Chapter 28 Stephanie
STEPHANIE
Watching Gio walk out that door might just be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I stand there, hands gripping the counter so tightly my knuckles ache, as his broad shoulders disappear into the fading afternoon light.
The sound of the bell above the shop door is so small, so deceptively harmless for the way it shreds something inside me.
I keep telling myself this is the right thing to do. I repeat it in my head like a prayer I can’t quite believe in.
Jackson’s safety comes first.
Always.
That’s what I told Gio, and that’s what I’ve been telling myself since the moment I found out I was pregnant with my son.
No matter what I feel, no matter how good or right or safe Gio somehow makes me feel in the moment, his world is dangerous. And anything dangerous has no place near my son.
But knowing it’s right doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I lean against the counter, fingers splayed, palms holding me up as I fight the way my chest wants to cave in.
My breath catches, thick and uneven, because part of me wants to run after him, to grab his arm and pull him back inside, to tell him that I’m lying—not about loving Jackson more than anything, because that’s the truth, but about how much I need Gio.
I want to tell him I never stopped thinking about him, even when I didn’t know who I was.
That I dream about what life might be like if we were just… normal.
But normal is a fantasy.
And I don’t get to live a fairy tale.
I feel bad for letting Gio think I remember everything his father’s men did to me.
I could see the pain it caused, though he didn’t press me for more answers after I regained my memory.
Truth is, I don’t know.
Not all of it.
Just the same fragments that had already worked their way to me through my dreams.
I remember what they said to me in the van—their taunts, low and ugly, like the words themselves could bruise me.
I remember the smells of burning rubber and gun oil.
I remember a voice, cold and apathetic, promising all the horrible, dirty things they would do to me.
I remember the blinding pain, white-hot, like the whole world blinked out in a burst of light.
Then nothing.
When I woke up a week later, I was in a hospital bed with staples in my head, an IV in my arm, and the crushing sense that life as I knew it was over. I don’t know if I was pregnant before that night.
I don’t know how much time passed between when those men took me and when I was found on that riverbank.
But in the hospital, my test results came back confirming I was in the early stages of pregnancy—likely only a few weeks along.
I don’t know for certain who Jackson’s father is, but if I had to bet, it’s Gio.
Because I see so much of him in my son. Jackson is unfailingly kind and loyal.
He looks at the world like he’s ready to stand up to anything that dares hurt someone he loves.
He never quits, never gives up, no matter how hard something gets.
His conviction leaves me in awe on a regular basis.
Because that’s not me.
That’s all Gio.
But telling Gio that would only make everything harder. It would make him fight for us.
And I can’t let him, because if he did… I might let him win.
I know I made the right decision to cut him from our lives—even if it breaks my heart to let him go.
Because I’m not stupid.
Gio’s family is at war again. I don’t have proof—not really.
But from what my creepy customer said before he left the shop, the way he hinted about sending Gio funeral flowers, I’d bet money they’re already at war with each other.
The man’s name, Tanaka, would suggest the Chiaroscuros are fighting with the Yakuza this time around.
And even I know it’s suicide to mess with the Japanese Mafia.
The bloodshed never ends in his world.
I’ve seen enough to know that.
And running with him wouldn’t keep us safe.
It would just put a bigger target on our backs.
Still, the moment the door shuts behind him, my knees weaken.
I press my hands to my face, and hot tears slide between my fingers before I can stop them.
I don’t sob—at least not at first—but my chest feels like it’s folding in on itself, like my ribs are closing around a hollowed-out space where my heart used to be.
I love him. God help me, I love him so much it scares me.
And I know in my bones that I will never love anyone else like I do him.
I keep myself busy because if I stop moving, I’ll fall apart.
After sweeping up the broken glass from the vase I knocked over, I straighten shelves that don’t need straightening, reorganize the plants on display.
Eventually, I decide to close early.
I can’t stand the thought of one more customer walking in, pretending to browse, asking innocent questions while my brain is somewhere else entirely—following Gio out that door.
By the time I lock up, the air outside is stifling, the sun glaring down on me in the heat of the late afternoon.
