Four years later

Sunbeams slash across my eyelids, dragging me from a dream tangled with emerald eyes I desperately try to banish from my mind; those damned eyes and a husky voice that sends shivers down my spine.

And I am thankful for it. Fingers scrunched into balls, I swallow hard and stretch.

The warmth of the morning sun seeps through the window, painting golden stripes across the bed, and a sigh escapes my lips, a contented sigh.

How far I've come.

Ireland, my mother, my father's Kieran's suffocating hold, the whirlwind that was Liam – it's almost as it all happened another lifetime ago.

Italy is my home now. I am never going back to Dublin.

The morning light catches Enzo's soft brown curls, turning them into an angelic halo around his sleepy face. He shifts around our bed, blinking his sapphire pupils at me.

"Buongiorno, regina," his soft, kind voice greets me, each syllable dripping with tenderness. "How did you sleep, Chiara?"

Yes. Chiara. I swallow.

Here, in this sun-drenched apartment in the center of hustling and bustling Rome, I have to keep reminding myself I am no longer Alejandra Martinaj.

No more Alex, the hunted woman. Forced to do her mother's bidding, fleeing from her father, molded by Liam.

New life brought about my new identity. In Rome, I'm Chiara Bellini. The bright one. The luminous one. A fitting name meaning that resonates with my newfound lightness. A lightness I haven't known before.

"Buongiorno," I land a playful, tender kiss on Enzo's lips and allow myself to get lost in his sweet baby blues. "Um, I slept like a log." I giggle unceremoniously.

Even after two years I've spent with my handsome, perfect-in-every-way doctor, I can't help but compare Enzo to Liam—the two are always a glaring difference, a contrast tucked away in a corner of my mind.

But as the time passes I compare them less and less frequently. And I am sure that I will soon... stop altogether.

Enzo's tan skin, warm from sleep, stretches across his broad chest, a stark opposite to Liam's perpetual paleness. His build is lean but yielding, a more than a welcome change from Liam's imposing musculature. Here, in Enzo's arms, there's tenderness, a quiet understanding that Liam never offered. An allowance to... simply be myself at all times.

A smile full of warmth curls his lips. "So you feel well rested, and refreshed, yes?" His warm palms cup my breasts and I relish in the goosebumps his touch sends all over my body. The heat of the electrifying jolt penetrates all my pores.

Suddenly, a giggle pierces the stillness, the sound of Sofia echoing from downstairs. It's like a splash of cold water, pulling me back to reality. Enzo stirs beside me, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Looks like our little principessa is awake," Enzo murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

I force a smile back, a bit miffed we got interrupted. "Probably demanding breakfast before school already."

He leans in and nuzzles my neck, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "Don't you worry, amore. I'll handle the morning chaos. I start later today after all. You go get yourself ready."

Enzo stretches languidly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. He tilts his head with grace and a hot flush invades my cheeks as his gaze lingers on my breasts once more, for a second too long.

But before I can respond with a disappointed pout, he's already slipping out of bed. As I glance at my cell phone resting on the bed nightstand and then at my perky breasts, I decide I have just enough time for a bit of a morning fun before I join him downstairs.

I gently pinch my left nipple and, arching my back, bite my lip in pleasure sensing the wetness quickly pool between my thighs. It's always like that this early.

Shifting the bed cover to the side, I leisurely tug my panties down my legs, and slowly slide my impatient hand alongside my taut flat stomach, all the way to the small patch of dark hair above my pussy. My fleshy nub pulsates eagerly in anticipation and I can't hold back any longer.

Succumbing to the craving, I furiously rub my clit hoping to quickly trigger my body's release. My right hand is a blur on my mound and I bite into my left one to stop the scream of pleasure. My thighs clench around my speedy fingers, as I furiously pump them in and out of my body, sensing the beginning of the end. The pure ecstasy coursing through me is indescribable, as flashes of Enzo's blue and Liam's green eyes intertwine in my mind.

My breathing slows and I let my legs fall so that I am lying on my side, slightly panting.

Wow. That was just... otherworldly. I close my eyes for a moment to just relish in the sensation of the climax, allowing my fingers to remain inside me for a split second, still purposefully getting soaked in my own juices of the quickie postorgasmic bliss.

But then I stand up and stretch with a loud yawn. Pfft. Time to get a move on. After a good orgasm like that I always feel like I need a nap, but right now there's absolutely no time. There'll be no curling up under the covers and drifting off to sleep again. 

The ER department at Policlinico Umberto I and Sofia's scuola beckon.

***

As I dry my hair after a quick shower, the aroma of freshly brewed espresso drifts upwards, followed by the sound of playful giggles. I smile, the dream of Liam dissolving completely.

Sofia. My beautiful daughter, the reason I fought so hard for this new life.

The laughter grows louder, a melody of Enzo's deep chuckles and Sofia's infectious squeals. A warm feeling blossoms in my chest.

Could he be the one?

I met him at the Policlinico when Sofia was only two, but after two years I'm beginning to imagine a concept that was foreign to me before.

A family. Normal mornings. Things I once thought were fantasy. Or only possible with... Liam Cavanaugh.

The stairs groan under my hurried descent, and I fly into the kitchen, already unbuttoning my crisp white uniform top.

