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I knelt on one knee before her, bloodshot eyes brimming with scorching tears, voice hoarse and trembling. "I'm sorry, Ruby... I'm sorry."

My nails dug deep into my palms. Blood seeped along the creases.

"Four years ago I was blind. I let rage take over. I pushed you into hell. I didn't know how much you suffered. I didn't know you were pregnant..."

My throat worked violently. I reached out shaking hands, hovering in the air by her feet, not daring to touch even a thread of her hem.

"You're right. I'm an idiot. I don't deserve to be his father. I don't deserve your forgiveness. If you hate me, you can kill me right now. Take a knife, take a gun. I won't fight back."

"But I'm begging you..." My eyes overflowed with burning tears. My voice broke completely with choking sobs. But in the next moment I raised my eyes, and gray-green pupils churned with unconcealed brutality and obsession. "Don't run away with him, Ruby. Listen carefully—I'll use my life to protect you both. I'll kneel here and beg your forgiveness. But if you dare take my son and disappear, I will turn all of Europe upside down. I'll crush every place you hide, inch by inch. I swear, unless you're willing, no one can take Leon from you. I don't need you to forgive me. I just want one chance... even just a chance to watch him grow up from far away. Let me prove I can learn to be a good father."

I knelt there, knee pressed against the cold terrazzo floor under the shop's corridor, looking up at her.

She smiled.

That smile was cold and thin, like a layer of ice on the Seine in winter. I'd known her seven years—counting from that chaotic fraternity night, a full seven years—but I'd never seen her look at me this way. Not the shyness in Paris. Not the despair on that Hoboken rainy night. Not the dazzling confidence on the awards stage. None of those.

What was on her face now scared me more than hate.

It was a kind of calm that came after seeing completely through something.

"Marcelo Moretti," she said quietly, voice so hoarse emotion was nearly inaudible. "You know what I hate most about you?"

I shook my head. I could feel my throat working violently. The dull pain from kneeling on hard floor felt sharp as needles now. But every word she said next hurt worse.

"I hate that you're always like this." She slowly crouched down, meeting my eyes at level. Her amber eyes reflected my pathetic face. Her voice was so soft it sounded like talking to herself. "Four years ago you threw a check at me because you thought I was selling myself. Now you kneel here begging because you found out I wasn't. But did you ever, even for one second, actually stop and ask me—Ruby Caldwell, what do you want?"

I opened my mouth. I hadn't.

"You haven't." She answered for me. The curve of her lips grew colder. "You always solve problems your way. With guns. With money. With kneeling. You think that's sincerity. You think that's sacrifice. You think after doing all this I should be moved. But did you ever think that half of what you just said was still threats?"

Threats.

The word hit my gut like a fist. I replayed what I'd just said—"turn all of Europe upside down," "crush every hiding place inch by inch"—in my ears those were promises, determination to never let go. But repeated from her mouth, every word tasted like blood.

She was right. I was using my most familiar method to hold her hostage. Just in a different position this time.

Leon's laughter came from inside the booth. Isabella must be teasing him with strawberries again. That laughter came muffled through the glass door, distant and warm, like sound from another world.

Ruby took a deep breath. When she spoke again, the trembling had left her voice. Only the calm of someone backed against a wall with nothing left to lose remained.

"I won't make Leon disappear."

Something exploded in my chest. I looked up, my gaze crashing into her eyes, barely able to believe what I heard. Before wild joy could take shape, her next words poured over me like ice water.

"But don't think you can tie me down this way either. Staying—fine. But I have three conditions. You heard the first one. The other two, you listen very carefully now."

She held up her second finger, the motion crisp as marking measurements on a cutting table.

"Second—from today forward, you are not allowed to use any method, any connections, any resources to try infiltrating my life. My studio. My apartment. My bank account. My phone records. If you want to know how I'm doing, ask me directly. If I'm willing to answer, I'll answer. If I'm not willing, you shut up and wait."

I stared at her raised second finger. After discovering she'd returned to America, I'd definitely followed that trail and checked everything. Venice immigration records. Wild Rose registration documents. I'd even sent people to Venice to investigate her life these past years. I did it all quietly, even convinced myself it was just "ensuring her safety."

But she saw through it.

"Third—" A hairline crack finally appeared in her voice. Her eyes reddened beyond control. Her raised third finger trembled slightly. "And most important. You are not allowed to use Leon to blackmail me. Not allowed to use 'I want to watch my son grow up' to make me soften. You want to be his father—fine. But first I need to see you deserve it. If you dare use him as leverage to force me, Marcelo, I promise you'll never see him again for the rest of your life."

She paused, chest heaving violently, every word squeezed through her teeth.