It feels like it’s judging me for giving up on the kind of love a person only finds once in a lifetime—if they’re lucky.
I take the train to Jackson’s school and sit on the low half wall near the pickup location as I wait for the final bell.
When he comes running out, backpack bouncing, the sight of him knocks the air out of me.
My little boy.
My anchor.
My reason.
His dark, messy hair catches the light, and his grin is pure joy when he sees me waiting for him—like he’s never had to worry about wars or enemies or who might be watching us from across the street.
“Hey, Jay!” I say, forcing my voice to sound bright. “I decided to close up early so you and I could go out for a treat. How about Antonio’s for dinner tonight?”
His face lights up like I’ve offered him a trip to Disneyland. “Really?”
“Really.”
We go to the little pizzeria on the corner, the one with red-checkered tablecloths and the smell of melted cheese so thick it clings to our clothes even after we go home.
Jackson chatters about school, about how Tanner beat him at dodgeball but only because he tripped over his shoelace. I laugh in all the right places, nod, ask questions.
I drink in every detail like it’s the last glass of water in a desert. Because I need to remember this normal, simple happiness when the nights get hard.
When we get home, we curl up on the couch to watch a movie together, and my heart wrenches when The Princess Bride flashes across the list of options.
Quickly passing it, I shift over to the animated selection, and we land on a movie about a boy and a dragon.
Jackson falls asleep halfway through, his head on my lap, and for a while I just sit there, memorizing the weight of him.
I should take him up to bed, but selfishly, I’m not ready to part with him.
I’ve already walked away from the most important man in my life.
I need just a few more minutes with my son before I tuck him in.
I’m still not ready to face my bed alone when the credits roll, but I can’t keep leaning on Jackson. “Hey, bud,” I whisper, gently combing his hair back from his forehead with my fingers. “It’s bedtime.”
He gives a soft moan and stirs, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Did I miss it?” he asks, his face falling as he looks at the screen.
“That’s okay. We’ll watch it again this weekend,” I promise.
“Okay!” Jackson brightens.
“But now, it’s time for bed.”
He gets up without argument, leading the way to the stairs as I turn off the TV, and we go our separate ways to get changed and brush our teeth.
“I’m ready!” he calls from his room fifteen minutes later, and I can’t help but smile.
Because even if he’s eager to grow up, I love that Jackson still wants me to tuck him in at night.
He’s already under the covers when I come into his room, and I settle on the edge of the bed to lean in and kiss his forehead.
“Mom?” he asks, looking up at me with his wide, innocent green eyes.
“Hmm?” I ask, pulling his comforter up closer to his chin.
“Where’s Gio? Is he coming home late tonight?”
The question is a blade between my ribs, and I smooth his hair back and swallow hard. “No, sweetheart. Gio’s… not coming around anymore.”
His little brow furrows in a look of deep concern. “Why?”
I force a smile I don’t feel. “Sometimes, grown-ups have to make choices that don’t make sense to kids. But it’s not because of you, okay? He cares about you a lot.”
He studies me for a long moment, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then, in the softest voice, he asks, “Are you okay?”
The lump in my throat nearly chokes me. “Yeah, bud. I’m okay.”
Sitting back up, Jackson wraps his arms around my neck. I squeeze him back, maybe a little too tightly, and kiss his hair.
“Good night, Mom,” he mumbles against my shoulder.
“Good night, Jay. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he says softly.
As I leave his room, I close the door quietly behind me.
I make it three steps down the hall before the first sob tears free from my chest.
By the time I reach my room, I’m shaking, pressing my fist to my mouth to muffle the sound.
Then I let it all out—the grief, the love, the longing, the fear.
I cry until my throat burns and my pillow is damp, until there’s nothing left but the empty, aching knowledge that I’ve lost Gio—not because I didn’t love him enough, but because I loved him too much, and I don’t belong in his world.
But no matter what I tell myself, no matter how I try to spin it in my head, one truth remains.
Letting Gio go feels less like doing the right thing and more like cutting out my own heart and locking it away where I can never touch it again.