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I hung up the phone and stared out the window, watching the morning mist curl around the peaks like pale fingers, swallowing the world beyond our little refuge. Madigan shifted beside me, her hand instinctively searching for mine, worry flickering in her eyes even before I said a word.

“You have to go, don’t you?” she whispered.

I nodded, unable to find words that would soften the truth. The warmth of her touch anchored me and kept me from drifting too far into the dark currents of regret and obligation swirling inside. I wished I could stay but wishes had never changed the tides of my fate.

She pressed my palm to her belly, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Promise you’ll come back.” It was the only promise I could make, even as I felt the weight of the world pressing down, threatening to break me. I kissed her forehead, held her tight, and tried to memorize the feeling—her heartbeat, our child’s movement, the scent of the early morning air.

By noon, I was gone. I left behind the mountains, the hope, the fragile peace we’d built as the car sped down winding roads toward Bozeman, every mile bringing me closer to the life I could never outrun, and further from the paradise I feared would soon be lost forever.

The flight from Bozeman to Chicago felt endless, each mile pulling me farther from the comfort of Madigan’s embrace and deeper into the shadows of my past. The plane’s cabin was filled with strangers, but I’d never felt more alone—every empty seat beside me a cruel reminder that I was leaving behind the only peace I’d ever known. As the clouds slipped by beneath the wings, worry gnawed at me relentlessly: What if I never saw Madigan again? What if our child grew up with only stories of a father who vanished into the city and never came back?

The uncertainty that awaited me in Chicago was a cold weight pressing on my chest. Memories of bitter goodbyes, old feuds, and the relentless grip of past obligations circled my thoughts like vultures. Fear tightened my fists and made my breath shallow. I didn’t know what fate had in store, only that it would demand more of me than I might be able to give. Each announcement from the pilot, each flicker of turbulence, only amplified my dread, reminding me that paradise was far behind, and the Devil waited at the gate.

In the days that followed, I forced myself to become the man I used to be—hard, unyielding, the kind of person who never let anyone see him bleed. Back then, I built walls so high nothing could reach me; now, every quiet moment was filled with memories of Madigan and hope for what we might become. I performed my duties without hesitation, giving advice when called upon and even trading laughter with my siblings, as though my old life still fit. But when the house quieted, and I was left alone in my childhood room, the air felt thick and stale, heavy with the ghosts of a past I once thought I’d left behind. My thoughts drifted to Madigan—her laughter echoing in my mind, the softness of her touch, the promise of a future free from these burdens. I’d close my eyes and almost smell the pine on her skin, hear the way the wind moved through the mountains around our refuge. The difference was stark: before, solitude meant safety; now, it only magnified how much I longed for her, and how exposed I felt by the ache that wouldn’t let me go.

God, I missed her so much. The silence around me was deafening, and the more I tried to retreat into my old armor, the more I realized how deeply she had changed me.

As the days and weeks bled into one another, sleep refused to come. I found myself pacing the length of the dark hallway, the old floorboards creaking beneath my feet, echoing the unrest in my chest. The house was silent except for the hum of the city through double-paned glass, a sound so unlike the hush of pine forests it made my skin itch. I passed family photographs—smiling faces frozen in time, the ghosts of a life I no longer belonged to. I wondered if Madigan was awake as well, if she pressed her hand to her belly and counted the hours until I kept my promise.

When dawn finally crept in, gray and unforgiving, I stood at the window and let the city’s chill seep into my bones. Obligation, regret, longing—they warred quietly inside me, each one demanding its due. Despite everything, one truth had become inescapable: I could not go on as I had before. The life I wanted was not here, not in this place of old debts and silent expectations. It was back in the mountains, with Madigan, in the future we might carve out if I could find the courage to return.

“Sal?”

As I turned, I saw my sister, Illyria, approaching. She seemed so young and full of life, untouched by the burdens that weighed heavily on my own shoulders. I silently wished that she would never have to choose between the demands of family loyalty and the pull of true love. Her expression was filled with concern as she asked, “Sal, what’s wrong? You’ve not been yourself since you returned.”

