Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Gualtiero
Iforce my hand to loosen, letting go of the test as my fingers find the other priceless object.
With a smooth movement, I pull it out.
The ring.
Gold, heavy, old. The stone catches the terrace light and throws it back in a quiet shimmer.
Max’s grin fades. Gabe stills, and Rafa and Remo widen their eyes.
For a heartbeat, none of them speaks.
Even men like us understand symbols.
Gabe’s eyebrows lift. “The De Marco ring?”
I nod, rotating the ring between my fingers. The metal is warm from my skin. The stone is cool. It has always been like that, the balance of heat and cold, of living and legacy.
“Great-grandmother’s engagement ring,” Max says. “It passes to the oldest child. I thought it was lost with your mother.”
I shake my head. “In his grief, Papa hid it, but it was never truly lost. He gave it to me a few months before his death.”
Rafa’s eyes are fixed on the ring as if someone just proved that some myths are true.
“Why are you carrying it with you?” Remo asks, blunt as ever.
Gabe rolls his eyes at him. “To give to Ella when he has her back.”
“Obviously,” Remo retorts. “But why risk losing it by having it in his pocket? It would be safer in his luggage.”
Because it gives me purpose, and I need something in my hand that isn’t a gun.
When I feel myself slipping into the kind of darkness that swallows men whole, I hold this and remember that my family survived, and that vows mean something, even in a world soaked in blood.
And yes, I intend to slip it onto Ella’s finger the moment I can.
I don’t say any of that, only, “Because I want it with me.”
Remo’s expression shifts, something softer flickering in his eyes. “You really are serious about her.”
It’s like he only truly comprehends it now that he’s seeing the ring that’s being passed down from generation to generation. I can’t hide the smile tucking at the corners of my mouth. His youth shines through. He’s only twenty-two, the computer geek genius of the family.
“As serious as it gets,” I reply. Like she’s threaded through my bloodstream.
“You’re going to propose,” he says.
It isn’t a question.
I close my fingers around the ring, the metal biting into my skin in a familiar way.
“Yes,” is all I say. It doesn’t need more.
Max slaps his brother on the back, grinning. “Don’t worry, Rem. It’s the passionate Sicilians who get riled up and lost over women. The cooler climate here is keeping us more level-headed.”
I laugh at that, unperturbed by Max’s disillusioned views on marriage.
“Antonio wants you inside,” he adds, turning to me. “He says you’re going to freeze out here like an idiot.”
“Antonio worries too much,” I say.
Gabe smirks. “Antonio worries the exact right amount when it comes to you. Like any good consigliere would.”
“He’s not consigliere yet.”
“Well, I passed on his message,” Max chuckles as they all turn back toward the door and disappear inside, their footsteps fading.
I watch them go until the terrace is mine again.
The moment I’m alone, the ring suddenly feels heavier.
I open my fist and stare at it in the terrace light.
Great-grandmother’s ring.
A line of continuity that has survived wars, betrayals, funerals, blood feuds, broken deals.
A promise made in metal and stone. My thumb brushes the setting.
One day my son will give this ring to the woman he loves.
The thought slips in. A whisper of a future I have no right to picture yet, especially not when his mother hasn’t had her turn wearing the ring.
I shut my eyes. My chest aches so fiercely I almost can’t breathe.
It’s too early to think about this. Too dangerous. Too many things can still go wrong.
I drag in a breath, force the softness back into its cage, and open my eyes again.
The city below is still moving. Still living. Still indifferent.
I slide the ring into my pocket next to the pregnancy test, then rest my hands on the railing and stare out at the skyline until my eyes burn.
I don’t let myself imagine what could happen if anyone finds out before I get Ella back. Instead, I make myself a vow so cold it could be steel.
No one touches what is mine.
Not her.
Not the child she carries.
Not the future I’m holding in my pocket.