Lissy Romano

84| I want to cry.

Giovanni Romano

After waiting for what felt like an eternity in the hallway with Vincenzo, Matteo, Dante, and Davide, we finally saw Domenico and Marco emerge from the surgery room. I jumped to my feet, heart racing.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, urgency in my voice.

My brothers, standing by my side, were just as anxious. We all shared the same grim hope.

"Giovanni... I'm really sorry." Domenico said, his hand resting on my uninjured shoulder.

I felt a cold wave of dread wash over me. "What? Why?" My head began to spin.

"We did everything we could," Domenico answered, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"No, that can't be," I whispered in disbelief, feeling my chest tighten as tears threatened to spill.

"The bullet... it damaged her internal organs. We couldn't save her, Giovanni. She didn't stand a chance." Marco's voice cracked, and it was like the floor had just dropped out from beneath me.

"No. Please, tell me you're lying," I begged, the tears finally spilling over as they rolled down my cheeks. "It's all my fault," I choked out, barely able to breathe.

Vincenzo stood next to me, a steady presence. "Giovanni, it isn't your fault."

"Giuseppe did this," Davide muttered bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"We'll hunt down that motherfucker's family," Dante growled, fists clenched in rage.

"I want to see her," I demanded, my voice hollow.

Domenico nodded solemnly, leading me to the room where she lay.

Seeing her like that—cold, pale, lifeless—was more than I could bear. My heart shattered into a million pieces. My brothers stepped back to give us space, but I couldn't tear myself away.

I gently lifted her lifeless body into my arms, burying my face in her hair as the sobs racked through me.

"Amara, I'm so sorry," I whispered, kissing her cold forehead.

"I'm sorry I didn't protect you... I should've done more. It's all my fault," I said, pulling her closer, willing her to come back to me.

"I love you, Amara. I always will... And our baby too. We will always have each other. We'll see each other again, I promise," I muttered through my tears.

But I couldn't stay there any longer. The pain was too much—it physically hurt to hold her, and yet I couldn't bring myself to let go.

When I finally stood and walked out of the surgery room, my brothers were waiting for me, their faces somber.

"We'll give her the best funeral we can," I said, the words coming out like a dagger to my heart.

"Of course, Giovanni," Vincenzo agreed, his voice thick with emotion.

The reality of it all hit me then. It wasn't a nightmare. She was gone. I would never laugh with her again, never feel our baby kick inside her. I would never know if we were having a son or a daughter.