Page 72 of The Don's Eternal Vows

"The staff’s shitting their pants, love," I chuckle, my voice softening. "I'll get it myself.”

I make my way to the kitchen. The weight of the confrontation still hangs heavy on my mind, and my jaw clenches tight as I replay the henchmen's fumbling excuses. They're idiots. They nearly cost us everything.

I push open the kitchen door, the smell of fresh coffee hitting me. But it's not the aroma that stops me dead in my tracks. It's the hushed voices of my men, their words slicing through the air like knives.

"...talking to her like she's really there. It's fucking creepy, man."

"Shh! You want him to hear you? The boss has lost it. His wife's been dead for months, and he's acting like—"

My blood runs cold. The mug slips from my grasp, shattering on the tile floor. Coffee splashes my shoes, but I barely notice. My world narrows to a pinpoint, their words echoing in my head like a twisted mantra.

"His wife's been dead for months."

No. It can't be. Genoveva is right there in the dining room. I just spoke to her. They just...

The men fall silent, terror etched on their faces as they realize I've overheard. But I can't focus on them. My mind is reeling, desperately trying to make sense of what I've heard.

"Boss," one of them starts, his voice trembling. "We didn't mean—"

I cut him off with a glare that could freeze hell itself. "Get out," I snarl, my voice barely above a whisper. They don't need to be told twice.

As the door swings shut behind them, I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. What the hell is going on?

My chest tightens, each breath a struggle as reality crashes down around me. Genoveva, my Genoveva... dead? No, it can't be.I saw her, touched her, and felt the warmth of her skin just moments ago.

My men's words loop in my mind, a nightmarish record I can't shut off.

I scan the kitchen, desperate for something to ground me. The stark white cabinets, the gleaming stainless steel appliances – it all feels wrong, too sterile, too lifeless.

My gaze lands on the coffee pot, still steaming on the counter. I reach for it, my fingers curling around the handle with crushing force. The heat bites into my skin, but I welcome the pain. It's real, tangible, unlike the fog of confusion clouding my mind.

"She's real," I growl, willing it to be true. "But why the hell can’t anyone else see her?”

But doubt gnaws at me relentlessly. What if... what if they're right? What if I've conjured her from my grief, a desperate attempt to fill the void she left behind?

Impossible,her voice enters my head.You made that deal with Hades, my love. It was all real.

In my heart, I know she’s real. I know she’s back. I know everything that happened happened.

What I don’t know is why the hell no one else can seem to see her.

I force my feet to move, each step a battle against the rising tide of panic within me. The dining room door looms ahead, a barrier between the harsh truth I've just uncovered and the world I desperately want to believe in.

With a deep breath, I calm myself down. The door swings open silently, and I step through, my eyes immediately seeking Genoveva.

There she sits, radiant as ever, her hazel eyes lifting to meet mine. My heart constricts painfully.

"Here's your coffee, cara mia," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside. I set the pot down before her, my movements slow and precise, buying time to study her face.

Genoveva's lips curve into a soft smile. "Grazie, amore," she murmurs, her voice as melodious as I remember. "You're always so thoughtful."

I can't look away from her, drinking in every detail. The delicate arch of her eyebrows, the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she smiles. She's perfect. Too perfect?

"Is everything alright, Gianni?" Genoveva asks, her brow furrowing slightly. "You look... troubled."

I swallow hard, torn between the urge to gather her in my arms and the creeping fear that my hands might pass right through her.

"Just... thinking about our next move," I lie, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. "Nothing for you to worry about, tesoro."

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