Chapter 42 Salvatore

Roc paced my study like the floor was burning under his feet. I’d never seen him like this, not even in the worst moments of our work. Fear didn’t suit him. It twisted him up, made him small in a way that didn’t match the man I knew. Sara sat beside me on the couch, watching him with the same worry I felt.

“They’re almost here,” I said gently.

Roc stopped pacing, hands shaking. “I shouldn’t have called them. I shouldn’t... I’m not ready. They’re going to hate me. They’re going to...”

“Roc,” I cut in, firm but calm. “Your parents love you. Nothing you say tonight changes that.” He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the door as footsteps approached. A knock. He froze.

I opened the door, and Bruce and Katrina Hale stepped inside. Bruce, tall, broad, stoic as ever. Katrina, sharp‑eyed, elegant, her Russian accent softening only when she spoke to her children. They both looked at Roc with immediate concern.

“What happened?” Bruce asked.

Roc’s throat bobbed. “Can we… sit?”

We all settled, Roc on the edge of the chair like he might bolt, his parents across from him, Sara and I flanking him like anchors.

He took a breath. Then another. Then... “I’m seeing someone,” he blurted out.

Katrina’s brows lifted, but she didn’t speak.

“I wanted you to hear it from me,” Roc continued, voice cracking. “Before anyone else. Before anything gets twisted.”

Katrina leaned forward slightly. “What is his name?”

Roc froze. His? She said his.

He stared at her, stunned. “Mom… I didn’t say...”

“You didn’t have to,” she said softly.

Bruce nodded once. “We’ve always known, son.”

Roc’s breath hitched. “You… what?”

Katrina reached out, taking his trembling hand. “You are our boy. We know your heart. We were only waiting for you to tell us when you were ready.”

Roc’s eyes filled instantly, tears he tried to blink away but couldn’t.

Bruce’s voice was steady, unshakable. “You are our son. Nothing changes that. Nothing.”

Roc broke. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, shuddering exhale as the weight he’d been carrying for years finally cracked open. Katrina pulled him into her arms. Bruce rested a hand on his back. And for the first time since he’d walked into my house shaking, Roc let himself be held. Sara wiped her eyes beside me. I felt something in my chest loosen too, relief, pride, something like gratitude that he finally had what he deserved.

When Roc finally pulled back, eyes red but lighter, he whispered, “His name is Marco.”

Katrina smiled. “Then we would like to meet him. How about we have dinner Saturday night?”

Roc laughed, a small, disbelieving sound and, I knew he was going to be okay. Maybe for the first time in his life.

Bruce and Katrina were still holding Roc when Sara and I stepped back to give them space. I’d seen a lot in my life, fear, loyalty, betrayal, but nothing hit me the way Roc’s relief did. It softened something in me I didn’t even realize had hardened.

When they finally pulled apart, Katrina wiped Roc’s cheeks with her thumbs, then turned her attention to Sara and me.

“And you must be Sara,” she said, her accent warm but sharp enough to cut glass. “We have heard… too much about our daughter’s behavior. We apologize again.”

Sara shook her head quickly. “You don’t have to...”

“No,” Bruce said, voice deep and steady. “We do. Letta crossed lines. We raised her better than that.”

I nodded once. “It’s handled.”

Katrina’s gaze shifted to me fully then, assessing, curious. “And you, Salvatore… your mother must be excited. Another daughter. A grandson.”

The room went quiet. Sara’s head snapped toward me. “You… didn’t tell them?”

Roc looked confused. His parents looked surprised. Sara looked… hurt. I lifted my hands slightly. “It’s not what you think.”

She crossed her arms. “Then what is it?”

I took a breath. “With everything going on, Juan, the threats, the chaos, I haven’t had the right moment. And I don’t want to tell my family something this important over the phone.”

Sara’s expression softened, but she still searched my face. “So when were you planning to tell them?”

I met her eyes. “Easter.”

She blinked. “Easter?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “We’ll go to Italy. All of us. You, Gabe, Abuela if she wants to come. I want my family to meet you in person. I want them to meet my son in person.” Sara’s breath caught, just a little. Roc’s parents exchanged a look, not judgment, but understanding.

Katrina smiled first. “Family news should be shared face‑to‑face. This is good.”

Bruce nodded. “Your mother will be happy.”

Sara stepped closer to me, her voice quieter. “You really want us to go with you?”

“I do,” I said. “I want them to know you. I want them to know Gabe. And I want them to know the truth, all of it, from me.”

Her shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away. Roc let out a shaky laugh. “So we’re all having big family moments this week, huh?”

“Seems like it,” I said. And for the first time in a long time, the room felt… safe. Like a family forming itself piece by piece, even in the middle of chaos.