CHAPTER 78: THE DISTANCES BETWEEN US

Their days settled into a rhythm of rediscovered intimacy, fragile and precious, like handling glass after a storm. Mornings started slow, sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains to warm the tangled sheets. Luca would wake first, his fingers brushing stray hair from Aria’s face, memorizing the way her lashes fluttered before her eyes opened. She’d smile sleepily, stretch against him, and they’d share lazy kisses that tasted of toothpaste and coffee promises. Over breakfast on the sun-drenched patio, he’d sketch out their future in quiet, earnest words: retiring from the family business, passing the weight of it to Enzo, and buying a small villa in Tuscany with lemon trees and cracked stone walls. "We’ll wake to birds, not sirens," he’d say, voice rough with hope. Aria listened, her hand drifting unconsciously to her stomach, still flat, still secret. She imagined tiny feet pattering across terracotta floors, Luca teaching a child to toss grapes into waiting mouths. The vision felt sacred, something to protect.

But the world they’d fought to leave behind had teeth.

That evening, the terrace glowed under strings of soft bulbs. Aria wore the pale blue dress Luca loved, the one that made his eyes darken whenever she moved. They laughed over shared plates of risotto, wine loosening the knots of old fears. Then his phone buzzed, sharp and insistent. Luca’s smile vanished as he read the screen. "Enzo," he muttered, pushing back his chair.

Aria’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. She caught fragments as he paced: "Rossi family... wedding put a target on us... hit tonight." His voice dropped to a growl she hadn’t heard in weeks. When he returned, the warmth in his eyes had iced over.

"What is it?" she asked, pulse already racing.

"Rivals. They think marriage makes me soft. Ambush on a shipment at the docks." He cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "I’ll end it fast."

"Go with Enzo. Come back to me." She gripped his wrist, grounding them both. "Promise."

"I always do, amore." His kiss was fierce and desperate, tasting of goodbye.

The mansion felt cavernous once his taillights vanished. Aria paced the marble floors, bare feet cold, heart louder than the grandfather clock. She couldn’t shake the image of Luca bleeding out on wet asphalt. Grabbing her coat and keys, she slipped into her car, following the route burned into muscle memory. *I won’t lose him again.*

The warehouse district stank of diesel and salt. Gunfire cracked the night open, muzzle flashes strobing like a nightmare disco. Aria parked behind a stack of containers, breath fogging the windshield. She dialed Enzo, whispered coordinates, then crept closer, phone clutched like a talisman.

Luca moved through the chaos with lethal grace, barking orders, his silhouette sharp against exploding crates. Then a shadow detached from the darkness, Rossi’s underboss, gun rising. Aria’s scream tore free: "Luca!"

He turned. Too late. The shot punched the air. Luca folded, blood soaking his shirt in a dark, spreading bloom.

The world narrowed to gravel biting her knees as she reached him. "Luca, look at me. Stay." His hand found hers, slick with warmth. "Why... here?" he rasped.

"Ambulance!" Enzo roared.

Sirens wailed. Paramedics swarmed, oxygen masks and IVs, the metallic scent of blood thick in her nose. Aria clung to the gurney rails as the ambulance screamed toward the hospital, whispering, "We have a future. A baby. Don’t you dare leave."

Hours dissolved in the waiting room’s fluorescent glare. Enzo paced, boots thudding, knuckles split and raw. "The bullet missed the heart by inches. He’s too stubborn to die."

Dawn bled pink across the sky when the surgeon emerged, mask dangling. "Stable. Lost blood, but he’ll live. Head trauma from the fall, though. Concussion. Possible memory issues. We’ll watch."

They let her in at noon. Luca lay pale, tubes snaking across his chest, monitors beeping a steady, stubborn rhythm. She took his hand. "Hey, husband."

His eyes opened, gray and storm-cloud confused. He stared like she was a ghost. "Who are you?"

The floor tilted. "Aria. Your wife." Her voice cracked on the word.

He yanked his hand free, wincing. "I don’t know you. Get out."

"Luca, the crash, my amnesia, now this? It’s temporary—"

"Nurses!" His bark cut her off, hoarse but commanding. "Remove her."

Security escorted her out. Enzo caught her as her knees buckled. "He’s scared, Aria. Give him space."

Space became a chasm. Luca demanded police protection, convincing staff he’d been assaulted by a delusional stalker. Aria camped in the corridor, living on vending-machine coffee and hope. She slipped Polaroids under his door: their wedding kiss, her laughing in his arms on the beach, and an ultrasound printout tucked beneath like a secret prayer. *See us, Luca. Remember.*

Nights were the worst. She’d press her forehead to the cool glass outside his room, whispering stories to his sleeping form. "You once carried me three miles through snow because I twisted my ankle. You hate olives but eat them if I put them on pizza. You sing off-key in the shower to make me laugh."

On the fifth night, she bribed a kind-hearted nurse with homemade tiramisu. Luca slept, face slack, the arrogant lines softened by exhaustion. She sat, tracing the lifeline on his palm. "You fought for me when I forgot everything. Now it’s my turn."

He stirred. "You again." His voice was gravel. "Why won’t you leave?"

"Because I love you." Tears slipped free. "We married under fairy lights. You cried when I said yes. That crash stole my memories, but you stayed. Read my journals to me every night until I remembered your name."

He stared at their matching rings. "Prove it."

She played videos: their first dance, her giggling as he spun her too fast, and audio of her reading journal entries about stolen kisses in stairwells. His jaw worked, eyes flickering.

"The scar on your shoulder," she whispered. "I stitched it after the coast betrayal. You said I had steady hands for a civilian."

His fingers brushed the raised skin beneath the gown. "How do you know..."

"It’s us, Luca. The distances, the bullets, the forgetting, none of it breaks what we built."

A nurse knocked, but he lifted a hand. "Let her stay."

Progress crawled. Therapy unearthed shards: the taste of her lipstick, the way she stole his hoodies, and the sound of her saying "I choose you" at the altar. Anger flared too. "If you’re my wife, why do I wake up terrified? This life, shipments, blood on my hands, did you want this?"

"No," she said fiercely. "I wanted *you*. The man who reads poetry badly, who burns toast, who knelt in the rain to propose. I chose the heart, not the empire."

He softened, letting her hold his hand during scans, falling asleep to her humming their wedding song. Enzo visited, regaling him with tales of Luca teaching Aria to shoot, her outscoring him at the range. Luca’s rare smiles returned, crooked and real.

On discharge day, he leaned heavily on her as they navigated the mansion’s grand staircase. In their bedroom, surrounded by jasmine and memories, Aria helped peel away the hospital gown. His eyes, still shadowed, locked on hers with sudden, raw hunger.