Chapter 27
Giulia
SONG: ANGEL BY MASSIVE ATTACK
We stood there for a long time. Minutes or hours.
Hard to tell when your world had just rearranged itself around forgiveness.
Dimitri held me like I might evaporate if he loosened his grip.
I let him. Partly because I needed the contact.
Mostly because feeling his heart beating against my cheek reminded me he was real.
That this apology was real. That maybe we could survive what he'd done.
What we'd both done. I'd believed the worst too quickly. Had convinced myself he'd never trust me. Had spent three days drowning in self-pity instead of fighting for us.
We were both idiots. At least we matched.
"Come sit," I said finally, pulling away enough to see his face. "You look like you're about to collapse."
"Haven't slept much."
"I noticed." I took his hand and led him to the sofa. He followed without protest. Too exhausted to argue even if he'd wanted to.
We sat. Not touching initially. Both of us processing what came next. How you rebuild trust after it shattered. Whether words were enough or if we needed something more.
"Tell me everything," I said. "From the beginning. I want to understand what happened."
So he told me. About interrogating the Albanians. About discovering Geraldo had been planning this for weeks. About calling Giuseppe and demanding justice. About the warehouse where my cousin had died on concrete that had seen too much blood already.
His voice stayed level throughout. Professional, like he was briefing subordinates instead of telling his wife he'd executed her family. But I could see the cost in his eyes. The guilt he carried for doing what tradition demanded.
"Giuseppe agreed?" I asked when he finished.
"Giuseppe delivered him personally. Stood there while I pulled the trigger. He chose the alliance over blood." Dimitri's jaw tightened. "That's honor. Real honor. The kind that costs pieces of your soul."
"The kind you respect?."
"Yes."
I processed that. My father had handed over his nephew to execution. Had chosen peace over family. Had proven the alliance mattered more than anything except maybe his own survival.
Strange to be proud and horrified simultaneously.
"Geraldo was an idiot," I said quietly. "Marco's death destroyed him. I saw it at the funeral. He stood there promising revenge while everyone else mourned. I should have known he'd do something stupid."
"Not your fault."
"Isn't it? He was family. I should have noticed he was planning something. Should have warned you."
"How? You didn't know about Bratva operations. Didn't have access to information he was leaking. You were innocent of everything except being related to someone who couldn't let go of a grudge."
"Still feels like I should have known."
"That's guilt talking. I'm familiar with the voice." His hand found mine and squeezed. "We both carry responsibility for things beyond our control. Comes with the family business."
We sat in silence for a while. Not uncomfortable, just two people existing together while the world settled around us.
My hand drifted to my stomach. An unconscious gesture, a protective instinct I couldn't quite suppress.
Dimitri noticed. Of course he noticed. The man had a photographic memory and probably cataloged every movement I made.
"Are you hurt?" he asked. "Did something happen while I was gone?"
"No. Not hurt." I took a breath and steadied myself. "But something did happen."
His entire body tensed. "What?"
Now or never. Tell him and risk everything or keep it secret until we were stronger. Except we'd just agreed to face things together. No more secrets. No more hiding behind fear.
"I'm pregnant," I said. Simple. Direct. World altering.
Silence. Complete and absolute. Dimitri stared at me like I'd spoken a foreign language he didn't understand.
"You're..." He stopped, then started again. "Pregnant."
"Yes."
"As in having a baby."
"That's generally what pregnant means."
"How long have you known?"
"Three days. Took the test the morning after you left." I was still holding my stomach. I couldn't seem to stop. "I was going to tell you but then you disappeared. I thought maybe you weren't coming back, and I didn't know what to do."
"Three days." He looked stricken. "You knew for three days and faced it alone."
"I'm used to facing things alone."
"You shouldn't have to be. Not anymore. Not with this." His hand covered mine on my stomach. Large and warm and careful. "A baby."
"Are you upset?"
"Upset?" He laughed, a slightly hysterical sound. "No. Terrified. Completely unprepared. Convinced I'll be a terrible father because mine was a monster who taught violence and paranoia instead of love. But not upset."
"That's not exactly reassuring."
"I'm working on it." He shifted closer. Both hands on my stomach now like he could feel the tiny cluster of cells dividing underneath. "How far along?"
"Two or three weeks according to the test. Probably from..." I paused. Calculated. "From that morning we made blini and you burned them because you were distracted."
"I wasn't distracted. The stove runs hot."
"You were staring at me instead of cooking."
"Can't prove anything."
Despite everything I smiled. "So probably that morning."
"The morning I told you I was falling in love with you."
"You didn't say that."
"I was thinking it very loudly. Same thing."
"Not remotely the same thing."
We were both still touching my stomach. Creating a barrier between our baby and the world. Protection that wouldn't be enough but that we'd provide anyway.
"Are you happy?" I asked quietly. "About the baby. About us. About any of this."
Dimitri pulled me close and arranged us so I was practically in his lap. His hand stayed on my stomach while the other wrapped around my shoulders.
"I'm terrified," he admitted. "About being a father. About bringing a child into this life. About whether I can protect you both from everything that's coming. But yes. I'm happy. Happier than I've been since my mother left and I learned emotions were weaknesses to be suppressed."
"We're going to be terrible at this."
"Catastrophically bad. Our child will probably need therapy by age five."
"Definitely by age five. Maybe sooner."
"At least we're realistic about our inadequacies."
I turned to look at him properly. His eyes were wet. Not crying exactly but close. Emotion he probably hadn't expressed since childhood breaking through three decades of careful control.
"I love you," I said. I needed him to hear it again.
"I love you even though you're an idiot who killed my cousin and didn't trust me and disappeared for three days.
I love you despite overwhelming evidence I shouldn't.
