63. Luna
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
LUNA
I sit on the couch with my knees pulled to my chest. My eyes locked on the window across the room. Waiting. The shadows roam outside, and I know it’s just Nico’s men. But every little noise has my pulse spiking.
He’s still out there. Bleeding, fighting , maybe dying. I press my palm to my belly for the thousandth time tonight, afraid my child can feel the fear coiling in my veins.
“Luna.” Sophie’s voice is so soft as she sits on the edge of the couch. “You need to sleep.” She hasn’t slept a wink either.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Her hand squeezes my shoulder. “The baby.”
“Is fine too.” But when I hear myself say fine again, I realize I’ve picked up one of Nico’s bad habits. I blink fast, fighting back the tears.
“Nico would want you to rest. He’ll need you strong when he gets back.” She grabs my hand, doing her best to comfort me.
Her faith slices through my heart. I so want to believe her.
But the memory of Nico’s blood staining my hands echoes in the back of my mind.
And the way his eyes glazed over right before he left to end my father frightens me.
He was in so much pain, and it’s my fault I let him walk out that damn door.
Caterina’s manic laugh unexpectedly slices through the room. She’s leaning against the doorway, scrutinizing everyone before her eyes lock on mine.
“He’s not coming back. Luna. Men like him die as they live. Violent, messy, and alone .” Sophie whirls, rising to her feet.
“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.” Caterina arches a brow.
“You think your little amico is heartbroken? She’s relieved. Now she can stop pretending this fairytale wasn’t doomed from?—”
The crack of Sophie’s slap echoes throughout the room. Silencing her. Caterina stumbles back, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock.
“Speak to her again,” Sophie growls, “and I’ll cut out your tongue.”
For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then Caterina huffs, straightening her robe with trembling hands. “Animals,” she mutters, disappearing down the hall.
Sophie turns back to me, and her anger dissolves into worry. She sinks onto the couch, her arm looping around my shoulders. “You’re shaking.”
I didn’t notice. My teeth are chattering, my fingers numb. The baby kicks, a flutter of protest, and I choke back a sob.
“Hey.” Sophie tucks my head under her chin, the way she did when I first arrived and was frightened out of my mind. “He’s coming back. You know he is.”
“What if he doesn’t?” I question.
She grips my face, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Then we survive. Like we always do.”
But the we fractures without him. Without Nico, I’m half a soul.
The baby kicks again, harder this time, as if agreeing. I let Sophie drape a tattered blanket over me. Exhaustion drags at my bones, but my mind won’t stop—images of Nico’s smile, his hands cradling my face, the way he murmurs moglie just before he thrusts inside of me.
“Close your eyes,” Sophie murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll watch the door.” I want to argue. But the warmth of the blanket and the drone of the safehouse heater pull me under.
Sleep comes in fragments.
Nico’s laugh, low and rich, as he spins me under the dim glow of a basement lamp. “Dance with me, Luna.”
The scent of his blood as he collapses in my arms, his voice slurring. “Run. Take the car ? —”
Bria’s tear-stained face. “He saved me. He was a storm.”
Caterina’s sneer. “You’ll die like my Giovanni.”
I jolt awake, gasping, sweat slicking my hair to my neck. The room’s darker now, the only light spilling from the cracked kitchen door. Voices murmur, Amara and one of the guards.
“—three hours ago. No word since.”
“The compounds?”
“Gone. All of them. Burned to the ground.”
My heart stops. I sit up too fast, and the room spins. Sophie stirs in the armchair beside me.
“Luna? What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer. My bare feet slapping cold concrete as I stagger into the kitchen: Amara and the guard freeze mid-conversation.
“Where is he?” My voice fractures. Amara’s face gives nothing away, but the guard speaks up.
“Wrapping things up. He’ll be here by dawn.”
“Liar.” The word is a snarl. “You said no word . If the compounds are burned to the ground, where’s Nico ?” He steps closer, his gaze flicking to my stomach.
“He’s alive. And he spared one person from the fire, your mother. She’s en route here with the rest of the staff.” The guard’s unsure how much information he should divulge.
“Intel says she begged for mercy. Offered names, accounts. Nico let her live. For now.”
My throat tightens. Nico was kind enough to spare my mother, but I’m not sure how I feel about that. Should we treat her as a prisoner or an ally?
Sophie appears behind me, her hand firm on my shoulder. “And the others? D’Angelo’s men?”
Amara smiles. “What others?”
The unspoken truth coils in the air. Dead. All dead.
I press my hand to the wall, steadying myself. “When will they arrive?”
“Soon.” Amara checks her watch. “But if you collapse before then, Nicolai will kill us all for not keeping you calm. Sit.”
I count the cracks in the ceiling when I sit back on the couch. Each one buys me a second. A breath. A reason not to shatter.
Come home, Nico. Come home.
The baby’s restless, so I hum a lullaby. Sophie takes my hand, and we wait.
The rumble of engines cuts through the night.
Tires screech and doors slam. I run to the window, my palm smudging the glass as headlights flood the driveway.
Figures emerge, streaked in soot, their clothing reduced to rags.
At the front, my mother stumbles. One heel’s broken, and her pearls sit haphazardly around her neck. Broken.
Her eyes meet mine through the grimy pane.
For a heartbeat, I’m thirteen again, clutching her hand as my father’s voice booms through the hall. “You’ll marry him, Luna. Or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Sophie’s grip bites into my arm, yanking me back. “Don’t let her in. Not after she chose him over you.”
But the guard already has the door open. Mother staggers inside, reeking of smoke and regret. Her gaze darts to my swollen stomach, her lips trembling. “Luna, I tried to stop him. I swear I tried?—”
“You watched ,” I whisper. The memory crashes over me: her turning away as my father’s men dragged me across the driveway before forcing me into the car.
She recoils, fingers twisting the remnants of her necklace. “He would’ve killed you if you didn’t marry Giovanni.”
“He did anyway.” My voice frays. “Just slower.”
The guard who opened the door speaks. “Nico kept her alive. Said you’d want the choice.”
Choice. To forgive? To condemn? To forget?
Mother reaches out, her hand a ghost of the woman who bandaged my skinned knees. “ Figlia, I?—”
“Don’t.” I step back, acid burning in my throat. “You do not get to call me your daughter anymore.”
She crumbles, her silent tears streaking her cheeks. I don’t watch as her staff guides her to a corner.
My mother, reduced to a beggar. My pain, reduced to leverage.
Somewhere out there, Nico is still breathing and fighting—still mine .
Come home, marito. I need you.
Tell me how to hate her. Or how to stop.