Chapter 136: 136
5 months later
Mia
The winter in Naples is not the gentle dusting of snow I knew in Chicago; it is a wet, biting chill that seeps into the marrow of your bones. Five months have turned the calendar pages with a swift, ruthless efficiency, transforming the landscape outside the hotel window into a blur of slate-gray skies and relentless rain. I stand before the floor-length mirror, the reflection staring back at me both familiar and foreign. My body has curved, the flat plane of my stomach now rounded with a distinct, undeniable swell. Five months. The life inside me shifts, a subtle flutter beneath my ribs that grounds me in a way nothing else ever has.
I smooth the fabric of the black coat dress over my hips. It fits snugly, accentuating the heavy fullness of my breasts and the protruding arc of my belly. The thick black tights hug my legs, disappearing into the tall, polished leather boots that click sharply against the marble floor as I turn. I feel heavy, grounded by the weight of the child and the damp, oppressive atmosphere of the city. Alessandro has been gone for two days, locked away in the shadows of business dealings that I am not privy to, and the silence in the suite has been deafening.
The door of the suite clicks open, the sound echoing through the quiet room. I turn, my heart instantly picking up its rhythm, a conditioned response to his presence. Alessandro steps inside, bringing the chill of the rain and the scent of tobacco and expensive leather with him. He looks exhausted, the sharp angles of his face seeming more pronounced, his gray eyes shadowed with a fatigue that sleep cannot fix. But when his gaze lands on me, the darkness recedes just enough to let the light in.
He doesn’t speak. He crosses the room in long, purposeful strides, his black Armani suit absorbing the dim light of the room. I open my mouth to greet him, but the words are stolen by the sudden, crushing force of his arms around me. He pulls me against his chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply as if I am the only source of oxygen in a suffocating world. I wrap my arms around his waist, careful of the bump between us, and hold him tight. The heat of his body seeps through the layers of our clothes, thawing the cold that has settled in my chest.
"I missed you," he murmurs against my skin, his voice vibrating through my collarbone. It is a raw admission, stripped of his usual authoritative veneer.
"I missed you too," I whisper, pressing a kiss to the rough fabric of his coat. "I hate it when you leave."
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his hand coming up to cradle my jaw. His thumb traces the line of my bottom lip, his touch gentle, reverent. Then he leans in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that tastes of desperation and relief. It is not the rough, demanding possession I am used to; it is slower, deeper, a searching pressure that seeks reassurance. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The baby kicks between us, a sharp jab, and Alessandro breaks the kiss with a huff of breath, his hand immediately dropping to rest on my stomach.
"The baby is strong," Alessandro says, a faint, tired smile touching his lips. "Like his father."
"Or stubborn like her mother," I counter, covering his hand with mine.
He sighs, the sound heavy and dragging, and the momentary lightness in his expression fades back into the somber mask he wore upon entering. He steps away, raking a hand through his slicked-back hair, dislodging a few droplets of rain that sparkle like diamonds before falling to the floor. He moves to the window, staring out at the storm-battered city, his posture rigid.
"How was your deal?" I ask, breaking the silence. I know better than to pry too deeply into the specifics of his work, but I need to bridge the distance that has suddenly yawned open between us.
"It was good, mia," he says, his tone flat, void of the triumph he usually displays after a victory. "Everything is settled. The family is secure."
He turns back to me, his gray eyes searching my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. He looks at me as if he is memorizing me, or perhaps trying to find the courage for something he has been avoiding.
"Will you accompany me somewhere?" he asks suddenly.
"Where?" My brow stitches together in confusion. It is late, the sun has already set behind the thick clouds, and the rain is hammering against the glass with increasing ferocity.
"We are about to start a new family," he says, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion I cannot quite place. "And I just wanted to end an old time chapter of my life."
"What do you mean, baby?" I walk over to him, the heels of my boots clicking on the marble. I reach up, standing on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, feeling the rough scrape of his beard against my lips. He leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second, but when they open again, the resolve is back, hard and unyielding.
"Get dressed and come with me," he says, his voice low, commanding, yet threaded with a plea. "Please. Just... come with me."
I don’t argue. The rawness in his voice, the rare crack in his armor, it scares me as much as it compels me. I grab my thick coat and the umbrella lying near the door. "I’m ready."
He takes my hand, his grip tight and possessive, and leads me out of the suite. We descend in the elevator in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. The hotel lobby is quiet, the staff bowing their heads respectfully as Alessandro strides past, his coat billowing behind him like a dark cloud.
The black Maserati is waiting at the curb, the engine purring low and menacing. Alessandro opens the passenger door for me, shielding me from the rain with his body before I slide into the warm leather interior. He rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat, the sudden confinement of the cabin amplifying the tension radiating off him.
He doesn’t speak as he pulls out into the Naples traffic. The rain is a torrential downpour, the wipers working frantically to clear the windshield, but they can’t quite keep up with the deluge. The city lights blur into streaks of neon red and gold against the wet asphalt. I watch him, the way his hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The tattoos on his knuckles, the letters I’ve traced a hundred times seem darker tonight.
His left hand leaves the wheel and finds my thigh, resting heavily on the black tights. His thumb strokes the material, a rhythmic, unconscious motion that sends a jolt of electricity through my veins. It’s a grounding gesture, a tether connecting him to me amidst the storm in his head. I cover his hand with mine, interlocking our fingers, and he squeezes tight, almost painfully.
"Are you cold?" he asks, glancing at me briefly.
"No," I lie. The heating is on, but the chill in his voice is enough to freeze me. "I’m fine."
We drive for about twenty minutes, leaving the bright lights of the city center behind. The streets narrow and become more labyrinthine, the buildings older, crumbling under the weight of centuries and the relentless winter rain. The shadows lengthen until the only light comes from the occasional streetlamp flickering in the wind.
Suddenly, the car slows. Ahead, a small flower shop sits alone on a corner, its interior glowing with a warm, inviting yellow light that looks out of place in the gray gloom. Alessandro pulls over to the curb, cutting the engine but leaving the headlights on, piercing the rain.
"Wait here," he commands.