Page 16 of The Don's Eternal Vows

He nods sharply, jaw clenching as he concentrates. I can almost see Genoveva myself, a ghost of memory shimmering in the air between us.

"Let the memories come," I whisper, my breath stirring the hair at his temple. "Don't fight them."

Gianni shudders, a tremor running through his powerful frame. For a moment, I fear he might shatter, the weight of hisemotions too much to bear, but I lend him more power to keep the memories alive.

Perhaps I give too much.

A sharp pain lances through my chest, and I suppress a gasp. Another sign. They've been coming more frequently lately – sudden aches, moments where my vision blurs, times when I feel myself fading like mist in the morning sun.

I’m fading from this earth, and my power weakens if I don’t act now.

"Tell me more," I urge, leaning closer. The scent of him mingles with the incense burning in the corner of my hut.

As Gianni recounts a tender moment with Genoveva, I study his face. The intensity in his eyes, the raw emotion—it reminds me of another man who once sat in that very chair centuries ago—a king desperate to reclaim his lost love.

I need this man. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. Two hundred years seemed an eternity when that long-dead king gave me the gift of extended life in exchange for helping him bring back his dead beloved. But time is a fickle mistress, and now I find myself grasping for more.

"Your love for her," I murmur, my fingers brushing against his as we both hold the crystal, "is powerful. It's rare."

Gianni's gaze snaps to mine, a flicker of hope igniting in those dark depths. "Can you... is there a way?"

I feel the weight of ages pressing down on me, the urgency of my fading existence. This man, with his desperate love and haunted eyes, might be my salvation. But I must tread carefully.

"Perhaps," I reply, my voice low and filled with promise. "But such magic always comes at a price. Are you prepared to pay it, Gianni Montagna?"

I watch as Gianni's jaw tightens, his scarred hands clenching around the crystal ball.

"What do you want?" he asks, his gravelly voice barely above a whisper. "What could I possibly give you?"

I lean in, my ageless eyes locked on his. "Tell me again, Gianni. What is it you truly desire?"

His response is immediate, raw with emotion. "Her. I want Genoveva back by my side. Impossible, though it seems."

A smile curves my lips. This is the moment I've been waiting for, the key to my eternal life. "There is a way," I breathe, watching hope flare in his eyes. But the price... it must be something precious, something irreplaceable."

Gianni's intense gaze never wavers. "Name it."

I trace a finger along the edge of the crystal ball, feeling the thrum of ancient magic beneath my skin. "What is the most valuable thing you possess? What would you give to hold your beloved once more?"

The air in my hut grows thick with tension as I await his answer, my very existence hanging in the balance of his next words.

It was no accident that I found him in my forest, seeking his wife or death. I feel the power he has radiating off him. This is fate.

There’s something he can give me to grant me another hundred years on this earth. I feel it in my very bones and wait, expectedly.

I watch as Gianni's expression shifts, a flicker of pain crossing his rugged features. His voice is low and measured when he speaks.

"The most precious thing I had was my wife herself," he says, his dark eyes meeting mine.

For a moment, I fear my chance is slipping away. But then, Gianni's hand moves to his neck, pulling out a gold chain hidden beneath his tailored suit. My breath catches as he reveals a coin dangling from the end.

"This," he says, holding it up. The dim light of my hut catches on to its worn surface. "This is the most valuable thing I own."

I lean forward, curiosity piqued. "Tell me about it," I urge, my voice barely above a whisper.

Gianni's fingers caress the coin as he speaks. "It belonged to my forefathers and has been passed down generations. A poor man with nothing but this to his name. He bartered it, piece by piece, to build a life. And when he finally became wealthy, he bought it back. They say he had two, but one was lost.”

I hold still, now fully aware of this precious treasure in my grasp. There were two. One wasn’t lost. I held it all this time until it vanished, bit by bit, each year, to become nothing. The more power I drew from it, the more it disappeared.

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