Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Olivia
White ceiling. Disinfectant smell. The beeping of machines.
I woke up in a stiff chair, my neck aching like someone had wrung it. Sunlight squeezed through the gap in the curtains, a thin beam landing on the pale face in the bed.
Ezio lay with his eyes closed, arm wrapped in thick bandages, shallow scratches across his face. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling gently, but his face was ghost-white, like those handsome, bloodless sculptures I'd seen in French museums.
I reached out, my fingers touching his. Ice cold.
"You're awake." Carlo's voice came from behind me, low.
I didn't turn around. "How is he?"
"Lost a lot of blood. Last night was close. He almost..." He paused, didn't finish. "But he's stable now. He's strong. Should recover."
Should.
I hated that word.
"When will he wake up?"
"Today, maybe tomorrow. His body needs time to heal." Carlo paused. "Miss Adrian, you're injured too. The wound on your neck needs treatment, and your wrists."
"I'm fine."
"You need to—"
"I said I'm fine."
My voice came out harder than I'd meant. Carlo went quiet for a moment, then I heard footsteps retreating, the door closing softly.
The room went quiet. Just the machines beeping, and his steady breathing.
I stared at his face. How many times had I looked at this face?
Five years ago in the club, he'd sat in the corner, eyes full of contempt and amusement.
Five years later in the study, he'd sat in his chair, eyes full of exhaustion and emptiness.
Last night in the warehouse, he'd knelt on the ground, knees almost touching the floor—
For me.
He'd been willing to kneel for me.
My nose stung, eyes burning, but I didn't cry. I held his hand, buried my face in his palm. His hand was still cold, but his fingertips held a hint of warmth.
"You promised me," I said, voice muffled. "You said you wouldn't die. You promised."
He didn't answer. The machines kept beeping, sunlight inching across the floor.
I sat there, holding his hand. Don't know how long.
The door opened, soft, like someone afraid of waking the dead.
I looked up to see Juliet standing in the doorway, wearing a pink dress, hair in two braids, clutching a drawing. Leo peeked out from behind her, also holding a drawing. Elsa stood behind them, looking worried.
"Vivi," Juliet whispered. "Is Daddy still sleeping?"
"Yes," I said, voice hoarse. "He's resting."
The two children tiptoed in like they were afraid to disturb something. Juliet placed her drawing on the bedside table—four people holding hands in front of a big house. Leo's drawing sat beside it, a crooked attempt at Macy, but you could tell it was a dog.
"We made them," Leo whispered, climbing onto a chair to peer at Ezio's face. "When will Ezio wake up?"
"Soon," I said.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"You're lying," Juliet said suddenly, voice trembling. "Daddy must hurt. He never sleeps this long."
I looked at her. Her eyes were red, but she bit her lip and didn't cry.
I reached out and pulled her close, held her. Her body was small, warm, and when she pressed against my chest I could feel her heartbeat.
"He'll wake up," I said. "I promise."
"You promise?" She looked up at me, eyes dead serious.
"I promise."
She nodded, buried her face in my arms. Leo leaned in too, squeezed in beside me, three of us crammed in one chair.
That afternoon, I coaxed Juliet and Leo down for naps, then went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. Cleared my head some.
Then I returned to the bed and took his hand.
Stared at his closed eyes, nose burning, couldn't help pressing my forehead against his hand.
"Ezio, I miss you so much. Please wake up."
The moment the words left my lips, his finger moved. In my palm, it curled slightly.
I jerked my head up to see his eyelids moving. Slow, like it took enormous effort.
Then he opened his eyes.
Those eyes were green, dark green, like winter woods. They stared blankly at the ceiling, shifted, then landed on my face.
"You're crying," he said, voice rough as sandpaper.
"No, I'm not."
"Liar."
I laughed. Tears fell, splashing on the back of his hand.
"You slept a long time," I said.
"How long?"
"A day."
"Not so long." His lips curved slightly. "I've slept longer."
"When?"
"The day you left. Drank half a bottle of whiskey. Slept two full days."
My nose stung again. I bent my head, pressed my forehead to his hand, tears streaming.
