Chapter 26
Valentina
The waiting was unbearable.
Days since Marco's escape. Days locked in an FBI facility while our newborns fought for every breath in a hospital twenty miles away. Days of updates that said the same thing: Marco DeLuca is still at large.
The trap we'd set at the hospital was ready—tactical teams in position, sharpshooters on the rooftops, every entrance covered. But Marco hadn't taken the bait yet, and every hour of waiting felt like a year.
I stood at the reinforced window, staring at the darkness, one hand on my healing C-section incision.
Behind me, Alessio paced—checking his weapon, coordinating with Domenico. We were both going quietly insane.
"Nothing yet," he said, hanging up. "FBI's tracking leads, but Marco's staying ghost."
"He's planning something," I said. "He didn't escape just to hide."
"I know."
The babies. Every thought circled back to Eva and Ezio—three days old, alone in isolettes, and we'd barely held them.
"I need to see them," I said for the hundredth time. "Please—"
"Every time you go to that hospital, you're exposed. Marco's probably watching, waiting—"
"Then let him come! I'm tired of hiding while our children are alone—"
My voice cracked. I pressed my palms against cold glass.
Alessio's arms came around me from behind, careful of my incision, his hand settling over my belly.
"I know this is impossible. But just a little longer."
"It's never going to end!" I spun in his arms. "Marco will always find a way. We're going to spend the rest of our lives running while our children grow up without us!"
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it? He escaped from a federal supermax. Has people inside the system helping him. Killed four guards like it was nothing." Tears streamed down my face. "I just want to be their mother. Is that too much to ask?"
"No, principessa. It's not." He held me tighter. "And I'm going to make sure you get it."
But his promises felt hollow when Marco kept proving he was untouchable.
A knock at the door made us both jump.
Livia entered carrying coffee, looking as exhausted as I felt. She'd been staying at the facility too—witness protection until Marco was captured.
"Any news?" she asked.
"Nothing," Alessio said. "Marco's still out there."
Livia sank into a chair. "You both look terrible."
"Thank you," I said flatly. "Very helpful."
"I mean it. When's the last time either of you actually slept?"
I couldn't remember. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Marco's face. Or imagined him at the hospital, getting to the babies.
"We're fine," Alessio said.
"You're not fine. You're running on fumes." Livia crossed to me and took my hands. "Valentina, you just had major surgery. You're supposed to be healing, not spiraling."
"My babies are in NICU without me. My father escaped prison and is hunting us. Spiraling seems appropriate."
"Maybe. But you're stronger than this—stronger than him. You've already proven that." She squeezed my hands. "We're going to get through this. Together."
Something in her words steadied me. She was right. I wasn't that terrified woman from the motel room anymore. I'd testified against my father, survived his murder attempts, and given birth to twins despite everything.
I was stronger than the fear.
"Together," I repeated softly.
"DeLuca daughters," Livia confirmed. I pulled her into a hug, this sister I'd known for three weeks but who understood me completely.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For being here. For choosing us."
"Always, sorella."
The next morning brought the first real lead.
Agent Rodriguez burst in at six a.m., face tight.
"We've got him. Marco's at a motel outside Missoula, a hundred and fifty miles west. Tactical team is moving to intercept now."
My heart stopped. "Now?"
"Confirmed sighting thirty minutes ago. Team is twenty minutes out."
The trap at the hospital had been ready, but this was better—catching Marco before he could get anywhere near us.
This was it.
"I want to be there," I said immediately.
"Absolutely not—" Alessio and Rodriguez said simultaneously.
"Not at the raid. But close. I need to know what happens the moment it happens."
Rodriguez looked like she wanted to refuse. Finally, she nodded.
"Observation vehicle only. Armored, protected. You don't move until the scene is secure."
"Agreed."
Alessio started to argue, but I cut him off. "I'm going. With or without permission."
His jaw worked. Then: "Together. We go together."
Twenty minutes later, we were racing west in an armored FBI vehicle. Rodriguez coordinated through radio, tactical teams reporting positions.
"Target confirmed in room twelve. Three other occupants, likely armed. Perimeter secured. SWAT moving into position."
Room seventeen. Like the motel where this all began.
The symmetry was almost poetic.
We parked three blocks away. Through the windshield, I could see the motel—a shabby building, neon sign flickering.
"Tactical team in position," Rodriguez reported. "Moving in on my mark. Three… two… one… execute."
I held my breath.
Flashbangs detonated—light, muffled bangs.
"FBI! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!"
