Chapter 23 Chapter 23
LILY – Two Months Later
It’s been sixty-three days.
Sixty-three sunrises without him. Sixty-three nights where his ghost curls up beside me in my dreams, whispers my name like he never left.
But he did.
And somehow—I’m still breathing.
Every morning, I wake up in our penthouse. His black suit jacket still hangs on the chair. His watch is still on the nightstand. I never moved anything. Maybe I can’t. Maybe some foolish, aching part of me believes he’ll walk through the door one day and ask me why I’ve made the bed so perfectly.
I go to university every day. I show up. I take notes. I answer questions. I nod when professors speak. But I’m not really there. I sit in the back of every class and look out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him walking by in that damn black suit.
I always feel him.
Like he’s out there.
Not dead—just distant.
People say grief has five stages. I think I live in all five at once. Some days I cry into the shower until my knees give out. Some days I laugh at a memory so hard I scare Bella. And some days I just… stare at the wall.
But I’m not alone.
Dante comes over almost every day. He never tries to fill the space Sebastian left—he just sits beside me, talks about random things, brings coffee, teases me gently until I smile. He tells me about the stupid things Sebastian did when they were younger. I laugh through the tears.
He's become my best friend in the most unexpected way.
Rocco, Sebastian’s right-hand man, checks in often too. He says it’s “security,” but I know it’s more than that. He’s checking on me like Sebastian would’ve wanted. Like a soldier who refuses to leave his queen unguarded.
Sometimes, the Godfather shows up unannounced. He never says much, but he brings wine, food, and sometimes a book he thinks I’ll like. He always says the same thing before he leaves:
“You’re a daughter to me now. Don’t forget that.”
And I nod. Because even if my real family never looked for me, these dangerous, loyal men—Sebastian’s family—have made sure I never feel alone.
Even Don Manchini, Sebastian’s father, visits. He kisses my forehead and calls me figlia mia—my daughter. He tells me he sees Sebastian in my eyes. It breaks me every time, but I let him say it because it’s the only way I still feel like someone’s wife.
And then there’s Bella.
She practically moved in. She cooks with me every night—sometimes we dance in the kitchen, or cry in silence while chopping vegetables. We fold laundry together. Watch old movies. Sit on the couch and do nothing. She tells me stories about the old days, about the Sebastian she knew. She loved him once, I know that. But she loves me like a sister now.
This strange little tribe holds me up.
Even when I feel like I’m slipping.
And yet, no matter how surrounded I am… there’s still a silence only he could fill.
I didn’t get enough time.
Seven days.That’s all we had.
Seven days of stolen kisses, whispered promises, deep touches, and the burning kind of love that brands your soul.
He left a mark.
One no one could ever erase.
He’s the king of my heart.
And he always will be.
LILY
The smell of roasted garlic and basil hits me before Dante even sets the bags down.
“Hi, sunshine,” he grins, pressing a warm kiss to my cheek. He’s in a black sweater, sleeves pushed up, tattoos peeking, hair a little messy like he rushed here—and still he manages to look like trouble in the most comforting way.
He doesn’t wait for me to move. He’s already pulling plates out, placing the food, grabbing the wine he knows I love. “Sit. You’re not lifting a finger tonight,” he says, pointing to the couch like I’m royalty. “I even brought dessert, by the way. And if it sucks, I baked it.” He wiggles his brows and I actually smile.
Dante has Sebastian’s black hair. Same rough stubble and beard. Even the tone of voice sometimes hits too close. But he’s different—goofier, lighter, younger. If Sebastian was a storm, Dante is the sun peeking through the clouds.
We eat on the couch, legs curled up, music playing low. He talks about the latest mess in the city, about a girl at the café who kept asking for his number, and how he ran from her like a coward. I laugh mid-bite and almost spit wine, and he takes a dramatic bow like he planned it all.
It's good.
It’s almost easy.
For a second, I forget the heaviness I always carry.
But then—
Asharp, twisting pain slices through my lower abdomen like a knife.
I gasp, drop my fork. My vision blurs for a second and heat floods my body. I feel wet.
Something’s wrong.
I look down and I freeze.
Blood.
So much blood.
Spreading quickly through my pale dress like spilled ink.
“Dante…” I whisper, just before I collapse sideways on the couch. The plate crashes to the floor. Panic rises in my throat like bile.
“Lily!” he’s at my side instantly, catching me before I hit the floor. “Shit. Shit. Stay with me. I got you. You’re okay—fuck, what’s happening—”
His hands are everywhere—holding me, checking for wounds, supporting my back. His voice is shaking, but his grip is solid.
“I’m bleeding,” I murmur, as the pain hits again, worse this time, deep, low, like my entire body is revolting.
And then… like lightning through the fog—
I didn’t have my period this month.Not last month either.
Wait.
The honeymoon.
The night we didn’t use anything.
The tenderness. The nausea last week I thought was anxiety.
“Oh my god,” I cry, my hand over my stomach. “No, no—Sebastian—”
Dante doesn’t waste another second. He lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing, carrying me to the car while yelling for the guard to bring his keys. My tears soak through his shirt. I can barely breathe.
At the hospital, the lights are too bright. The nurses ask too many questions. Dante won’t let go of my hand. He keeps telling them, “She didn’t know. She didn’t know she was pregnant.”
That word echoes in my head.
Pregnant.
The doctor finally comes in after what feels like a hundred years. He lowers his eyes. “I’m sorry. You were about ten weeks along. It was a miscarriage.”
I go still.
The world just—
stops.
I didn’t even know I was carrying a piece of him inside me. A piece of us. And now it’s gone.
I stare at the ceiling, numb, shaking, tears leaking sideways into the hospital pillow. I don’t say a word. I can’t. Because how do you mourn something you didn’t even know was yours?
Dante sits beside me, holding my hand tight.
But it’s Sebastian’s arms I want.
And he’s gone.
Again.