Page 125 of Deadly Vows

“Luciano,” I say.

Luca looks at me in shock, picking up the correlation of using his mother’s name.

“It only felt right,” I say.

To my shock, Luca smiles, looking down at his son. “I almost missed you. I almost didn’t get to watch you grow up. But I’m here now,mi figlio. I will protect you no matter what,” he says. “I love you so much.”

Luca turns to face me, holding his arm out to silently coax me into him. I immediately walk into his embrace, letting the tears fall freely as Luca holds me in one arm, and our son in the other.

The two parts that make up his world.

“I love you, Elise,” he says gently.

I look up at him, my heart swelling. Our entire marriage, I’ve never wanted to return those words to him, afraid of what itmight mean for me. But I see now that I was once again being immature. Because it was only when he was taken from me that I realized the desperation I felt must be what my form of love feels like.

“I love you, too,” I say.

And I mean it. With every piece of me, I mean it. Our love isn’t the one you hear about in books and movies. It isn’t soft and gentle. It is a compulsion. A dark and twisted need that no one can understand but us. Because I need him, and he needs me. It’s taken us marching through hell to understand that, but this world we were born into isn’t forgiving. We’ve both been witnesses to that.

I know from the outside looking in, people may think we’re crazy. But they aren’t the ones married to Luca Pasquino, Capo dei capi of the largest and most successful crime family in the world.

I am.

1. My son

Epilogue

Luca

8 Years Later

“Mama, look what I can do!”

Luciano’s voice reaches us all the way on the patio that overlooks the backyard as he punts a soccer ball. I hear Elise clapping, and Luciano beams with pride at pleasing his mother.

“That was amazing, Luciano!” she shouts.

After everything died down, we returned to the States to raise our son. Though the years have been filled with trials, they have also been filled with moments like these.

Luciano’s face lights up as he sprints after the ball. He lives to please his mother. He loves her with every bone in his body. Most of the time choosing her over me. He’s a beautiful child who looks just like his mother. All he got from me are the eyes.

I was terrified when I woke up in that hospital all those years ago. Especially when Romelo and Nicolai told me how much time had passed. Both of them were nervous because for months, they couldn’t locate Elise. But after I revealed the location and they returned with the news of her giving birth to my son, I jumped headfirst into rehab.

After that, everything was touch-and-go. Rehab was difficult, and my body had betrayed me from being out of use for so long. But the bruising and cuts eventually faded except for the scar over my eye, which Elise likes to joke about, claiming it proves I am human. I am fortunate that the wall collapsed on me. If it hadn’t, I would have died.

“Mama, can I sit next to you?” I’m pulled from my thoughts as Luciano sprints to the patio, jumping between Elise and me. He pouts as he pushes his way between.

“Come on, Dad, you have to share! You’ve been with Mom all day!” he groans.

Luciano is a sweet boy filled with all the love and compassion you could ever ask for in a child. I tried to rid him of that, but Elise dug her heels in when it came to him. If you ask me, it will make adjusting to this life more difficult, but I can’t think like that now.

I watch Elise adoringly as she pulls Luciano onto her lap, brushing his wild hair away from his face to place a soft kiss on his cheek. He then looks at me with eyes that can pierce the soul, sticking his tongue out, followed by hysterical laughter.

And I can’t help but laugh with him as Elise begins tickling him.

Watching her with him makes me love her even more. She’s a great mother—patient, kind, understanding, and loving.

She is everything my mother was and more because she stands up to me when it comes to Luciano. My mother would never have done that. She would turn her back and force me to self-comfort, refusing to acknowledge me until my father said it was okay.

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