Chapter 26: Salvatore

Chapter 26: Salvatore
She tried to kill herself.

That was the first thing the maid told me. Not “she’s alive.” Not “she’s holding on.” Just that. Like it wasn’t a grenade in my chest. Like it wasn’t the single worst thing I’d ever heard in my life.

“She cut her arm in the bathroom,” she whispered, eyes low, voice shaking. “It wasn’t deep, but… she meant it.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She stood there, trembling in the hallway, holding a tea tray like a shield. “There’s something else.”

I couldn’t speak. I nodded.

“She’s pregnant,” she said.

The walls didn’t collapse.

I did.

Not visibly. Not in front of her. But something inside me buckled. Quiet and violent and permanent.

I sent her away. Locked the door behind her. Pressed my forehead to the cold wood and let out a breath that didn’t feel like mine.

Pregnant.

With my child.

And she wanted to die.

I’d thought the worst part was losing her. Giving her up. Watching Sergio hand her over like a fucking bargaining chip to that psychopath Abelli. I thought nothing could feel worse than that.

But this did.

Because now it wasn’t just about her.

It was about what we’d made.

And I had no idea if she even wanted it.

A month.

It had been a month of planning, of smoking weed alone in the dark trying to understand how she kept herself together all these years. I’d sit on the deck, roll a blunt like I’d seen her do a hundred times, and watch the smoke blur the moon. I used to think it was a habit. Now I knew it was armor.

She used it to quiet the noise. To slow her heart. To breathe.

So I started doing it too.

I didn’t want to forget her. I wanted to feel her.

I kept the bedroom door locked. Slept on top of the covers. Left her toothbrush where it was. Her robe on the hook.

I couldn’t erase her.

I didn’t want to.

I spent the first week separating my capos from Sergio’s. Quietly. Strategically. I met in garages, warehouses, the backs of diners. I watched their eyes. Listened to the way they said my name. I pulled the loyal ones closer. Gave the rest nothing.

The second week, I started planning the raid.

Maps. Rotations. Escape routes.

I didn’t sleep.

The third week, I lost my temper and punched a mirror in my office.

Elio cleaned up the glass.

Gio didn’t say a word.

And then last night—the maid came.

And something inside me snapped.

I called Elio and Gio to the war room.

“We go tonight.”

They didn’t ask questions.

They just nodded.

By midnight, we were on the road.

By 1:07 a.m., I was standing in the dark at the edge of the Abelli estate, counting the seconds between guard rotations and checking the position of the moon.

The plan was simple: get Eden. Kill anyone who got in the way. Burn the rest.

I didn’t care about diplomacy anymore.

I didn’t care about alliances.

They took her.

They made her bleed.

They made her carry my child in fear.

There was no version of this where they walked away.

The moment we breached the perimeter, it all blurred—gunfire, shouts, the smell of smoke and cordite. I moved like I was in a dream. My hands didn’t shake. My breath didn’t stutter.

I kicked in the door to the guest wing and felt the world tilt when I saw the blood on the towels, the wilted flowers, the untouched food.

She wasn’t in the bed.

But Gio yelled her name, and I heard her voice—a ragged gasp—just as she crawled out from under the frame and into his arms.

I didn’t breathe until I saw her.

Alive.

Whole.

Still here.

We ran.

We tore through the house like vengeance made flesh. Elio had the engine running before we even hit the back steps. Eden was in the backseat before I reached the car, her eyes wide and wet and unfocused.

The fire rose behind us.

I didn’t look back.

We drove through the night. Windows down. Silence between us. Eden didn’t say a word. She stared straight ahead, clutching her arm, her jaw tight.

When we reached the safe house—an old cabin tucked deep into the woods—she got out without a word. Walked straight inside. Closed the bedroom door.

I followed.

She was standing near the window, arms crossed, her face pale.

I said her name.

She turned slowly.

Then she hit me.

Hard.

Right in the chest.

Then again.

And again.

I didn’t stop her.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she screamed. “Why didn’t you come for me?!”

“I couldn’t,” I choked. “Sergio—”

“You said I was safe!”

“I tried—”

“You said you’d never leave me!”

Her fists hit my chest until they lost their strength, until they became sobs. She collapsed against me, shaking, and I held her. Tighter than I ever had. Like if I let go, she’d disappear again.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “I didn’t know he’d give you away. I thought I could keep you.”

“You didn’t come,” she said again, softer this time. “You didn’t come.”

I dropped to my knees.

Not because I was begging.

Because I couldn’t stand under the weight of her pain.

I pressed my forehead to her belly.

Her skin was warm. Alive.

I felt it—the shape of something growing. Something innocent.

My voice cracked. “Eden. Angel. You can’t ever do that again.”

She froze.

“You can’t ever hurt yourself,” I whispered. “Don’t hurt my baby.”

She sobbed harder.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her stomach, holding her like she was the last thing in the world worth saving.

“I’m sorry,” I said, over and over. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She didn’t speak.

But she didn’t pull away either.

And that was enough.

For now.