Chapter 33
Harlow
It’s been nearly a week since their surgery.
The sterile white walls of the hospital no longer feel unfamiliar.
I’ve been sleeping in a small bed brought into their suite, undoubtedly arranged by my husband.
He also made certain that Mattia and Luka recover together, settled side by side in one of the larger private spaces.
Dante lies beside me each night, though more often than not, he remains awake, simply watching over us.
I haven’t left the boys’ side. Not once.
Nurses and doctors come and go.
So does our family.
Even Michael and nonno visited from Chicago.
My father, too.
Dante grumbles constantly, paces like a caged animal, and scowls at nurses to the point I’m amazed he hasn’t been forcibly escorted from the premises.
But it seems even the doctors are wary of crossing him.
The only time he left our side was two days ago, to deal with Luan.
I didn’t ask questions.
I didn’t need to.
I saw it in his eyes, the cold, controlled finality of a man intent on finishing what was started.
On putting it all behind us. I simply told him to make sure Luan pays exactly as he deserves.
We almost lost Mattia.
The thought slices through me.
I shake it off, I can’t go down that hole.
Not now.
Not when they’re safe. Luka, who donated part of his liver to save our boy, makes my chest ache every time I think about it. I could never repay him. He saved Mattia’s life. I will be forever grateful.
Now, in the gentle light of morning, the two boys sit upright in their beds, side by side, trays of breakfast before them, toast, eggs, juice.
Bland hospital fare doing its best.
Mattia chats nonstop, even as he chews, a brightness on his face I feared we’d never see again.
“And then Mario let me play with the security cameras, the real ones, not the ‘off limits’ ones Leonardo said I wasn’t supposed to touch, but I didn’t break anything. I swear.”
Luka smirks into his juice.
“You touched everything.”
“I did not!”
Mattia looks wounded.
“I was being professional.”
“You spilled jam on the control panel.”
“That was an accident!”
I laugh quietly and reach over to wipe a smear of said jam from his chin.
“You’re lucky Mario loves you.”
“I know,”
he beams.
“I’m his favourite.”
“Sure,”
Luka mutters.
“if near cardiac arrest counts as affection.”
I shake my head and watch them, bandaged, bruised, but alive.
My boys.
Mattia falls abruptly silent, his chatter halting as he begins to fidget with the plastic fork between his fingers. Then, after a beat, he lifts his gaze to mine, those dark eyes cautious, uncertain, almost apprehensive.
“Harlow,”
he murmurs.
“can I ask you something?”
I narrow my eyes slightly, reading the weight behind his tone.
“Of course, piccolo.”
I set down my coffee and give him my full attention.
He licks his lips nervously.
“I mean… I know I have a mom. I mean, I had a biological one. But she’s not here. She never was, and she never wanted to meet me.”
His voice falters before he adds, almost in a whisper.
“But you… you are. You always are…”
His eyes flick to Luka, seeking silent help, maybe even courage.
Luka picks up the thread, smirking faintly, though I catch the emotion tightening his features. This matters to him too.
“He wants to ask if you’ll be his mom.”
The world stills.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. A thousand emotions surge at once, shock, disbelief, awe. I never expected this. Never even considered it.
But now, I realize it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Mattia is the kindest soul I’ve ever known. The child any mother would pray for. And yet, part of me whispers doubt, can I be that for him? What if I fail?
But the way he’s looking at me, hopeful, vulnerable, I know. I’ve always known. I’d do anything for him. Protect him, love him, guide him. I will be what he needs.
A sob catches in my throat. I weep now more than I ever have in my entire life. These boys have awakened something in me I can no longer suppress. I reach for Mattia, mindful of his stitches, and draw him gently into my arms.
“Oh, baby…”
My voice shakes.
“Of course you can. Nothing would make me prouder.”
He clings to me, burying his face in my shoulder. I feel his tears. Mine join his.
When I pull back, I turn to Luka. He’s watching silently, his expression unreadable, but his eyes speak volumes.
“Family,”
he says softly, the word weighty and absolute.
I nod, swiping at my cheeks with trembling fingers. “Always.”
I cross the room and hug him too, pressing a kiss to his temple.
A quiet sound at the door draws my attention.
Dante stands there, a paper bag in one hand, likely food he insisted on bringing himself. He doesn’t speak, just stares, unmoving.
His expression, though—his eyes, are softer than I’ve ever seen. Raw. Open. Full of love so deep it threatens to undo me all over again.
He steps inside, places the bag on the table, and walks over. He cups the back of Mattia’s head and presses a kiss to his hair, then brushes his knuckles along my cheek. To Luka, he does something that stuns me, he grips his shoulder, steady and firm, and kisses his forehead without a word.
I don’t comment.
I’m just glad.
They’ve resolved something. Or rather, Dante finally sees that Luka isn’t a threat, he’s family. And Luka? He still enjoys pushing Dante’s buttons. I wasn’t lying when I said he reminded me of myself. We share that trait. Agitating my husband is our mutual pastime.
Dante takes my seat and pulls me into his lap.
I glance at the boys, chatting, laughing, safe, and I swear, my heart feels too full to contain.
Family.
That’s what we are.
When I agreed to this arranged marriage, or rather, was forced into it, I prepared myself for the worst.
Not once did I dare imagine I’d find something as rare as this.
A real family. Two sons who’ve claimed pieces of my heart, a husband whose love burns with a ferocity that steadies me, and even a bond with the father and brothers I never thought I’d have.
These past months have been brutal, undeniably so.
They tested us in ways I could never have anticipated.
But we endured. And with every blow, we only became stronger.
Now, we sit like this, quiet, steady, watching the boys.
Letting the silence speak for us.
We don’t need words.
Not now.
We’re here.
We’re alive.
We’re family.