Chapter 24 – Unwritten Confessions

• The garden was quieter now.
• The late afternoon sun cast long shadows between the hedges, staining the marble paths in gold. Alina wandered without purpose, hands brushing the tops of lavender stems, heart still echoing the tension from the last few days. Since the storm, something had shifted. Luciano had become gentler—not in words, not in power—but in presence. He hadn’t touched her since the rooftop, but she could feel him in everything: the wine Teresa left on her table, the book she found turned to a page she once mentioned, the silence he no longer filled with commands.
• Today, she wanted answers again. Not about him. About her.
• Her mother had once walked this same path. Had she felt watched too? Protected or hunted?
• The wind stirred, lifting strands of her hair as she stepped beyond the garden’s boundary wall. The stone chapel stood tucked at the edge of the estate, its ancient wooden door arched and vine-wrapped. She had passed it before, but today her feet pulled her forward without asking permission.
• She pushed the door open.
• It creaked, reluctant but not locked.
• Dust curled in the slant of light streaming through stained glass. Inside, the pews were warped with age. Votive candles long burned out sat cold on the altar. The air smelled of old wood, dried rose petals, and something older—memories.
• Alina stepped in, boots echoing softly on the stone floor. She walked past the rows of pews, drawn by a carved alcove to the left—half-concealed behind a curtain of ivy trailing through a broken window.
• There, beneath a shelf of abandoned hymnals, was a small wooden box.
• She reached down.
• Inside was a journal.
• Faded leather, the edges curled. A ribbon marked the middle. No lock. No name. Just the feel of something that had waited to be found.
• Her breath caught in her throat as she opened it.
• The handwriting was looping, elegant. And unmistakably feminine.
• “I never thought I’d come back here. But I couldn’t stay away from him. God help me, I couldn’t.”
• Alina dropped to the nearest pew, the journal trembling in her hands. She flipped through the pages, eyes devouring each line.
• “Victor has no idea. And I hate myself for it.”
• “Luciano touched my wrist today and I nearly forgot to breathe.”
• “What kind of woman falls in love with two men at once?”
• “What kind of coward doesn’t know which one she’s carrying the child for?”
• Alina’s breath came sharp.
• She turned the page.
• “I can’t keep the secret much longer. If Luciano’s father finds out… he’ll destroy all of us.”
• The ink blurred—either the page had been wet when it was written, or the weight of it had cracked the writer’s hand. Her mother’s voice lived in every syllable. Alina could almost hear her, as if she were whispering across time.
• She shut the journal gently, pressing it to her chest.
• Then she stood.
• And walked straight to Luciano.
• Luciano was in his study, half-lit by the amber glow of a single desk lamp. Papers lay scattered across the desk, and a half-drained glass of whiskey sat at his elbow. He looked up the moment Alina entered.
• She didn’t knock.
• She held the journal in both hands.
• He rose slowly, eyes narrowing—not in threat, but recognition. “Where did you find that?”
• “In the chapel,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake, but her fingers clutched the leather tighter. “You didn’t think I’d go in there?”
• His gaze fell to the journal, then back to her face. “I didn’t know there was anything left in the chapel.”
• She stepped forward, chin lifted. “It’s hers. My mother’s.”
• Luciano stilled.
• Alina opened the cover and read aloud, voice sharper now. “Victor has no idea. And I hate myself for it.”
• His mouth parted slightly, but he said nothing.
• “She loved you. And my father. At the same time.” Her voice cracked on the last word, brittle and raw. “She didn’t know which one of you I belonged to.”
• “I didn’t know,” he said softly. “I never saw that journal.”
• “You lived here. You loved her.” Her voice rose with grief and something close to betrayal. “And you’re telling me you didn’t know?”
• “I swear it, Alina,” he said, stepping around the desk, slowly, as if she might bolt. “I didn’t know she left anything behind. And if I had found it—if I’d known—it would’ve destroyed me.”
• Alina’s eyes shone with heat. “So you were never going to tell me?”
• “I didn’t know what to tell you,” he said, voice gravel-edged with emotion. “Your mother made her choice. She married Victor. And the pregnancy was Victor’s she did a DNA test after she left.”
• “Would it have changed anything?” she asked, chest heaving. “Would you have stopped her? Fought for her?”
• He didn’t answer.
• Instead, he moved toward her again, but didn’t reach for her. His restraint was a ghost between them, almost louder than his voice.
• Alina looked away, blinking fast. “I didn’t come here to cry in front of you.”
• “You can,” he said, so gently it almost shattered her.
• The silence stretched. Alina’s grip on the journal loosened, and finally—finally—her shoulders caved. A sob slipped out, quiet but unrestrained. And before she could stop herself, she let it come.
• Luciano didn’t move to hush her. Didn’t wipe her tears or promise her anything sweet or false.
• He simply opened his arms, and she stepped into them.
• Her forehead pressed against his chest. His hands settled lightly on her back. She could feel the tightness in his body—like holding her was something sacred and dangerous at once.
• “I don’t want to be like her,” she whispered.
• “You’re not,” he murmured into her hair.
• “But I’m already falling into something I can’t stop.”
• His jaw tensed, but his voice was steady. “Then fall on your own terms.”
• She let out a shaky breath.
• They stood like that until the tremors in her shoulders stopped. Until the silence between them was soft again, not sharp. When she pulled back, his hands stayed at his sides. He didn’t try to kiss her. Didn’t ask for anything.
• And that restraint—his silence, his stillness—said more than desire ever could.
• She looked at him for a long time, then finally asked, voice barely audible, “Would you have saved her if you could?”
• Luciano’s eyes flickered, haunted and sharp. “I tried.”