Page 116 of Of Lies and Shadows

When we reach the front door, I pause, taking it all in.

The house smells like roasted chicken and garlic bread the moment we step inside—warm, rich, familiar. It wraps around me like a memory, soothing something raw and fragile deep in my chest.

The dining table is set, clearly the kids’ handiwork: paper napkins folded into questionable shapes, mismatched plates lined up with proud determination, and a vase in the center overflowing with dandelions and two roses plucked from the garden.

Nina looks up from behind the counter and smiles. “They wantedeverything to be perfect for you. It’s good to have you back, Mrs. Forzi.”

“Dante, please.” He sighs and reluctantly sets me back on my feet. “And it’s good to see you too, Nina.”

She dries her hands on a towel and gives me a quick nod. “Well, I’ll leave you to your welcome-home dinner. Enjoy your family.”

“Thank you,” Dante and I say at the same time, our voices overlapping. She chuckles and slips out, leaving the house quiet but full.

“I wanted pasta,” Alessio mutters as he plops into his chair, arms crossed.

Lucia narrows her eyes and points her fork at him. “We always eat pasta. Cece’s back. It has to be chicken.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me with surprising ease. “You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

Dante pulls out my chair and kisses the top of my head before sitting beside me. His hand grazes my back gently, a quiet reminder that he’s there. “Eat what you can,” he murmurs. “No pressure.”

I don’t eat much. My appetite isn’t quite there yet. But I smile, laugh when Lucia drops her fork again, listen to Alessio explain the logic behind their banner design, and soak in every second like sunlight after a long winter.

After dinner, I try to help clean up, but Dante gives me a look that makes it very clear I should not test him on this. So I do what I can. I supervise bath time, braid Lucia’s curls with tired fingers, and sit on the edge of Alessio’s bed while he shows me the new pirate sword Bruno bought him from a street vendor.

“Can you read to me?” Lucia asks, curling into her pillow.

I clear my throat. “Just one page.”

But of course, one page turns into five.

By the time both kids are asleep, my body aches in places I forgot I had. The hot shower is a small slice of heaven, and I take my time, letting the steam ease the lingering soreness in my muscles. I slip into fluffy pajamas and climb into bed, expecting Dante to follow soon.

But he doesn’t. Minutes pass, and then an hour.

I listen to the quiet house, the creak of pipes, the rustle of wind in the trees and feel a slow, unexpected ache bloom in my chest.

Part of me knows he’s probably on a call or checking security or maybe just sitting in his study like he used to when something was heavy on his mind.

But another part of me, the part still tender and bruised and not entirely sure where we stand now, feels… disappointed.

I lie on my side, facing his empty pillow.

I thought he’d be here. Thought he’d wrap his arms around me like he did in the hospital. Whisper something soft. Tell me he missed me too much to sleep anywhere else.

But the room stays quiet.

My eyes drift closed, and before sleep claims me, I whisper to the empty space beside me, almost ashamed of the hope that’s still clinging to my ribs.

“Goodnight, Dante.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Francesca

Iwake up alone.

For a moment, I think he’s just in the bathroom. But the sheets beside me are cold. The scent of his cologne is faint now, clinging to the pillow like a fading ghost.

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