𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯.

3 days later. June 19th.

𝘊𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘗.𝘖.𝘝.

4 the most blissful nights of the last months.

Ever since that night in the valley, Sandro has been insisting on seeing me every night and spending time together: mellow and gentle talking, looking through photos, romantic and innocent stargazing, him cuddling me sweetly in such a soothing silence, passionate kissing and pleasant, amorous sex that we need equally as much for multiple reasons.

I missed this so much: being needed, wanted, desired, touched, cared about and simply the chance to be a woman.

I missed him, us way more than I realised.

Sandro doesn't remember anything much, everything is misty and distant, but I am not giving up. He still gets tiny flashbacks and we go through each one in all detail, creating clear images of what was it. I take him places we've been to before, and we do things we did before to remind him of what we had, he tries so much and listens to everything I say and that's more than enough to keep me going. 

He will remember us. We won't lose us.

Today is Sunday and I am with Tomie today, my mind full of only one thought: how do I tell Sandro about our son? 

He is far from anywhere near remembering our conversations about having children, him confessing about being ready for fatherhood, our talk about possible names, him wishing for us to have 3 boys and only then a girl, him cuddling and kissing my stomach while murmuring the most heartfelt things, memories of which still get my heart fluttering and skipping beats. All he got memories of were a few of our dates, how we baked for the first time together, the nicknames and the time we took the subway - he isn't going to be mentally ready for the news.

While Alessandro still isn't ready for that, our baby boy seems to be way more than ready. 

That jacket is still here and Tomie cannot get enough of it: he smells it, he wants to be near it and he loves playing with it. Tomasso pouts when I am fresh out of the shower, no longer smelling like his dad, and it wrecks my heart.  

And his offer is like a cherry on top of my daily thoughts. 

Italy. 

How can I leave everything and go with him? Where does it put us? What will I do there? What about Tomie, my jobs, the apartment? Will Sandro be this way in Italy too or will we go back to start? What about his Mafia? What will I say to Mr di Vittori and Massimo? What if they find out about Tomasso before I get a chance to say it myself?

Everything tears me apart, I have so many doubts and fears, yet again my heart and soul are too certain of the answer

I hope he remembers soon because this game of hiding and excuses is making me sick to my stomach. I don't want to hide our son from him and I don't want to live in a lie or a dark secret.

 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰'𝘴 𝘗.𝘖.𝘝.

"Capo, non troviamo Boverod in Italia."- said Alegro, one of my men, as I idled in my steps, gripping the phone firmer as a million thoughts clouded my senses. (Boss, we cannot find Boverod in Italy.)

Fucker Alessio - my biggest enemy ever since I turned 18. He wants to hunt me down to take over Mafia that his family could own if they had a brain to think with years ago.

I ended the call, leaving hurriedly, tense and restless to see Celest now. 

But this time not only because I missed her. 

The world stopped mattering as I speed through the red lights, dodging cars carelessly and fast, every second of her safety and life valuable and priceless to me. 

"Avete un'ora per portarmi a Londra. Se non lo fai, ti pianto una pallottola in mezzo agli occhi."- I told the pilot, who gulped, nodding quickly before hurrying the fuck up. (You have 1 hour to get me to London. If you don't, I will put a bullet between your eyes.)

Be damned Rome, be damned Mafia and all the shit I had to fly out for. 

I began calling and texting her non-stop, feeling the type of fear you cannot wish anyone to go through.

If something happens to my Celest...If I won't get to her in time...

I reached for my old phone, one of the reasons why I agreed to fly to Rome in the first place, and began looking through every single thing in it. 

Photos, videos, files, hidden folders, notes, a calendar, a playlist that she made such a long while ago and most importantly - voice mails, texts, photos and videos she sent me for 10 months.

The more I listened, watched and read, the more my mind raced and my head hurt. Everything switched from haziness to clarity. Things began matching up, yet the more they matched, the harder it became to breathe. 

My world died and became alive all over again.