"Don't cry," he said, finger twitching, trying to grip my hand but lacking strength. "I'm okay."
"You always say that."
"This time it's true."
I looked up at him. His face was still pale, dark circles under his eyes, lips cracked, but he looked at me with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Did the kids come?" he asked, glancing at the drawings by the bed.
"Yeah. I told them you were just sleeping."
"Juliet wouldn't believe that."
"You're right. She's smart."
He smiled briefly, then closed his eyes, like he'd used up all his strength.
"Don't sleep," I said, voice panicked.
"Not sleeping," he said, eyes still closed. "Just thinking about something."
"What?"
"Leo's my son."
I froze.
"Sebastian said it," he said, voice soft. "He said Leo's my son. Was he lying, or—"
"He wasn't lying."
His eyes opened, looked at me.
"Leo is your son," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you."
He stared at me, long and hard. Something surged in those green eyes.
"I thought—" His voice cracked.
"You thought what?"
"I thought you hated me."
"I did hate you," I said. "In France, giving birth alone, waking up in the middle of the night with nothing beside me. I hated you. For a long time."
His fingers tightened, gripped my hand.
"But I loved you more," I said.
His eyes went red.
"I never stopped loving you. In France, I thought about you every day. When I came back, I was scared to see you. When I saw you, I was scared I couldn't stop myself—"
"Stop yourself from what?"
"From telling you I still loved you."
His tears fell. Not one drop, but many, streaming down his cheeks. He lay in that bed, hand bandaged, face scratched, lips cracked, but he looked at me with eyes full of light.
"Olivia," he said, voice barely there. "Come here."
I leaned down, moved closer. His left hand lifted, slow, like it took everything he had. His finger touched my cheek and wiped away the tears.
"I love you," he said, word by word, like he was afraid I wouldn't hear. "Loved you from day one. In the club, you stood on that stage dancing, eyes full of defiance—I knew right then, I was done for."
I laughed, tears still flowing.
"I spent five years becoming a real don," he said. "Not for power, not for the family. For you. So when you came back, I wouldn't be the man who couldn't protect you anymore."
"I know."
"I sat in that seat, every single day, thinking about you. Where you were, if you were okay, if anyone was hurting you. Nearly went crazy."
"I know."
"You're not running again," he said, fingers gripping my hand tight. "You hear me? No more running."
"No more running," I said. "Never again."
He looked at me and smiled. Light and soft.
"Good," he said. "That's good."
He closed his eyes, fingers still holding mine, didn't let go.
He fell asleep. Breathing steady, chest rising and falling. Tear tracks still on his face, but his lips curved up.
I sat by the bed, watching him, didn't let go.
Sunlight poured through the window, fell on his face, on our joined hands.
Six months later.
The manor garden was filled with white chairs, a long white runner down the middle. Roses bloomed on both sides—red, pink, white—swaying gently in the breeze.
I stood in front of the living room mirror, wearing an exquisitely crafted wedding gown. Hair loose on my shoulders, not pinned up, just a white flower tucked in.
Sophie stood behind me, eyes red-rimmed.
"Don't cry," I said. "If you cry, I'll cry."
"I'm not crying," she said, voice thick. "I just think—you deserve this."
I looked at myself in the mirror. This face was older than five years ago, fine lines at the corners of my eyes, chin a bit sharper, but the eyes were bright.
"Ready?" Sophie asked.
"Ready."
She pushed open the door. Sunlight flooded in, so bright I squinted.
The garden was packed. Ella and Mark sat in the front row, clutching tissues, already cried out. Carlo stood nearby, expression serious but eyes smiling. Elsa and Carmen stood in back, for once showing genuine smiles.
At the end of the red carpet, Ezio stood there.
He wore a charcoal suit, hair slicked back, devastatingly handsome as always. He stood there looking at me, those eyes fixed on me, the burning emotion in them almost melting me.
I couldn't help blushing.
Leo and Juliet stood on either side of the carpet, holding flower baskets. Juliet wore a pink dress, hair in two braids, expression as serious as if executing an important mission. Leo wore a little suit, bow tie crooked, but he didn't care, just looked thrilled.
