Chapter 137 137

Chapter 137 137
Mia
Before I can respond, he is out the door, opening his umbrella against the onslaught. He disappears inside the shop. I watch through the rain-streaked glass, seeing him speak to the elderly florist. He gestures, his movements sharp. A minute later, he emerges holding a massive bouquet of white lilies and deep red roses. The colors clash violently against the darkness of his coat and the night.
He gets back in the car, the scent of wet earth and crushed petals filling the small space. He places the flowers gently on the backseat, handling them with a care that scares me. He doesn’t look at me as he restarts the engine, his jaw set in a hard line.
"Alessandro," I start, my voice trembling slightly. "Where are we going?"
He doesn’t answer. He just puts the car in gear and drives.
Five minutes later, the answer reveals itself. Iron gates loom out of the mist, rusted and imposing. We are at the graveyard. He pulls the car up to the gate but doesn’t drive through. He kills the engine again. The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the drumming of rain on the roof and the distant rumble of thunder.
"Stay here," he says, reaching into the backseat for the flowers.
"No," I say, my voice firmer than I feel. "I’m coming with you."
He looks at me, conflict warring in his eyes. He wants to shield me, to keep me in the warm, safe bubble of the car, but he also needs me there. I can see it—the desperate need for a witness to whatever he is about to do.
"Okay," he relents. "But stay close."
He opens his door, steps out, and immediately opens the large black umbrella. He walks around to my side, opening the door and extending a hand to help me out. I take it, stepping into the wet, cold air. The mud is already soaking into my boots, the chill instantly biting through my tights.
Alessandro pulls me into his side, wrapping his arm around my waist, tucking me firmly against him as he holds the umbrella over both of us. The rain hammers against the fabric, a deafening roar. We walk toward the gate, which stands slightly ajar. It creaks as he pushes it open with his foot.
Inside, the graveyard is a labyrinth of stone and shadow. The path is uneven, slick with mud and dead leaves. Alessandro guides me with a surety that suggests he has walked this path many times before. His hand rests on the small of my back, a constant, heavy pressure, steering me through the gloom.
The rain gets more vigorous, driven sideways by a sudden gust of wind. The umbrella shudders in his grip. I shiver, pressing closer to his warmth, the baby a heavy, restless weight between us. We pass rows of weathered headstones, some leaning precariously, others adorned with fading photographs and plastic flowers that have seen better days. The air smells of wet moss, earth, and decay.
We walk deeper into the cemetery, away from the newer graves near the entrance, toward the older section shaded by massive, gnarled cypress trees that look like skeletons against the sky. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that matches the pounding rain. I have a terrible feeling about this.
We stop.
Before us stand two graves side by side, surrounded by a low, iron railing that is now rusting with age. My breath catches in my throat.
The first grave is large, the stone black marble, polished to a shine despite the rain. The inscription is clear, carved deep and filled with gold leaf that has begun to tarnish.
Luciana Martins.
Below her name, dates I can't quite read in the dim light, and a phrase: Beloved fiancée and Mother.
Next to it is a smaller stone, double headstone for two people.
Daphna and Diana.
The names hit me like a physical blow. The twins. I stare at the stones, the water running down the black granite like tears. This is it. The tomb of his first family. The life he had before me, before the violence and the bloodshed finally consumed them.
I look up at Alessandro. He is staring straight ahead, his face a mask of stone, but his eyes...his eyes are alive with agony. He looks like a man standing on the edge of an abyss, staring down into the dark.
He releases his hold on me slightly, just enough to step forward. He kneels in the mud, heedless of the expensive suit, heedless of the rain soaking his knees. He kisses the rose then he lays the bouquet of lilies and roses against the base of Luciana’s stone.
"Luciana," he says. His voice is low, barely audible over the storm, but it cuts through the noise with razor sharpness. "I’m here."
He reaches out, his hand hovering over the cold stone before resting there, his fingers splayed wide as if trying to touch her one last time. "I didn't come for a long time. I was... I couldn't."
I stand behind him, the umbrella tilting slightly as I struggle to hold it steady over both of us. The wind catches my hair, whipping it against my face, but I don't move. I force myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest. This isn't about me. This is about him and the dark past he has been carrying.
He shifts his gaze to the smaller stone. "Daphna. Diana." His voice cracks, a fissure in the armor. "My little girls."
Tears prickles my eyes.
He bows his head, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world has finally crushed him. The rain pours down his face, washing away the tears before they can even fall.
Seeing Alessandro—the don, the ruthless mafia boss, the man who strikes fear into the hearts of men—kneeling broken in the mud, destroys something inside me. It is a vulnerability so raw it hurts to witness.
"I am sorry," he whispers, the words dragged out of him. "I am so sorry I wasn't there. I am sorry I couldn't save you."
My shaky hand flies to my bump. Tears falls out of my eyes. I can't take this moment in. I just can't.
He stays there for a long time, just kneeling in the mud, communing with the dead. I wait, shivering, watching over him. The cold is seeping into my bones, but I won't leave him. Not in this place.
Finally, he takes a deep, shuddering breath. He stands up slowly, his joints cracking. He turns to me, and the look in his eyes takes my breath away. The torment is still there, but it’s receding, replaced by a fierce, burning determination.
He reaches out and pulls me into him, burying his face in my wet hair. "Goodbye," he says, but I’m not sure if he’s speaking to them or to me.
He pulls back, his hands framing my face, his thumbs wiping the rain or tear from my cheeks. His gaze is intense, piercing through the gloom. "This is the past, Mia. You are my future. Our baby... this is my future."
He turns back to the graves one last time. "Rest in peace," he says, his voice hardening, the Don returning. "I have a new family now. And I will burn the world down before I let anything happen to them."
He takes the umbrella from my hand, his grip firm. He turns us around, guiding me away from the cold stones, away from the shadows of the past.
We walk back through the mud in silence, the rain still hammering down, but the air feels different. Lighter, perhaps. Or maybe just emptied of the ghosts that have been haunting him. We reach the car, and he opens the door for me, ushering me inside into the warmth.
As he slides into the driver’s seat, shaking the water from his hair, he looks at me. His eyes are dry, the storm inside him seemingly calmed. He reaches over, resting his hand on my stomach, his palm warm against the cold fabric of my dress.
"Let's go home, mia," he says.
He starts the engine, the headlights cutting through the darkness. He pulls away from the curb, the tires spinning slightly in the mud before gripping the road. I watch the graveyard recede in the rearview mirror, the iron gates fading into the mist, until they are swallowed by the night.
I think about the names on the stones. Luciana. Daphna. Diana. And then I look at the man driving the car, the man who holds my life and our child’s life in his hands. He is a killer. He is a sinner. He is a man broken and put back together by tragedy. And he is mine.
We drive through the wet streets of Naples, the city blurring by. I feel a strange sense of peace settle over me, a quiet understanding. The chapter is closed. The book is not over, but the old pages are turning, falling away into the past.
"We will be okay," I say, the words barely a whisper in the quiet car.
Alessandro glances at me, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen till we were in Naples. "Yes," he says, squeezing my thigh. "We will."