I love you because of who you are underneath the violence and the paranoia and the terrible lessons your father taught you. "
"I love you too." He said it like a confession, like admitting weakness. "I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. More than is probably safe or smart or reasonable. I love you and it terrifies me. I don't know how to do it correctly but I'm trying."
"Trying is enough."
"Is it?"
"For now. For today. For this moment." I kissed him. Soft. Careful. "We'll figure out tomorrow when it arrives."
He kissed me back. Deeper this time. Less careful. His hand moved from my stomach to my face, cuping my jaw and tilting my head to the angle he wanted.
I let him. Let him take control of this. Let him prove through touch what words couldn't quite convey.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"Bedroom," he said, voice rough. "Now."
"Demanding."
"Desperate. There's a difference."
I stood. Took his hand and led him upstairs to the room we'd shared for three weeks before everything exploded. The bed was made perfectly. Margaret's work. Evidence that life continued even when you were drowning.
Dimitri closed the door and locked it. He turned to face me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Want mixed with something gentler. Need tempered by care.
"Come here," he said quietly.
I crossed the room and stopped just within reach. Let him close the remaining distance. His hands moved to my waist and slid around to my back. He drew me flush against him so I could feel every line of his body. Solid. Real. Home.
"I missed you," he whispered against my hair. "Three days felt like three years."
"I know." I tilted my head back and met his eyes. "Don't leave again."
"Never."
"Promise."
"Promise." He kissed me. Slow and thorough. The kind of kiss that said things words couldn't. Apology and need and love all tangled together.
I kissed him back. Poured everything into it. Three days of fear and loneliness and desperate hope that he'd come back and choose us.
His hands moved to the zipper of my dress, then paused. "Is this okay? The baby..."
"The baby is fine. I'm fine. We're both fine." I reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it. "And I need you. Need to feel you. Need proof this is real and we're together and we survived."
"We survived," he agreed and helped me with his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "Barely. But we survived."
My dress followed, then his pants. Then everything else until we were just skin and breath and heartbeats that somehow synchronized.
He lifted me. Careful despite the urgency and laid me on the bed like I was something precious instead of just his wife. His hands traced patterns on my skin. Mapped territory he'd memorized weeks ago but seemed determined to relearn.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "So beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."
"Dramatic."
"Honest."
I pulled him down and wrapped myself around him, letting him settle between my thighs where he belonged. Where he'd been three weeks ago before everything fell apart.
"I love you," I said again. I needed him to hear it as many times as possible. Needed the words to sink in past his defenses. "I love you and I'm not leaving and we're going to figure this out together."
"Together," he echoed. Then he kissed me and there were no more words.
Just touch. Just breath. Just the slide of skin against skin and the perfect terrible intimacy of being completely known by another person.
He was careful. Gentle in a way he hadn't been before. Like I might break. Like the baby made me fragile instead of just pregnant.
"I'm not made of glass," I said against his mouth.
"I know. But I nearly lost you. Let me have this. Let me be careful."
So I let him. Let him worship instead of take. Let him prove through tenderness what words couldn't quite capture.
Afterward we lay tangled together, sweaty and satisfied and completely wrecked in the best possible way. His hand found my stomach again and rested there like he was already protecting our child through proximity alone.
"We're going to be parents," he said with wonder in his voice. "Actual parents, responsible for keeping a tiny human alive."
"Terrifying thought."
"Completely terrifying." He kissed my shoulder. "But also maybe perfect. Maybe exactly what we need."
"Hope making us delusional?"
"Probably. But I'll take delusional over the alternative."
I turned to face him and studied his expression in the dim light. He looked younger like this. Vulnerable. Almost happy despite everything.
"What are we going to do?" I asked. "About the baby. About the alliance. About all of it."
"We're going to figure it out. Day by day. Crisis by crisis. Together." He tucked hair behind my ear. "We're going to protect this child and give them a better life than we had. Teach them that love isn't weakness, trust isn't stupidity, and family means something beyond blood and violence."
"Big goals."
"We're ambitious people."
"We're delusional people."
"That too."
I kissed him. Soft. Simple. With a promise that we'd try even when trying seemed impossible.
"I'm scared," I admitted. "About being a mother. About raising a child in this world. About whether we're strong enough."
"We're definitely not strong enough. But we'll be strong enough together.
That's how this works." His hand spread across my stomach.
Protective. "This baby gets both of us. Your intelligence and my stubbornness.
Your courage and my paranoia. Everything we are including the broken parts. And somehow that'll be enough."
"You really believe that?"
"I have to believe it. Because the alternative is unacceptable."
We stayed like that for hours. Talking in whispers. Making plans that would probably fall apart. Building a future on hope and determination and the fragile belief that love could survive reality.
The sun was setting when we finally got dressed. Golden light painted the bedroom in shades of amber and rust. Beautiful despite everything. Perfect despite the chaos.
Dimitri pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and rested his chin on my head. "We can do this," he said quietly. "We can make this work. The marriage. The baby. All of it."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He turned me to face him. "I know I've broken promises before, that I've given you reasons to doubt, but I mean this one. We're in this together. For better or worse. In sickness and health. Till death or until you finally realize you could do better."
"Not funny."
"Little bit funny."
I kissed him to shut him up. He let me, kissing back like it was the only thing that mattered.
When we finally broke apart, the sun had nearly disappeared. Darkness creeping across the grounds and night arriving whether we were ready or not.
But we were together. We were healing. We had a baby coming and a future to build and hope that maybe, possibly, love was enough.
Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe we'd face a thousand more crises. This life would test us in ways we couldn't imagine. But tonight we had each other. Had forgiveness and intimacy and the promise that we'd keep trying.
Tonight that was enough.
Tomorrow could wait.