Unable to share the truth with her, I leaned in, pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and offered a soft reply. “It’s nothing, baby. Go back to sleep.”

She didn’t believe me. “You’re lying. Why?”

I remained silent, unable to answer her question or ease her worries.

Illyria let out a weary sigh, her gaze drifting to the family photographs arrayed along the wall. The weight of their shared history pressed between them, silent but ever-present. “Sometimes the life we live isn’t the life we dreamed for ourselves,” she admitted softly, her voice edged with a quiet vulnerability rarely shown. “I wonder, more often than I would ever let on, what my life might have become if Dad had lived. Would things have been different? Would I have gotten the chance at something more ordinary—a happiness untouched by the violence and blood that stains our family? This life... it isn’t for everyone, Salvatore. Not everyone can shoulder these burdens. Luciano recognized that. He made the decision to leave, to step away from the family business, and he went on to create a life for himself beyond all this. He found joy in his art and embraced it without reservation. If you have found someone who brings you happiness, Sal, then you should go. Don’t let go of her. Take that chance. Hold on with everything you have and don’t look back.”

“And what about you? Is there someone you’d be willing to leave all this for?” My voice was tentative, betraying the uncertainty that plagued me.

A wry smirk played on Illyria’s lips, her eyes flashing with a hint of mischief as she deflected. “We’re not talking about me,” she replied, sidestepping my question. But after a moment, she relented just a bit. “But since you asked, I’m not going anywhere. I love this life, despite everything. I know where my happiness lies. Even if I’m not thrilled with every direction it takes, I understand that this is the only place I will ever truly belong—the only place I will find real happiness.”

I shook my head, the words heavy as they left my mouth. “I can’t leave Gio now. Look what happened with Angelo. He betrayed Gio and the family.” The memory of Angelo’s betrayal hung between us, a grim reminder of what loyalty—and the lack thereof—could cost. My sense of duty was a weight I wasn’t sure I could set aside, not when the consequences for those left behind could be so dire.

Illyria met my gaze with steady resolve. “Angelo chose his path, Sal. Giovanni will be fine. He’s got Layla now, and Reggie has Catarina. This crap with the Golden Skulls, Bianchi and everyone else, isn’t going away. It will only get worse, and you know it. The second Gio aligned the family with the Golden Skulls, he marked this family.” Her words were blunt, but they rang true. The alliances Gio had made had changed everything, and the dangers facing us would not disappear simply because I stayed. If anything, lingering now might only draw me deeper into a war I wanted no part of.

A shadow of regret crossed my face as I thought of our father. “Dad would be pissed that you know all this. He never wanted you involved in the family business.” I knew how much he had tried to shield Illyria from the violence and secrets that came with our last name. Yet, here she was—unflinching, unwavering, and just as much a part of this world as any of us.

Illyria’s lips curled into a defiant smile as she replied, “Guess he should never have had a smart, strong-willed daughter then, because I can tell you right now, Sal, I’m right where I need to be. As for you, well... you have to decide what you want. My advice: Decide quickly before this crap erupts and makes the choice for you.” With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the hall as she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me alone with the gravity of her words and the choice I could no longer avoid.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway where she had been, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. The house was quiet around me—too quiet. The kind of silence that made every thought louder, every doubt sharper.

I needed to hear her voice.

Needed to see her face. The need was so visceral it made my chest ache, made my hands shake as I pulled out my phone and headed back to my room. I closed the door behind me and sat on the edge of the bed, my thumb hovering over her name in my contacts.

It was late—nearly midnight in Montana. She might be asleep. But I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t go another minute without seeing her, without reminding myself why I was doing any of this.

I hit the FaceTime button.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then her face filled the screen, and the relief that flooded through me was so intense it nearly brought me to my knees.

“Salvatore?” Her voice was thick with sleep, her hair tousled, her eyes still heavy-lidded. She was in bed, the lamp on the nightstand casting a soft glow across her face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”