The moment I walk into the penthouse, I can already tell that something is off. There is a shift in the air that unsettles me. The lights are all off except for the one that leads to our room.
“Maria?” I call her name. My voice echoes through the walls of the penthouse. “Amore? Where are you?”
I walk toward the stairs. I relieved Marco—her guard—as soon as I walked in. There are three more posted outside the door and five more around the building. No one could have possibly gotten in.
She is safe. She is safe.
I repeat the words in my head, over and over, as I ascend the stairs. I make my way to our room and pause when I see her sitting on the bed in her silk nightdress. I let out a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived when her eyes flick up to meet mine.
They’re red and swollen. She’s been crying, her cheeks stained with old streaks of tears.
“Maria?” I rush to her and sit beside her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”
I reach for her, aching to hold her—but she pulls away.
Her hazel eyes—so warm, so full of life—are now filled with something I never wanted to see: a shattering sadness that hits me like a punch to the gut. I have no idea what the hell is going on, but whatever it is, I want to fix it.
“Did you kill my brother?”
My entire world seizes.
She doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. Tears line her lashes, but she doesn’t let them fall. She sits there, waiting, demanding the truth. She knows. I don’t know how… but she does. She just wants to hear it from me. She wants me to admit the crimes that I have committed.
My throat is dry, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. I could try to explain, try to soften the words—but there’s no dressing up something like this.
So, I give her what she wants.
“Yes.”
The moment the word leaves my lips, her entire body jolts—like I’ve struck her. Then, the silence shatters.
A broken sob rips from her throat, her entire frame trembling as the truth crashes over her. She pushes to her feet, but too quickly—stumbling backward. Her hands cover her mouth, her breaths coming in sharp, erratic gasps.
“Maria—”
“No.” She shakes her head violently, stepping farther away, putting as much distance between us as possible. “No, no, no.”
The pain in her voice is unbearable.
I get up from the bed and take a step forward, desperate to reach her, but the moment I do, she lifts a shaking hand. “Don’t. Don’t you dare come near me!”
My chest tightens. “Please. Let me explain—”
“You killed him,” she whispers, her voice hoarse—barely a breath. “You—” Her eyes squeeze shut as another sob wracks her body. “It was your gun, Matteo. I saw it. You—you killed my brother.”
Her words slice into me, deeper than any bullet ever could.
She’s right.
It was my gun—my bullet.
I move again, reaching for her, but she shoves against my chest with everything she has. “Don’t touch me!”
I don’t fight it. I let her push me away, let her rage crash into me because I deserve it. My worst fear has now come true, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. My heart is cracking with each breath I take.
“I didn’t know,” I say, my voice rough, pleading. “Maria, if I could take it back—”
“But you can’t,” she chokes out, shaking her head. “You can’t take it back! My brother is dead, and you are the one to blame. Oh my God, all those times you held me and tried to comfort me. The day in my studio…”
Her breathing is uneven, her body trembling like she’s about to collapse under the weight of it all.
I take a step toward her, gentler this time, not wanting to alarm her. “Maria—”
She turns on her heel and runs as if she can outrun the truth. She dives into the bathroom, a sanctuary where she can be free of my presence. A second later, the door slams shut. I could follow after her, but I know she needs the space. She needs time to process.
I hear the lock click into place, and I know she’s not coming out of there any time soon. And I can’t be the one to force her out. I stand there, staring at the door, my heart pounding, my hands clenched at my sides.
So I wait.
Hours pass. The sun dips below the horizon, casting the room in darkness, but she stays locked behind that door. And I, Matteo Davacalli, a man who has commanded armies, torn apart empires, and walked through fire, can do nothing but wait.
Every so often, I knock. Hoping—praying—she will let me in.
I sit down by the door, leaning my back against the hardwood, trying to listen to what’s happening on the other side.
“Maria.”
Silence.
I try again. “Please, let me in.”
Nothing.
I exhale sharply, resting the back of my head against the wood. I don’t deserve to be on the other side of this door with her. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. But I can’t fucking lose her. She can hate me, scream at me, or beat me if she wants to. But I refuse to lose her.
