My Don’s Deadly Choice novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The sun in Florence was just as warm.

I stood outside the private art restoration studio, looking through the glass.

There she was.

Arabella

She sat quietly at an easel, restoring a damaged portrait of the Madonna and Child.

Golden sunlight fell on her, just like the day we first met.

She looked focused, serene, as if the bloody chaos of our world couldn’t touch her here.

I was afraid to go in.

Afraid to shatter this peace.

My hand was shaking.

Finally, I pushed the door open.

A small bell chimed. She didn’t turn around.

“Arabella…” My voice was a raw whisper.

Her hand paused for a second, then went back to dabbing paint on the canvas.

“I know that sound,” she said, her voice calm as a still lake. “The footsteps of Massimo Falcone. I’d know that walk anywhere.”

I took a few steps closer. I saw the painting she was working on.

The Virgin Mary held the infant Jesus, her eyes full of love.

But a corner of the painting was torn, right across the child’s face.

“Arabella, I came to…”

“Apologize?” she cut me off, still not looking at me. “What are you apologizing for? My dead son? Or your

betrayal?”

My throat closed up.

“I… I know the truth. Bianca confessed everything,” I said, the words heavy in my mouth. “Our son… he

should have lived.”

“I know,” she said, without a ripple of emotion. “I knew it the moment I woke up in that hospital.”

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She finally put down her brush and slowly turned to face me.

The eyes that once looked at me with so much love were now empty. Dead.

“My son isn’t coming back, Massimo,” she said, her voice soft as a ghost. “Some things, once they’re broken, can’t be fixed.”

I looked at her pale face, and my heart felt like it was being ripped in two.

“Like this painting?” I asked, nodding to the Madonna.

“No,” Arabella shook her head. “This painting can be fixed. The damage is only on the surface.”

“But us…” she looked at me, and there was no hate in her eyes, only a profound, endless exhaustion. “We aren’t broken on the surface. We’re shattered from within.”

I dropped to my knees, just like I did when I asked her to marry me.

“Arabella, please, forgive me. I’ll do anything to make it right…”

“Anything?” She gave a small, sad laugh. “Massimo, can you bring my son back to life?”

“Can you make me believe in love again?”

“Can you erase the last three years of pain?”

Every question was a dagger in my heart.

I had no answers.

Arabella turned back to her painting, as if I weren’t there.

“Leave, Massimo. You don’t belong here.”

I pulled a document from my suit jacket and placed it gently on the table beside her.

“What’s this?” she glanced at it.

“A transfer of all ll Falcone family assets,” I said, getting to my feet. “As of today, they’re all yours.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t need your money.”

“This isn’t money,” I said, looking deep into her eyes. “It’s atonement.”

“Let it be for them. The innocent ones who deserve a chance.”

“For our son… think of. being for our son.”

Arabella was silent for a long time.

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Finally, she nodded.

“I’ll use it to start a foundation,” she said softly “To help children in need.”

“But this doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

I know

I never expected her to.

“Goodbye, Arabella.”

I turned and walked toward the door

“Massimo,” she said from behind me.

I turned back, a spark of hope catching in my chest.

“Take care of yourself,” she said. “Not for me. For the people who are still alive.”

I nodded and walked out the door.

The sunlight was so bright it made my eyes water.

Or maybe it wasn’t the sun.

Three days later, the Moretti family’s hitmen found me.

They were coming for Arabella, to retaliate for the blow the Rossi family had dealt them.

But I made sure they found me first. I led them to a street corner, a hundred yards from her studio.

The shots rang out.

I didn’t dodge.

The first bullet hit my shoulder.

The second, my cł

The third…

I fell in a pool of my own blood, my vision blurring.

I was back in the Uffizi Gallery, watching the girl under the sun, fixing the Madonna.

She fixed what others had broken. I had torn our own masterpiece to shreds.

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