Page 52 of From Italy With Love

We stood there for a long moment, holding each other, both of us acutely aware that our time here was finite. That eventually reality would intrude. That the world we had left behind wouldn’t stay gone forever.

“But not today,” I said, tilting her chin up so I could look into her eyes. “Today, we’re here. Together. And that’s all that matters.”

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Today.”

“Today,” I repeated, kissing her softly.

But even as I held her, even as I tried to lose myself in the moment, I felt it. The shadow growing longer. The storm gathering on the horizon. The inevitable end of our borrowed time.

Montana was paradise. But paradise was never meant to last. And deep down, in the part of me that had been trained to see threats before they materialized, I knew the call was coming.

Giovanni would need me, and he would demand my return. And when that happened, I would have to choose. Between the life I had built here and the life I had been born into. Between the woman I loved and the family that owned me. Between peace and violence.

Between everything.

The thought kept me awake at night, even as Madigan slept peacefully beside me. Kept me standing on the porch in the early morning hours, watching the sun rise over the mountains, wondering how much longer we had.

Days? Weeks? Months? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I would hold on to this for as long as I could. I would memorize every moment, every touch, every quiet morning and lazy afternoon. Would store them away like treasures, knowing that soon enough, they might be all I had left.

Because this was the calm before the storm.

And the storm was coming. I could feel it in my bones. Could sense it in the way my phone seemed to grow heavier in my pocket with each passing day. In the way Giovanni’s messages became more frequent, more insistent. In the way Sinclair’s name appeared on my screen with increasing regularity, each call a reminder that I couldn’t hide forever.

But for now, I was here.

With Madigan.

With our child growing between us.

In this place that felt like another world entirely. And I would hold on to it with everything I had. Even knowing it couldn’t last. Even knowing that eventually I would have to let it go. Because she was worth it. This peace was worth it. These stolen moments of happiness were worth whatever price I would eventually have to pay.

And when the call finally came, I would go.

Not because I wanted to. But because it was the only way to keep her safe. The only way to protect this sanctuary we had built. The only way to ensure that our child could grow up here, in this beautiful, peaceful place, far away from the darkness that had defined my entire life.

So I waited.

Watched the mountains.

Held my wife.

Felt our child move beneath my hand.

And prayed that we had just a little more time.

Just a little longer in paradise.

Before the Devil came to collect his due.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The call came early one morning, a few weeks into Madigan’s sixth month of pregnancy, letting me know I was needed back in Chicago. The voice on the other end was cold, direct, emotionless—the kind of voice that didn’t ask, it demanded. Something to do with a motorcycle club called the Golden Skulls. I knew the club well. Too well, if I were being honest. My cousins, Dwayne and Reggie, were brothers in that club. Had been since they up and left without a word, abandoning their families as if we meant nothing to them. Their absence hurt the family deeply, leaving a wound that never quite healed, their mother more so than everyone else. She’d cried for weeks, wondering what she’d done wrong, what she could’ve done differently. Just knowing whatever was going on had something to do with them had piqued my curiosity, stirring up old memories and unresolved feelings, but not enough to make me want to abandon Madigan and our unborn child.

Still, I didn’t have a choice. I never had a choice when it came to these things.

Freedom came with a price, and mine was beholden to the Devil himself. I’d made a deal, signed my name in blood—metaphorically speaking—and now I had to pay up whenever he called.

I didn’t want to go home. The very thought of it twisted my gut into knots. I wanted to stay here with Madigan, hidden within the mountains where it was safe, where the air was clean and the only sounds were birds and wind through the pines, where my old life and our families couldn’t touch us. Just the thought of leaving her hurt more than I realized, like someone was reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart. I felt like I was suffocating, drowning in my fear, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Fear that I’d never let bother me before, that I’d trained myself to ignore, to push down deep where it couldn’t control me, yet now it did. Now it consumed me entirely.