"Let's go," Sophie whispered in my ear.
I took the first step.
The carpet was soft underfoot, sunlight on my shoulders, rose scent drifting on the breeze. Everything so beautiful it felt like a dream.
Leo started scattering petals. They flew from his basket, landed on the ground, on my dress. Juliet walked beside him, glancing back at me every few steps, face all smiles.
I looked at Ezio.
He looked at me.
As the distance between us closed, my breathing quickened, heart like a trapped bird trying to fly out.
I reached him, stopped.
He gazed at me, lips curved.
"You look beautiful today." He bent down, brushed his face against mine.
"I know," I said.
He laughed. I laughed too.
Ella sobbed behind us.
"We—"
"Wait," I said, turning to Leo and Juliet. "Don't you have something for me?"
Leo and Juliet exchanged glances. Juliet pulled a small velvet box from the bottom of her flower basket. Leo fished out an identical one from his.
The two children ran over together, held the boxes up to me.
"For you!" Leo shouted.
"We protected them really well!" Juliet added.
I crouched down, first touched their heads, then took the two boxes.
Each box held a ring, simple silver circles, thin and bright.
I stared at those two rings, fingers trembling.
"Olivia, you okay?" Ezio's voice came from above, also carrying a faint tremor.
Somehow, hearing him so nervous suddenly calmed me down.
Taking a deep breath, I picked up a ring, stood up, looked in his eyes.
"Hand," I said.
He extended his left hand. I held it, slipped the silver circle onto his ring finger. His finger trembled, same as mine.
He picked up the other ring, held my hand, slipped it onto my ring finger. The ring was thin, bright, flashed in the sunlight.
"Olivia," he said. "You're finally, completely mine."
I smiled. "You too."
He bent down, pressed his forehead to mine. His breath fell on my face, warm, with a hint of coffee.
"I love you," he said, voice so soft only I could hear. "Loved you from day one."
"Me too," I said.
He kissed me.
In the sunlight, in the scent of roses, under everyone's gaze.
Juliet and Leo clapped beside us, laughing till their eyes curved into crescents. Ella cried her eyes out, Sophie passed her tissues.
Wind blew through the garden, carrying flower scent, the warmth of sunlight, laughter.
Ezio's lips left mine. He looked in my eyes, smiled.
"Yay! Vivi! I can finally call you Mom!" Juliet suddenly said.
I crouched down and looked at her. Her eyes were bright, mouth all smiles, but eyes a bit red.
"Would you like to, my love?" I asked.
"You already were," she said, throwing herself in my arms. "From the first day you came to teach me dance, I knew."
My tears fell. I held her, small, warm, in my arms.
Leo squeezed in too. "Me too!"
"You're already her son," Juliet made a face at him. "Dummy."
"I'm not a dummy!"
"Yes, you are."
"Am not!"
I watched them bicker, tears still flowing, but lips smiling.
Ezio walked over, wrapped one arm around me and both children.
"Alright," he said. "Time to go home."
Leo rode on his shoulders, Juliet held his hand. I walked beside him, sunlight falling on us, shadows overlapping on the ground.
Behind us, roses swayed in the breeze, white chairs and white carpet gleaming in the sun.
Ella called from behind. "Don't forget photos!"
Sophie said, "Let her rest!"
"No way, such an important day—"
I glanced back at them and smiled.
Ezio turned to look at me. "Let's go."
"Yeah," I said. "Home."
His hand gripped mine, tight and warm.
We walked toward the manor. The two children ran ahead, Macy burst out of the house, tail wagging, pounced on Leo, almost tripped him.
"Macy! You're chewing my shoelaces again!"
Juliet laughed till she doubled over.
I watched them, suddenly felt—
This was the life I'd always wanted. Not perfect, not without scars, but it was mine. Ours.
Ezio's fingers tightened, squeezed my hand.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"Thinking..." I paused. "Thinking if I'm dreaming."
He laughed, bent down, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Not a dream," he said.
I closed my eyes, felt the warmth of that kiss.
Sunlight fell on my eyelids, warm and red.
Not a dream.
Real.
THE END