Shouting. Movement.
Then gunfire. Short, controlled bursts. Professional.
Maybe thirty seconds.
Then silence.
The radio crackled. "Shots fired. Four hostiles down. Two in custody. Two deceased, including the primary target. Scene secure. Repeat: primary target is deceased."
Primary target.
Marco.
My father was dead.
The words didn't feel real.
"Valentina?" Alessio's hand found mine. "Did you hear—"
"He's dead," I said numbly.
I should feel something. Relief, grief, anything. Instead—emptiness.
Rodriguez appeared at the vehicle. "Ms. DeLuca, it's confirmed. Marco DeLuca was killed during the raid. He fired on agents, and they returned fire. Death was instantaneous."
"Was it quick?"
"Very quick. He wouldn't have felt anything."
Quick. Clean. More than he'd planned for me.
"Can I see him?"
Rodriguez hesitated. "The scene is… not something you need to carry."
"I need to see him," I said firmly. "Please."
She exchanged a look with Alessio. He nodded.
"Five minutes. Supervised. Don't touch anything."
The motel room was what I'd expected.
Bullet holes. Overturned furniture. Blood on the carpet. The medical examiner's team working diligently.
And Marco.
Covered by a sheet, but I could see the shape of him. Smaller somehow in death.
"Are you sure?" Rodriguez asked quietly.
I nodded.
She pulled back the sheet.
I'd braced for gore, violence, nightmare fuel. But Marco just looked… empty. Silver hair matted with blood. Eyes closed. The mask finally gone, leaving only a dead man who'd made terrible choices.
This was the man who'd controlled my entire life. Who'd sold me to a senator like property. Who'd sent assassins after me, tried to murder me and my children, killed guards and agents without remorse.
And now he was just… nothing. Flesh and bone and silence.
I waited for satisfaction. For closure. For the weight to lift.
It didn't come. Not the way I'd expected.
"I'm done," I said quietly.
Rodriguez covered him.
Outside, Alessio waited.
"You okay?"
"I don't know." I looked back at the motel. "I thought I'd feel something. But I just feel… empty."
"That's okay. You don't owe him feelings." He pulled me against his side. "He's gone, principessa. He can't hurt you anymore. Can't hurt our babies. It's over."
Over. The word felt unfinished. I'd been building toward confrontation, final words, closure. Instead, he'd just died. And I'd arrived too late to say anything.
Tears finally came—not for Marco, but for everything I'd lost. The father I'd thought I had. The childhood that was built on lies.
Alessio held me while I cried, letting me grieve the man Marco should have been instead of the monster he'd become.
"I wanted to tell him I forgave him," I admitted. "Or that I didn't. I wanted that moment. And now I'll never have it."
"Maybe that's better," Alessio said gently. "You don't owe him forgiveness or final words. He lost that right."
"I know. But still…"
We stood as dawn broke over Montana, and I let myself feel the complicated truth: I was glad he was dead. Relieved that my children would be safe. But also sad—for what could have been.
Both things were true.
By afternoon, we were back at the hospital.
The moment I walked into the NICU, the tension I'd been carrying for days finally cracked.
Eva and Ezio were still there. Still fighting. Still alive.
Marco was dead, and they were alive.
"Hi, babies," I said, touching them both. "It's over. The bad man is gone. You're safe now. The danger is gone, and Mama and Daddy aren't going anywhere."
Ezio squirmed at my touch. Eva's oxygen mask had been reduced.
Nurse Sarah appeared. "Good news—Eva's breathing is improving rapidly. We might remove CPAP tomorrow. And Ezio is ready to try bottle feeding."
"Really?"
"Really. They're doing remarkably well."
"When can they come home?"
"Ezio, potentially end of next week. Eva will need another week or two. But both should be home before their due date."
The relief hit me all at once—everything I'd been holding back since the raid, since the escape, since the birth. I started crying. Joy and exhaustion and gratitude pouring out in waves I couldn't control.
"They're going to be just fine," Sarah promised.
Alessio appeared and wrapped his arms around me.
"Good news?"
"The best," I managed. "They're coming home. Both of them."
We stood between our children's isolettes, holding each other. For the first time since their birth, I wasn't afraid to hope.
"It's really over," he murmured. "Marco's gone. The babies are thriving. We survived."
"We survived," I repeated.
For the first time in over a year, it felt completely true.
That evening, Sofia, Livia, Alessio, and I gathered in my hospital room.
Agent Rodriguez appeared with final confirmation.