The mausoleum stood like a marble sentinel at the edge of the Valeri estate. Quiet. Isolated. Guarded by statues and history.
Luciano had chosen this place years ago — "When I die," he'd once told Amethyst, "bury me somewhere the world can't touch. I don't want fanfare. I want silence. Just silence."
Now she stood before it, wrapped in black, with a baby in each arm.
It had been a week since the birth.
Seven days without him.
Seven nights of rocking Adrian and Serafina to sleep without his voice, without his breath beside hers.
Her body was still healing.
Her heart was not.
The guards held the doors open as she walked through — no one else had been invited. Not Matteo. Not the heads of the other families. Just her, and the children he never got to meet.
Inside, the crypt smelled of stone and roses. Fresh arrangements lined the walls — white lilies and black calla.
His casket was closed. She couldn't bear it otherwise.
The gold plaque read simply:
Luciano Valeri
Son. Husband. Father.
"For them, I would burn the world."
Amethyst stood there, holding the twins tightly. Both were asleep.
She sank slowly to her knees in front of the casket, her body aching.
"Hi," she whispered.
It echoed off the marble walls.
"This is Adrian." She looked down at the boy, swaddled in gray. "Your son. Loud, just like you. Bossy already."
"And this," she turned slightly, revealing the girl curled against her chest, "is Serafina. She's calm. She watches everything. I think she's the one who'll scare people."
Her voice trembled.
"They're perfect. You'd love them so much. And I hate that they'll never hear your voice. I hate that I have to explain who you were in stories instead of letting them see for themselves."
A tear dropped onto Serafina's blanket. The baby stirred but didn't wake.
"I thought I'd feel better bringing them here. That seeing your name on the stone would make this feel real."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the edge of the casket.
"But it doesn't feel real. It just feels wrong."
She wept quietly, rocking in place, the twins cocooned against her like a shield.
Then, softly, she began to hum.
It was a lullaby. One he used to whistle without realizing. A tune that belonged to no one else but them.
As the song filled the tomb, the babies stirred again.
Adrian opened his eyes — deep brown and burning.
Serafina gripped her mother's shirt with tiny fingers.
And Amethyst knew: this wasn't goodbye.
Not really.
Because Luciano was in them.
In Adrian's scowl.
In Serafina's quiet, calculating stare.
In every breath they took that he gave his life for.
"I'll raise them well," she whispered. "You don't have to worry."
She kissed her fingers and pressed them to the stone.
"Goodnight, my love."
Then she rose — strong, broken, beautiful — and walked out into the light.