Chapter 28
GAbrIELLA
I stare at Marco.
He looks tired, nearly ready to keel over.
But he’s here, telling me he loves me.
He wants me and the baby.
I won’t lie. I wonder if I’m dreaming because this is what I’ve wished for.
Every day my father has kept me locked at home, worried about the aftermath of Frank’s death and Marco’s shooting,
I’ve thought about Marco walking through my front door to whisk me away.
But it was a dream. I’ve already booked my ticket to Italy right after New Year’s. And yet, here he is.
I realize he’s waiting for me to answer.
"You think you're too old and surly for me?" I step closer. "You think I care about that?"
He watches me with what I think might be hope in his eyes.
“If I cared about that, I wouldn’t have seduced you in the library last year.”
“What’d she say?” my father asks Roman, and I cast him an annoyed glare.
“I’m not an easy man to love.” The pain of Marco’s baggage laces his tone.
I press my hand to his cheek. “Yes you are, Marco. The only one holding back is you.”
He tilts his head into my palm. “Not anymore. If you’ll—”
I move my hand, pressing my fingers over his lips. “My turn.” I smile up at him, my heart filling with more love than I ever thought possible. “I love you too. And don’t look at me like you can’t believe it.”
Marco pulls me into his arms, his embrace tight despite his injury. “Sorry, but I can’t believe it. Not after everything—”
“I accused you of betraying my father and somehow, you still love me.” I melt against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The heart I once thought incapable of love.
“I accused you, but that was just for Frank—”
“I know.” I look up at him. “I know you, Marco.”
He settles his forehead against mine. “It terrifies me how much you see me. Terrifies and makes me feel whole. I should've never let you walk out that door. Either time."
I close my eyes, breathing him in.
The warmth of his body envelops mine.
It's strange to see this powerful man looking at me with such vulnerability.
Roman claps. "About damn time," he says with a grin that breaks the intensity of the moment.
My father clears his throat loudly, and I wince, suddenly remembering we're not alone.
Marco's arms tighten around me briefly before he reluctantly puts a respectable distance between us, though he keeps his hand firmly clasped in mine.
“What are your intentions?” my father demands.
Marco looks at me. “To love you forever. If you’ll have me.”
“Yes—”
“You still disrespect me! This is my home, Don Calabresi. My daughter. Anything you want of mine, you ask me.” My father isn’t joking.
But I’m not chattel. “Oh, for goodness’ sake! I don't need your permission to choose whom I love." Marco's hand squeezes mine, lending me strength. "I respect you, Dad, but this decision is mine. You raised me to make my choices, remember?"
My father's stern expression wavers.
"Don Antonio," Marco says, "Normally, I’d have asked your permission, but we both know your daughter might not have accepted me if I'd treated her like property to be bartered for."
I smirk at them both.
My father's eyes narrow, but I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He's fighting a smile.
"You've always been a stubborn bastard, Marco," he finally says.
“So I’ve been told.” Marco glances at Roman, who doesn’t look at all chagrined.
My father steps forward, placing one hand on Marco's shoulder and the other on mine. “I know you don’t need it, but hopefully, you want it. You have my blessing.”
If this is a dream, it’s the best one ever. Thank God it’s real.
"But understand this, Marco." My father’s grip tightens on Marco's shoulder, and Marco's complexion pales slightly. "If you ever hurt my daughter or my grandchild, there is no place on this earth you can hide from me. I will end you."
"I understand.”
"Good." My father releases his grip and steps back. "Now, since you're about to collapse, perhaps you should sit down before you bleed all over my carpet."
“I’m fine.”
I roll my eyes.
Marco doesn’t look fine at all.
But I understand he’s staying upright to show my father that while he respects him, he won’t be intimidated by him.
“You’re the only man I know who isn’t even a little afraid of my father.”
"I am terrified," he admits. "But not of your father." He places his hand gently on my stomach. "I'm terrified of failing you both."
"I'm not worried about your failing us. I couldn't love you if I didn't believe in you completely."
His eyes search mine.
I hope he sees my sincerity.
What I see in his eyes is exhaustion.
"You need to rest.” I wrap my arm around his waist. "Let me take you home."