“I know you’re not going to open the door, and you’re right, you shouldn’t. What I did—accident or not—was unforgivable. I shattered your family, and there’s no undoing that. I destroyed everything.”
The words feel heavy, strained. My throat is tight, my chest burning from the weight of the guilt that I have carried with me for months.
“I know you may not want to hear this, but I need you to know the truth. I’m not making excuses for what I did. It was my gun—and I was the one who pulled the trigger. We got bad intel about a shipment in Florence possibly being stolen. We were given the address of a warehouse and thought we were going to meet the smugglers, but it turns out we were wrong. There was a mistake that night. A fatal one.”
I pause, drawing in a breath.
“Antonio wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Silence.
Still, I go on.
“We thought we were walking in to reclaim what was stolen from us—almost twenty million dollars’ worth of firearms. We came in there with a lot of heat and every intention of putting these thieves down. And when I saw the men, I thought it was them—the ones who took our shipment. But it was your brother—Antonio and his men,” I say, my voice tightens. “The place was filled with gas. Everyone had their faces covered. The visibility was shit. I didn’t even know who we were fighting.”
I exhale shakily, my hands curling into fists. “Daniele was grabbed—a gun to his head. I had no choice but to protect him. I aimed, but before I could fire, someone hit me from behind. We hit the ground—fighting. I didn’t know who it was. I just reacted.”
I pause, eyes burning. “Your brother attacked me, Maria. I fought back. I had no idea it was him.”
My breath stutters. “The gun was between us. We were both holding it. And then—”
I close my eyes, swallowing past the ache in my throat. “The shot went off.”
My throat burns as I force out the words. “By the time I saw his face… he was already on the floor, bleeding out from my bullet.”
Silence stretches between us again, but this time, it feels different. I don’t know if she believes me. I don’t know if this changes anything. I can only hope she opens the door and allows me the chance to earn her forgiveness—even if it takes the rest of my life.
For months, I’ve carried this guilt alone. I have lived with the weight of that night, with the knowledge that I stole a brother from his sister. A son from his parents.
There it is—all of it. The truth, laid bare, unforgiving, impossible to take back.
“I never meant for any of this to happen.” My voice is rough, raw. “I can’t make it right, I can’t bring him back to life. But what I do know is that I love you, Maria. You are my soul and heart intertwined. I can take your hatred. I can brave your anger. But I’m begging you—please don’t leave me. I… I love you.”
Seconds pass, and for a moment, I believe that she is going to remain quiet. But then I hear some shuffling and the subtle sound of the door clicking.
The click of the lock is the loudest sound I’ve heard in my life.
I scramble to my feet and wait for her to open the door. My heart rests on the floor, the anxiety choking me. She stands there with red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.
“You love me?”
Her voice is barely a whisper.
I look at her.
“I… I love you, amore mio.”
There it is. I finally said it. And God, it hurts more than I ever expected. The words hang in the silence—louder than any gunshot I’ve ever fired.
“I thought after Beatrice… that part of me had died. That love—real love—was buried six feet under with her, left to rot where no one could ever touch it again. That those words would never tear their way out of my mouth… out of my heart. That part of me is dead, gone. I swore I’d never feel this again—never let myself feel this again. Not because I couldn’t. But because I didn’t deserve you.”
I take a breath that burns all the way down.
“But now it’s here. Ugly. Honest. Unstoppable. Not polished or perfect—just real. Just mine. Dragged from the darkest part of me and laid at your feet— like a wound ripped wide open,
like a prayer…and a curse all at once. A confession. A plea. A surrender. And maybe… a mistake. Because if you walk away now, I don’t know if there’s any part of me left that will survive it.”
The silence between us stretches, taut and trembling, from seconds into an eternity. But I don’t move—I can’t. I just watch her. Watch as her eyes scan my face like she’s searching for the man she once believed in. A thousand emotions ripple through them—rage, grief, disbelief, something dangerously close to hope—and I take it all. I take every silent scream behind her stare because it’s all I deserve.
I open my mouth to speak again—one more plea— but the words are quickly swallowed by her kiss.
And in that moment, I know: She’s the only mercy I’ll ever be granted.
