137

137

“What?” Azzurra’s voice cracked in disbelief.

“He’s changed” Marcello began, but she cut across him, fire sparking in her eyes.

“Changed? Are you listening to yourself? This is the same man who nearly killed Cesario for Giuditta! The same man who stood there, indifferent, while Giuditta ordered her thugs to mutilate Cesario’s hand. Do you have any idea how terrified he was?” Her voice trembled, her emerald eyes wide with outrage as she stared at him. How could he even ask her such a thing?

Marcello cupped her face in both hands, steady and unyielding as he bent down to meet her gaze.
“Cesario matters to me as much as he matters to you. I accepted him as my own long before I knew he was Mattia’s son. Do you really think I’d put that boy in danger, knowing he’s my family?” His tone was calm, reassuring, but she shook her head vehemently.

He guided her down onto the couch, crouching before her with her hands enclosed tightly in his. His warmth wrapped around her trembling fingers.
“I know it’s hard, but Mattia is his father,” Marcello pressed.

A bitter laugh escaped her. “The same father who wanted him dead?”

“Cesario is my life, Marcello. Mine. I don’t care what blood runs in his veins. He belongs with me, and I won’t can’t risk him.”

“Azzurra…” Marcello exhaled her name like a sigh. “As his father, Mattia has rights. If he wanted, he could claim Cesario outright. He hasn’t. He knows Cesario is safe and happy with you. All he wants is to meet him.”

Before she could respond, a small, sleepy voice froze them both.

“Mwattia is my father? Who’s Mwattia? Mwarcello said he’s my father too.” Cesario, Rio stood rubbing his eyes, his babyish lisp carrying a weight that hit Azzurra like a blow.

She sat motionless, stunned, while Marcello rose, squeezing her hand before crossing to the child. He lifted Rio effortlessly into his arms.
“First things first you need a shower,” Marcello said, tossing him gently into the air.

Azzurra gasped, but the boy squealed in delight when Marcello caught him.
“Again!” Rio giggled, and Marcello indulged him before carrying him into the bathroom. Rio’s little fingers traced over the tattoos on Marcello’s neck, fascinated, as Marcello dressed only in sweats set him into the baby’s tub with his duck toy.

Stepping back out, Marcello found Azzurra frozen where he’d left her. He approached quietly, his voice soft. “Hey.”

When he touched her arm, he noticed the shimmer of tears in her eyes. He pulled her into his chest without hesitation. She collapsed against him, trembling.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, voice breaking. “If I lose Rio… I’ll die. And what if seeing Mattia reopens all his wounds?” Her words spilled out, choked with sobs.

Marcello stroked her hair, his heart twisting. “Azzurra… Mattia is my brother. Cesario matters to me as much as he does to you. I know Mattia he won’t hurt the boy. That woman used him, twisted his love, but that was never who he was. Cesario is strong, clever more than you realize. He’s not just human, and I’d wager he already knows who his father is by scent alone. I only want them to meet once. I don’t want Cesario to grow up resenting us for keeping them apart, and I don’t want Mattia to carry hatred either. I just want to make things right.” His voice gentled until it was almost a plea.

Azzurra sniffled, her teary eyes lifting to his. Finally, she nodded. “Help him bathe. I’ll get his clothes ready.”

Marcello kissed her forehead with a soft promise. “I’ll be there the entire time. If Cesario so much as asks me to stop, I’ll bring him back to you instantly. You don’t need to worry.”

She said nothing more, only turned away to gather the boy’s clothes. Marcello let out a weary sigh before returning to help Rio bathe.

When Azzurra came back, changed into fresh clothes, she dressed Rio as Marcello showered. But her hands shook, her heart thundering with dread. Dark thoughts gnawed at her. What if Cesario wanted Mattia more? What if he left her? The fear was unbearable. She knew, deep down, Cesario was not truly hers by blood. That truth alone shredded her heart.

She hadn’t even realized tears were spilling down her cheeks until Rio touched one with his tiny finger, pouting at her. His other hand pressed against her face, urging her to meet his eyes. Those sparkling blue orbs, so full of untainted magic, made her chest ache.

“Zuzu, don’t cry,” he pleaded in his sweet, broken speech. “What happwened?”

Her breath stuttered. She sat heavily on the bed, and the boy clambered up, wrapping his small arms tight around her neck.
“Please dwon’t cry, Zuzu. Rio wuill cry too,” he whispered, his chin trembling.

That broke her. She clutched him close, sobbing quietly as he patted her back, eyes glassy with unshed tears but stubbornly refusing to let them fall.

“Don’t ever leave me, Rio,” she begged in a broken murmur.

“Rio will never leave Zuzu. Zuzu is everythwing,” he said, hiccuping softly.

“I love you, Rio,” she whispered through her tears.

“Rio loves Zuzu too,” the child answered, voice thick with emotion.

From the doorway, Marcello stood, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still tracing the lines of his body. He had rushed out the moment he heard their cries, only to find them entwined like this.

He let out a long breath. In a world where blood ties often meant nothing, here was a bond forged in pure love Azzurra and Cesario, family by choice, not blood.

“Where’s my hug?” he asked lightly.

Both heads whipped toward him, their tears hastily wiped away as if to prove they were strong. Marcello smiled faintly. He knew he’d see many such moments between them and he welcomed it.

But as he watched them, a longing stirred. Someday, he wanted a little daughter too a princess who would tip the balance of their world and claim her place at his side. The thought soothed him as he lingered, watching the two wipe each other’s tears, his heart swelling with quiet certainty.