Chapter 40 JENNA
Knowing Massimo is out there somewhere—armed, hunting, in danger—keeps my nerves stretched thin.
I try not to picture it. Try not to imagine steel and gunfire and blood.
It doesn't work. Every creak of the building, every distant siren, makes my pulse spike.
I tell myself he's done this a thousand times.
That he's built for it. That worrying won't bring him back any faster.
None of it helps.
Esther is good with Amauri. Better than good.
They spend nearly an hour together, talking, drawing, and—at one point—playing a card game I don't recognize.
I watch from a distance, pretending to be busy, soaking in the sound of my son's laughter like medicine.
When Esther finally asks to speak with me alone, I brace myself.
But she's gentle. Grounded. She tells me Amauri is a tough kid.
That he's processing in his own way. The worst thing I could do is rush him or force language onto feelings he's not ready to name yet.
"Let him talk when he's ready," she advises. "Your job is to make sure he knows he can."
I nod, absorbing it all. I'm tempted—so tempted—to ask her how she thinks I should handle the Carter situation.
The words sit right at the back of my throat.
What do I say when the man he's always known as his father…
disappears? What do I say if the truth is darker than silence? But I don't ask. Not yet.
Esther is smart. She would give me an answer.
But some things don't need to be solved this minute.
And the truth is, Massimo is already stepping into the role without forcing it.
Without posturing. Amauri gravitates toward him naturally, like he senses something solid there.
We'll figure it out. We have to. Still, the thought I can't quite outrun curls cold in my stomach: I'm almost certain Carter will see his last sunrise come morning.
I don't know how. Or where. I also don't know what—if anything—I'll tell Amauri.
Life is complicated. Mine especially.
I sigh and look out over the city, watching the light shift as afternoon drags toward evening. Somewhere far away, Massimo is doing what he does best, clearing paths through darkness.
The door finally opens just after dusk. He's there, filling the doorway like a presence of power nobody dares to touch. Massimo.
Relief hits me so hard my knees almost give.
For a heartbeat, we just look at each other.
He looks tired. Not wounded, not broken, just spent, the way men look when they've carried too much weight without setting it down.
I cross the room without thinking and throw my arms around him.
He holds me immediately—strong, familiar—and for a moment everything feels so normal it's almost dizzying.
Like this is how it's always been. Like the world hasn't been trying to tear us apart. Then he inhales sharply.
I pull back instantly. "Massimo—"
"It's nothing," he says too quickly, his jaw tightening. "Just a bruise."
A bruise from what? Before I can ask, Amauri barrels into him like a missile. "Massimo!"
He scoops him up automatically, laughter breaking through his fatigue, then there's another brief wince, almost imperceptible, but I see it this time. My stomach tightens. He's upright. He's steady. I don't see blood. Whatever it is, it's not catastrophic. Be patient, I tell myself. Not now.
Amauri wraps himself around Massimo's neck like an octopus. "You're back! You promised!"
"I did," Massimo says, pressing a kiss to his hair. "And I keep my promises."
I watch them together, my chest aches with how right this looks.
Then Amauri's eyes light up with a new thought.
"So," he tries for nonchalant like he's not been thinking about it all day, drawing the word out, glancing between us with unmistakable calculation, "Mummy says that waterpark down there is yours? "
Massimo arches a brow, amused. "She did, huh?"
"And she said we could go," Amauri adds quickly. "Like. Soon."
He fixes Massimo with his most devastating weapon: wide, hopeful eyes.
I cross my arms, trying—and failing—not to smile. "He's been talking about it all afternoon."
Massimo looks at me over Amauri's head, something warm and dangerous in his gaze.
"Well," his face doesn't give anything away, as if considering a high-stakes negotiation, "that sounds like something we should discuss over dinner."
Amauri gasps. "That means yes."
Massimo laughs softly. "That means maybe."
Amauri beams anyway, clearly counting it as a win. Then he looks back at Massimo, and the smile on his face could melt an iceberg instantly. "The decorator was also here, she said she could make me an awesome Hammie wall."
I lean against the counter, watching the two of them, and the weight of the day finally eases from my shoulders. Whatever storms are still waiting for us—whatever truths tomorrow brings—this moment feels real. Good. Earned. For now, it's enough.