Chapter 12 - THE BABY WHO LIVEDOne year after the night Lorenzo Rossi put a gun to my head, Leo smashed his birthday cake with both hands and threw frosting directly into his father’s face.
Not to live there.
To close it.
Ryan had been sentenced to twenty-three years in prison after pleading guilty to aggravated assault, causing Lily’s death and several related charges.
Vittorio faced federal conspiracy, attempted murder, homicide and organized crime charges.
Julian faced attempted murder.
The nightmare was finally becoming paperwork, court hearings and locked doors.
I stood in Lily’s nursery alone.
Everything remained where I had left it.
White crib.
Yellow curtains.
Tiny stuffed rabbit.
For months, I had believed moving anything would be another betrayal.
If I emptied the room, maybe I was admitting she was truly gone.
But grief eventually teaches you a strange truth.
Love does not live in objects.
It lives in what objects awaken inside you.
I folded Lily’s clothes into a donation box.
I kept her blanket.
Her hospital bracelet.
Her ultrasound photographs.
And the stuffed rabbit I had bought the day we learned she was a girl.
When I walked outside carrying the final box, Lorenzo was waiting beside the car.
He had insisted on driving me himself.
His side still hurt when he moved too quickly.
He pretended it didn’t.
“Done?” he asked.
I nodded.
He took the box.
I didn’t stop him.
That was progress too.
We drove toward the Rossi estate.
The mansion had changed.
Half the armed men were gone.
The restricted wings had been opened.
Lorenzo was converting one part of the property into offices for the family foundation.
The nursery still belonged to Leo.
And somehow, I still had a room there.
Originally temporary.
Then extended.
Then apparently permanent, although nobody had said so aloud.
When we arrived, Bianca intercepted me.
“You need to see something.”
“What?”
“Come.”
She dragged me upstairs.
Lorenzo followed, suspicious.
At the end of the east hallway was a room that had been locked during my first weeks at the mansion.
Bianca opened it.
Inside were shelves.
Books.
A rocking chair.
Children’s toys.
And two framed names on the wall.
LEO.
LILY.
I stopped breathing.
“What is this?”
Bianca smiled gently.
“The foundation’s new family room.”
I looked at Lorenzo.
He looked uncomfortable.
“You did this?”
“Partly.”
“Why?”
He stepped inside.
“We’re funding a program for mothers who experience pregnancy loss or infant loss.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Lorenzo.”
“Counseling. Emergency housing. Legal help for domestic violence survivors. Lactation support after loss.”
I covered my mouth.
He continued.
“It will operate through St. Catherine’s and three other hospitals.”
“Why Lily’s name?”
“Because she mattered.”
I couldn’t speak.
“The program doesn’t have to use her name publicly,” he added quickly. “If you don’t want—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I want it.”
My voice broke.
“I want people to know she existed.”
Lorenzo nodded.
Bianca quietly left.
For a moment, it was only us.
I touched the framed letters.
“When did you decide this?”
“The night you told me not to turn her into fate.”
I looked at him.
“So you turned her into a foundation?”
“That sounds worse when you say it.”
I laughed through tears.
He smiled.
Then became nervous.
I had never seen Lorenzo Rossi nervous.
It was alarming.
“What?”
He put his hands into his pockets.
“I need to ask something.”
“Okay.”
“Your employment contract ended last week.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t asked about renewing it.”
“I’m not going back to cleaning twelve bathrooms.”
“Good.”
“But I’ll miss the pay.”
“I can offer—”
“Careful.”
He stopped himself.
“Right.”
I waited.
“This house feels different when you’re in it.”
My heart accelerated.
“Lorenzo.”
“I know my life is complicated.”
“That is an impressive understatement.”
“And I know what I was when you met me.”
“You had a gun against my head.”
“I remember.”
“I definitely remember.”
He looked ashamed.
“I will regret that forever.”
“You thought I was hurting Leo.”
“That explains it. It doesn’t excuse it.”
I appreciated that answer.
He continued.
“I’m not asking you to forget anything.”
“Then what are you asking?”
His eyes met mine.
“To stay.”
My breath caught.
“As what?”
“Whatever you choose.”
“That’s vague.”
“I’m trying not to pressure you.”
“You’re terrible at romance.”
“I didn’t say this was romance.”
I stared at him.
His ears actually became red.
I started laughing.
“You’re terrified.”
“Yes.”
“You faced a ballroom full of explosives.”
“This is worse.”
I laughed harder.
Then he stepped closer.
Slowly.
“Anna, I care about you.”
The laughter disappeared.
“I care about Leo.”
“I know.”
“That’s different.”
“I know.”
“I’m still grieving.”
“I know.”
“I might always be.”
“I know.”
“And you have a lot to fix.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“You say that a lot.”
“I’m learning.”
He raised one hand.
Stopped.
“May I?”
I nodded.
He touched my cheek.
Gentle.
Nothing like Ryan.
Nothing demanded.
I could have stepped away.
I didn’t.
Our first kiss was not dramatic.
No fireworks.
No music.
No declarations.
Just two damaged people standing beneath the names of two children who had changed them forever.
When we separated, Lorenzo rested his forehead against mine.
“You’re crying.”
“So are you.”
“I was shot recently.”
“That excuse expired.”
He smiled.
Then we heard Leo screaming from downstairs.
Not in danger.
Hungry.
Very loudly hungry.
We both laughed.
Lorenzo took my hand.
“Duty calls.”
“You’re feeding him.”
“He throws bottles at me.”
“Build character.”
We went downstairs together.
May you like
And for the first time since Lily died, walking toward a crying baby did not feel like walking toward grief.
It felt like walking toward life.
