Valerio? What’s wrong?
A month of being Mrs. Morelli.
Our wedding was a tiny ceremony of three: me, him, and the priest.
I can feel him constantly, even when he isn’t in the room. He’s taken to lurking in the kitchenette during my private sessions, eavesdropping on the trauma of the city’s worst criminals. It’s a massive breach of ethics, but all my clients now practice is a lie; my life is his.
He’s pushed me. He’s owned me. He’s stalked me. Twice, I had to choke out the word Yellow when it became too much. He stopped instantly. The aftercare afterward was absolute perfection.
But today is his thirtieth. A milestone for a man who never expected to survive his teens. I made him promise to stay away while I set up his surprise. I’ve seen him drawing recently, so I bought him everything—heavy easels, oils, and canvases large enough to hold the darkness he carries.
I enter the elevator of the penthouse, the cake in my hands. I strike a match and light the candles, the small flames flickering in the mirrored space. I can hear the hum of the ventilation system, nearly triggering the smoke alarm, but I exit the elevator quickly.
“Happy birthday to you,” I start to sing, stepping out into the foyer.
The song dies in my throat.
Valerio is slumped on the couch, his head buried in his hands. I set the cake down on the coffee table, the candles guttering out into thin trails of smoke. I sit next to him, my hand hovering over his back.
“Valerio? What’s wrong?”
He nudges the letter toward me. The handwriting is elegant.
Valerio,
I’m writing this because I don’t have the courage to say it. Seeing you with her… it reminded me of everything I failed to give you. I called you a monster because it was easier than admitting I was the one who let you be made.
I was a coward. I looked at your face and saw a man who hurt me, instead of the son who needed me. You were never the monster; it was always me.
I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you deserved. I’m sorry I left you in the dark.
Isabella.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head. His eyes are bloodshot. He no longer runs away from me or shuts down. On the contrary, he reaches for me.
I slide into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He clings to me.
“I’m here,” I mutter. “I’m not going anywhere. You aren’t his, and you aren’t hers. You’re mine. Do you hear me? You’re fucking mine.”
His face presses harder into my skin. “Yours. Only yours.”
I pull the letter from his hand and drop it onto the floor. It looks like trash. It is trash.
“I feel nothing,” Valerio says. He’s vacant.
“When I was sixteen, I used to imagine her walking up to me. I practiced my reaction. I thought if she apologized, the rot would stop. We all did. Lucian, Cassian… we never looked for her. We wanted her to choose us for once. Now she says it, and it’s just noise. It doesn’t fix my head, Charlotte.”
“Apologies are for the living. She’s been dead to you for a long time.”
He reaches up, his large hands framing my face. His thumbs trace the line of my cheekbones with a focus that’s almost painful. He’s seeking comfort the only way he knows how—me.
“You’re the only one,” he rasps. “The only person who matters. You’re the only person I’d die to keep.”
The aimless massacres have stopped. He’s still a Morelli—still a dangerous, possessive prick who eavesdrops on my patients and marks my skin—but he’s no longer a serial killer.
He’s settled into the same level of functional insanity as his brothers.
He’s found a place to put his rage. He’s put it into me.
“Happy birthday, Valerio,” I whisper.
“I’m thirty,” he says, a small, dark huff of a laugh hitting my skin. “I’m thirty, and I’m finally breathing.”
The monster is still there, tucked away in the cage I built for him, but for tonight, he’s just a man who finally found his way home.
“Can I paint you?”
“How did you know that’s your gift?” A small smile tugs at my mouth. “I haven’t even unwrapped the easel yet.”
Valerio raises a brow, his expression flat, unimpressed by the idea of a secret. “You think I don’t have a tracker on you, Charlotte?”
“Where?”
He touches the heavy diamond necklace resting at the base of my throat. “I know where you are to the centimeter. Always. I was watching the dot while you skipped in that arts and crafts store. “
For most, this is a violation. For me, it’s adoration. He can’t fathom a world where I’m not under his watch. It’s the obsession I’ve spent my whole life looking for in the wrong places.
Yes, he doesn’t tell me I love you. And I don’t need him to. Because he shows me every day how I mean the world to him. How every decision he makes, he makes with me in mind. That he’s obsessed with me.
“Good,” I tease. “Then you’ll know exactly where to find me if I ever decide to run.”
“You won’t run,” he says, and it isn’t a question.
I stand, moving to the corner to drag the heavy equipment over. I help him unwrap the supplies. He handles the brushes, testing the bristles against his thumb.
“Sit,” he commands.
I go to the velvet chair, posing for him. I’ve never been happier. I’ve never felt more settled than I do right now, in this glass cage, being watched by a man who would burn the city down just to keep me in his sight.
The world can call him a monster. But I know the truth. We’re both broken, and in this jagged, insane life we’ve built, we finally fit.
He looks at me with an intensity that feels like a physical touch.
“Don’t move,” he rasps. “I want to capture the way the light hits your throat. I want to see exactly where I’m going to put my teeth later.”
I tilt my head back, exposing myself to him. “I’m not moving, Valerio. I’m right here. Always.”