been feeling. The nausea that comes and goes. The way certain smells make my stomach turn. The strange period that wasn't really a period.
Oh God.
Oh God.
"I can't be pregnant," I whisper.
Kristen's hand stills on my back.
Nora just watches me.
And I stand there, gripping the sink, trying to convince myself that the world isn't about to change completely.
Bruno
"Two weeks," Valentino says. "Then I need to return to Sicily."
I grip the bars tighter. "How long?"
"Few days. Maybe a week." He shifts against the wall. "My mother needs me for something. She won't say what over the phone."
"Family business?"
"Personal, I think. She sounded..." He pauses. "Worried."
I nod. Valentino's mother, Carmela, doesn't worry easily. If she's concerned enough to summon him back to Sicily, it's serious.
"Go when you need to go."
"You'll be fine without me?"
"I'm not a child, Valentino."
He snorts. "Could have fooled me."
I shoot him a glare. He doesn't flinch. Never does.
That's why I trust him.
"Will can handle my sessions while you're gone," I say. "And Pietro's here. Nico. Lorenzo."
"Your brothers don't know about this." Valentino gestures at the parallel bars. At me. At everything I've been hiding for months.
"They don't need to know. Not yet."
"Bruno—"
"Not yet."
Valentino falls silent. He knows better than to push when my voice drops like that.
I take a breath. Center myself.
Then I stand.
My legs shake. They always shake. The muscles haven't fully remembered what they're supposed to do. Some days I can feel everything. Other days, nothing.
But I'm standing.
Fifteen seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
"Good," Valentino says quietly. "That's good."
I don't respond. Can't. All my focus is on staying upright.
Forty seconds.
Forty-five.
Last week, I took ten steps.
Ten actual steps.
The doctors said it wasn't possible. Said the damage to my spine was too severe. Said I should focus on adapting to my new reality instead of chasing impossible dreams.
But I do feel my spine. I didn't, but I do.
Fuck their reality.
Fuck their limitations.
Fuck everyone who looked at me in that wheelchair and saw a broken man.
I'm not broken.
I'm healing.
Slowly. Painfully. In ways no one else can see.
But I'm healing.
My right leg moves forward. I take a step.
Another step.
Another.
"Bruno." Valentino's voice is closer now. Warning. "Don't push too hard."
I ignore him.
The doctors said small chance. They said unlikely. They said don't get your hopes up.
They didn't say impossible.
And that's all I needed to hear.
I turn and head back.
I lower myself into the wheelchair. My body aches. My legs feel like they're on fire. But there's something else underneath the pain.
Hope.
Actual, genuine hope.
I haven't felt that in two years.
I grip the wheels of my chair. Stare at my useless legs.
They're not useless. Not anymore. Not completely.
"I'm going to walk again," I say.
It's not a wish. Not a prayer. It's a statement of fact.
"I know," Valentino says.
"I'm going to walk to her."
Valentino doesn't ask who. He doesn't need to.
"I'm going to stand at my coronation. I'm going to walk across that room. And everyone who looked at me like I was finished they're going to watch me take back everything I lost."
Valentino is quiet for a long moment.
Then: "You've changed."
"What?"
"Since she came." He leans against the wall again. "You're less..."
"Less what?"
"Less dead."
He's right.
Before Antonella, I was going through the motions. Existing without living. Breathing without feeling. I woke up every morning wondering why I bothered. I went to sleep every night hoping I wouldn't wake up.
Now I wake up reaching for her.
Now I go to sleep with her warmth against my chest.
Now I have something to fight for.
Someone to fight for.
"She doesn't know," I say. "About this. About the progress."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to surprise her." I grip the wheels tighter. "I want to walk to her. Actually walk. Not shuffle. Not stumble. Walk."
"That could take months."
"Then it takes months."
"Bruno—"
"I've waited long, Valentino. I can wait a few more months."
He studies me. That assessing look he gets when he's trying to figure out if I'm being stubborn or stupid.
"She loves you," he says finally.
The words stop me cold.
"What?"
"Antonella. She loves you." Valentino shrugs like he's commenting on the weather. "Anyone with eyes can see it."
I don't respond.
Can't.
She loves me.
And I—
I don't know what I feel.
That's a lie.
I know exactly what I feel.
I'm just terrified to name it.
"Go shower," Valentino says. "You smell like a gym."
"I'm in a gym."
"Exactly."
I wheel toward the door, then stop.
"Valentino."
"What?"
"Thank you." The words feel strange in my mouth. Foreign. "For staying. For helping. For not giving up on me when everyone else did."
Valentino's expression doesn't change. But something shifts in his eyes.
"You're family," he says simply. "Family doesn't give up."
I nod once.
Then I wheel out of the gym, my legs still burning, my arms still aching, and something that feels dangerously like hope burning in my chest.