Chapter 25 Home again
The apartment smelled like dust and memories the second I stepped inside.
Same dark wood floors. Same leather couch where we'd finally given in. Same faint scent of gun oil that no amount of cleaning ever fully erased. The brownstone hadn't changed in the two years I'd been gone—like it was waiting. Patient. Unforgiving.
I dropped my bag by the door. Didn't bother turning on lights. Moonlight sliced through the half-closed blinds, painting silver stripes across everything. I stood there in the dark, coat still on, breathing it in.
Italy had pulled me back like gravity. No warning. No slow build. Just one Tuesday morning in the office, staring at a spreadsheet, and the numbers blurred because all I could see was Dante's face the last time I'd seen him—standing on that airstrip, coat open, eyes steady. Then nothing. Silence that had stretched too long to be protection anymore. Silence that felt like abandonment.
I'd gone to Mara's that night. Sat on her couch with my knees up, wine untouched.
"I can't do this," I'd said. Voice flat. "I can't keep pretending."
Mara had set her glass down. "Pretending what?"
"That I'm happy. That Daniel's enough. That the life I built is mine when half of me is still here." I'd gestured vaguely toward the invisible ocean between us. "I wake up next to him and feel guilty. I laugh at his jokes and hear Dante's voice in my head. I look at the ring he left on my finger last month—the promise ring, not even an engagement—and I feel like I'm wearing someone else's life."
She hadn't interrupted. Just listened.
"I'm falling apart, Mara. It looks like happiness from the outside—good job, good man, good friends—but inside? It's cracking. Every day a little more. I keep telling myself to move on, but I can't. Not when I don't know if he's alive. Not when I don't know if he stopped loving me or if he's just... gone."
Tears had come then. Hot. Angry.
"I have to go back," I'd whispered. "I have to see for myself. If he's dead, I need to know. If he's alive and chose this silence, I need to hear it from him. Either way, I can't keep living in limbo."
Mara had pulled me into a hug. Tight. No platitudes.
"Then go," she'd said. "But promise me you'll come back if it's not safe. Or if it breaks you worse. Promise you'll call."
I'd promised.
Before I even stepped onto the plane, I sent the message.
I sat in the airport lounge at JFK, staring at the screen until the words blurred. Daniel’s last text glowed up at me—a simple “Can’t wait to see you tonight. Miss your smile already.” Heart emoji. Golden retriever energy, even in pixels.
My thumb hovered.
Then I typed.
Daniel,
I’m so sorry.
I’ve been trying—really trying—to be all in with you. You’ve been nothing but kind, patient, good in every way that matters. But I can’t keep doing this to you. Or to myself.
There’s someone I never fully let go of. Someone I need to face, one way or another. I can’t build anything real with you while half of me is still across an ocean.
This isn’t about you not being enough. You are. You’re more than enough.
It’s about me not being ready. Maybe I never will be.
I’m leaving tonight. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back.
Please don’t hate me. And please take care of yourself. You deserve someone who can give you everything, not just the pieces that are left.
I’m sorry.
Lia
I hit send before the tears could stop me.
The read receipt appeared almost immediately.
Three dots. Then nothing.
No reply came.
I powered the phone off. Slid it into my bag. Walked to the gate.
The flight was long. Sleepless. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Daniel’s face—surprised, hurt, kind even in pain. Then Dante’s face—distant, silent, unreachable.
I landed in Rome with a hollow chest and no plan beyond showing up.
The cab dropped me at the brownstone just as the city was waking. Same gate. Same stone steps. Same quiet street that had once felt like safety and now felt like a tomb.
I used the key. It turned with the familiar click.
The door opened into silence—but not empty silence.
Two men in dark suits stood in the foyer. One by the stairs, one near the living room archway. Hands loose at their sides. Eyes sharp. They didn’t flinch when they saw me. Just nodded once, like they’d been expecting a ghost to walk through the door eventually.
“Signorina Caruso,” the taller one said. Voice low. Respectful. “Welcome home.”
I froze in the doorway.
More men—four total—moved quietly through the house as I stepped inside. One checked the kitchen. Another the back hall. Routine sweep. Professional. No panic. Just protocol.
Bodyguards.
Dante’s people.
The house was still loaded with them.
But no Dante.
“Where is he?” I asked. Voice steadier than I felt.
The tall one—Marco, I realized. Older now. Gray at the temples. The same man who’d driven the getaway SUV two years ago—met my eyes.
“Boss isn’t here,” he said simply. “Been out of the city for three weeks. Business in Naples. He’ll be back when it’s done.”
I swallowed. “Does he know I’m here?”
Marco hesitated—just a fraction. “He knows you landed. Flight manifests aren’t hard to check. But he hasn’t given orders to send you away. That’s… something.”
Something. Not enough. But something.
I walked past them. They didn’t stop me.
The house looked lived-in but untouched. Like a museum of our old life. Dust on the shelves. Mail stacked neatly on the entry table—bills, nothing personal. The photo of us on his desk was still facedown. I didn’t turn it over again.
I went upstairs.
Bedroom still made. Pillow on my side untouched.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Coat still on. Bag at my feet.
The guards stayed downstairs. Footsteps soft. Doors opening and closing. Low voices on radios.
I pulled out my regular phone. Powered it on.
Missed calls from Daniel—five. Texts piling up.
Lia, please call me.
I don’t understand.
If this is about him, just tell me.
I love you. We can talk.
Please.
I stared at the screen until it blurred.
Then I opened a new message to Mara.
I’m here. House is the same. Guards everywhere. He’s not home.
Daniel… I broke up with him before I left. Text. Coward’s way.
I feel sick.
What the hell am I doing?
Her reply came fast.
You’re finally choosing truth over comfort.
That’s not cowardice. That’s courage.
Breathe. Wait. Let the pieces fall where they will.
You’re not alone. Call me anytime. Day or night.
I set the phone down.
Stood.
Walked to the window. Opened it again.
Rome hummed below—same scooters, same church bells, same life moving on without me.
I leaned my forehead against the cool glass.
The house was full of men who would die for him.
But empty of the one man who mattered.
I didn’t know how long I’d wait.
Didn’t know what I’d say when he walked through that door.
Didn’t know if he’d even want me here.
But I was done running.
Done pretending.
Done living half a life.
So I sat back on the bed.
Listened to the quiet footsteps of the guards below.
And waited.