Days had passed since the attack. The safehouse had been moved, the danger contained—for now. For the first time in a long while, Santiago, Amara, and Israel could breathe again.
They sat in the softly lit doctor's office, the calm hum of the monitor filling the silence. Santiago held Amara's hand, while Israel sat on her lap, her curious eyes wide.
The doctor smiled. "Ready to see your baby?"
The screen flickered, and there it was—a tiny form, barely the size of a hand, but unmistakably alive. A heartbeat echoed through the room, strong and steady.
Israel's eyes lit up. "Mamma… il bambino è molto bello!"
Amara smiled through tears. Santiago leaned forward, captivated. "We're really doing this again," he whispered. "I'm going to be a dad… again."
He laughed, wiping his eyes. "After everything… this is the best news."
The doctor printed the sonogram, handing it to Santiago. He stared at it like it was a miracle.
"This baby," he said, holding the image, "means hope."
Amara leaned against him, her smile radiant. "And a new beginning."
Outside, the sun was setting over Florence. The danger hadn't vanished, but for a moment, all was right.
They were together.
And they were a family.