Roman steps forward. "I can drive—"
"I'll drive him," I interrupt. "He's my responsibility now."
A smile tugs at Marco's lips. "I'm nobody's responsibility."
"Get used to it.” I walk with him toward the foyer. “This is what happens when you let someone love you."
“You’re both my responsibility,” Roman says. “I’ll drive you both home.”
I agree to that so I can focus on Marco during the ride.
As I help Marco into the car, I know with absolute certainty that whatever comes next, whether it's marriage, parenthood, or more threats against our families, we'll face it together.
No more secrets. No more walking away.
In the car, I sit with Marco in the back seat, his hand never leaving mine.
Roman keeps glancing at us in the rearview mirror, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"You need to rest when we get home," I tell Marco, studying the lines of pain etched around his eyes.
“Our home,” he says, and again, I feel like I’m living a dream.
“Take the drugs,” Roman says from the front seat. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse.”
“I thought you’re supposed to be driving.” Marco turns to me. "Christmas is almost here.”
I laugh. "You're recovering from a gunshot wound, and you're worried about Christmas?"
He shrugs, then winces at the movement. "Your love for the holiday is infectious. I was thinking… you should coordinate whatever Christmas decor you want at the house."
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow. "The Scrooge of La Corona is giving me carte blanche for Christmas decorations?"
Roman snorts from the front seat. "Better watch what you wish for, Boss. She might turn the place into the North Pole."
“As long as she’s with me, I’m okay with that.”
I squeeze his hand. "I'll keep it tasteful. Maybe just one life-sized Santa in every room."
His pained laugh is worth the joke. "Whatever makes you happy."
"You make me happy." I lean in to kiss his cheek. "Santa already delivered my present this year."
"A grumpy old Don with a hole in his chest?"
“A man full of love who loves me.”
He leans to me, grunting at the pain as he kisses me. “I do love you.”
As we arrive at Marco’s home… our home, I feel a giddy anticipation.
Not just for Christmas, but for everything that comes after. Our child. Our life together. The challenges we'll face as a couple.
"What are you thinking?" Marco asks, studying my face.
"I'm thinking about tomorrow," I say. "And the day after that, and the day after that…"
"All of them with you," he finishes, bringing my hand to his lips.
"All of them with us." I place our joined hands over my stomach.
Roman helps me get Marco inside and up to his bedroom, all the while Marco groaning that he’s not an invalid.
“Careful, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder,” Roman says to him.
“He threatened me with that,” I say. “We should listen.”
“You throw my woman over your shoulder, Roman, and we’ll have a problem.”
Roman shakes his head. “Yes, Boss.” He leaves us once Marco is sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t need to be coddled,” Marco grumbles as I help him remove his coat.
"Of course not," I placate him, carefully easing him out of his shirt to check his bandages. "You're just a man who took a bullet in the chest and should be in a hospital instead of proposing to his girlfriend."
His eyes soften at my words. "Worth it," he murmurs, his hand finding mine as I inspect the clean white gauze covering his wound.
I give him water and pain medicine, then carefully arrange pillows behind him, hyper-aware of his eyes following my every movement.
There's something different in his gaze now.
The walls are down.
I can see everything he feels for me written plainly across his face.
Granted, it could be because of the pain he’s in, but I don’t think so.
I think he’s handed his heart over to me, and I plan to care for it.
"Are you comfortable?" I pull the blankets over him.
He tugs my hand, pulling me down beside him. "I will be."
I kick off my shoes and carefully settle against him, mindful of his injury. His arm wraps around me, drawing me closer.
"I still can't believe you stepped in front of a bullet for me.”
"I'd do it again," he says without hesitation. "Though I'd prefer not to. It hurts like a mother fucker."
I laugh softly. "I'd prefer that too."
We lie in comfortable silence, the tension gradually leaving his body as the pain medication takes effect. His breathing slows, deepens.
"Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" he murmurs, already drifting.
"Always."
I watch as sleep claims him.
Without the weight of La Corona, without the ghosts of his past haunting him, he looks younger, almost peaceful.
I imagine a baby with Marco's intense eyes and my smile, stubborn like both of us.
"Your papa saved us," I say to our baby. "And we're going to save him right back."