Chapter 8 - THE WOVEN BLANKET
I woke up to the smell of peppermint tea and the soft beeping of a heart monitor.
I blinked, the bright sunlight streaming through the hospital window blinding me for a moment. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a familiar face sitting in the chair next to my bed.
My mother.
She wasn't in a coma. She wasn't tied to a chair. She was wearing a soft beige sweater, looking healthier than she had in years.
“You’re awake,” she breathed, tears instantly spilling over her cheeks. She reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight.
“How long?” I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper.
“Three days,” she smiled through her tears. “The doctors said the shotgun blast missed your vital organs by an inch. You’re going to be fine, Roman. You’re going to be perfectly fine.”
I let out a long, shaky breath, the memories of the warehouse rushing back.
“Isabella?” I asked.
“Dead,” my mother confirmed softly.
“And Elena?”
“Arrested,” my mother said, her expression hardening slightly. “When the police arrived, they found the microfiche from the watch. It proved that Isabella’s family was responsible for Elena’s father’s death. Elena had spent her entire life trying to destroy the man who actually tried to save him. She broke down completely. She confessed to everything—the poisoning, the setup with the plane, all of it.”
I closed my eyes, a profound sense of relief washing over me. The war was over. The traitors were gone. The empire was finally clean.
“And Marcus?” I asked.
“He made a deal with the feds,” my mother said. “He testified against Isabella’s remaining cartel connections in exchange for immunity. He saved your life, Roman. But he can never be part of this family again. He knows that.”
I nodded slowly. It was the right outcome.
“Where is he?” I asked, looking around the room.
My mother smiled, a genuine, radiant look of pure joy. She stood up and walked to the door, opening it gently.
A tiny head poked around the corner.
Eli.
He was holding a soft, colorful woven blanket—the one he always slept with. When he saw my open eyes, his face lit up like the sun.
“Roman!” he squealed, running into the room and scrambling up onto the edge of my hospital bed.
He wrapped his small arms carefully around my neck, making sure not to press on my bandages. I buried my face in his hair, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and innocence.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, tears finally breaking free and rolling down my cheeks. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Eli said, pulling back to look at me. “Are you better now?”
“I’m much better,” I smiled.
My mother walked over, placing a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “I’ve filed the paperwork, Roman. The adoption papers. When you’re healed, it will be official.”
I looked at her, then at the boy who was technically my brother, but who felt, in every way that mattered, like my son.
“You won’t have to hide anymore, Eli,” I said softly, touching his cheek. “No more pretending. You’re a Moretti. And you are going to grow up safe, and loved, and exactly where you belong.”
Eli smiled, pulling his woven blanket up and tucking it around my uninjured arm, as if he were taking care of me now.
“I know,” Eli said confidently. “Because you’re my dad.”
I looked at my mother, who was wiping her eyes with a tissue, nodding in agreement.
The past was buried. The secrets were exposed. And for the first time in twenty years, I wasn't looking over my shoulder.
May you like
I looked at the little boy sitting on my bed, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.
I was finally home.