Relief floods me at the sight that greets me. Enzo, his hair a tousled mess, sits at the table with Sofia perched on his lap, both of them happily munching on toast.

"Good morning!" I chirp at them.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Enzo winks at me knowingly and I feel an instant blush invade my cheeks. He definitely knows I myself finished what he started.

Sofia's eyes light up. "Mama!" she exclaims, a spray of crumbs erupting from her mouth. My daughter launches herself towards me with the uncoordinated grace of a baby bird, and I scoop her up in a hug, burying my face in her soft black hair.

"Where is my precious little girl? Did you have a good breakfast with Enzo?" I ask, inhaling the sweet scent of cinnamon that always clings to her.

"Si!" Sofia replies, her voice muffled against my chest. "Mama, Enzo made funny marmalade faces on my toast!"

A chuckle escapes me as I glance at Enzo. He is so good with her. And he accepted her even if he is not her real dad — a feat that not many men would accomplish at this day and age.

As if he can tell what I'm thinking, Enzo winks at me reassuringly, a smear of orange marmalade adorning his cheek. I can't help but grin, the tension from my morning rush momentarily forgotten. He looks so carefree, so patient, so... normal.

Utterly different from the man who haunts my dreams, tangled in the web of the mafia.

Suddenly, a pang of guilt stabs me. Sofia looks up at me, her eyes – those startling emeralds I can't seem to escape – a mirror image of Liam's. The raven hair, the mischievous glint in her gaze, it's all a stark reminder of the part of my past I desperately want to forget.

"Can I have a piggyback ride to school, Mama?" Sofia asks, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

"Of course, Principessa," Enzo replies, as I force back the memories. I watch him crouch down, and she climbs onto his back, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. With a playful grunt, Enzo hoists her up.

I push my chair back and approach them, shoving a piece of toast into my mouth. "Careful there, amore," I tease.

"Don't worry. I'm a pro at this, regina mia." Enzo leans down, his lips brushing my ear.

"Just be careful not to scare the other parents and kids with your wild riding skills, Sophie." I scoff playfully.

Sofia shrieks with laughter, her grip tightening around Enzo's neck, and then she turns her clever little face towards me. "Are you going to work now, Mama?"

"I am, darling."

"Can I walk you to the door?"

"Of course, like every morning." 

As we walk hand in hand and stand on the doorstep, the sun glinting off my white uniform and Sofia's giggles echoing in the air, a fragile peace settles over me.

For now, at least, here in this stolen moment, I'm not Alexandra Martinaj. Not on the run.

I am just Chiara, a mother, and Sofia is safe in my arms.

"Be a good girl and study a lot today, will you, sweetheart?"

"I will." My daughter nods at me eagerly with an expression so like her father's that it causes a palpable ache in my chest.

She never asks about who her dad is, and I never say a thing either. I am not ready to talk about Liam with Sofia, so I'm postponing it for as long as I can. 

Enzo is here now and that will have to suffice for the time being, until she is a little bit older.

"Come to Momma, darling, and give me a hug." My heart thumps out of rhythm while I watch my child embrace me. "Will you miss me?"

"Yes. But I will see you at dinner." Sofia sticks a tongue at me, and wriggles out of my arms. She is so affectionate, when she wants to be. "And, Mama, can I ask you something?"

I stand and look at her, the warm surge of love I feel for my daughter never ever subsiding. "Of course. Whatever you want."

"Can I have a pony?" Sofia bats her eyelashes.

"A pony? Where did that come from? I didn't know you liked horses, Sophie."

"I do. I like all animals but... especially horses."

A thought of such a tiny being sitting atop a horse scares me out of my wits.

I promised myself when Sofia was born that I would give her all the choices of this world. I'd let her be whoever she turned out to be, I'd give her all the freedom a free spirit needs to have.

I didn't know it would be so hard, that I'd want to protect Sofia every single moment of every single day.

That all I wanted for my daughter was to be safe, healthy and happy.

"I will take you to see ponies but you can ride on one when you are a little older."

"Promise?" she pouts, as Enzo steps outside with us.

"I do." I smile at my incorrigible daughter. And I mean it. I will not break a promise with her as my mom did with me. She will have a pony if she wants one, and she'll learn to trot, and gallop and jump, and I'll make myself watch it.

"My offer for a piggyback ride to school still stands," says Enzo, bathed in the golden light, and he kneels on the cobblestones, his back to me.

Sofia, a hurricane of energy in her scuola uniform, clings to his back. Her laughter echoes in the air. Enzo, his light brown hair catching the sunlight, swings her playfully, his baby blue eyes crinkled in amusement.

With a sigh, I leave one beautiful sight to turn to another.

Rome.

Rome, the Eternal City, sprawled majestically across seven hills, a testament to its millennia-long reign. Unlike the other brash, bustling European metropolises Rome wears its history with a nonchalant grace.

As I rush down the cobbled streets, I can't shake away the feeling I am running through a vibrant tapestry of eras, in the city where several epochs meet: ancient temples brushing shoulders with baroque basilicas and Renaissance palazzos.

Time, here isn't a race, but a gentle meander, whispered by the rustling leaves of cypress trees and the murmur of fountains echoing from forgotten corners.

And Sofia and I cleverly hide in this pocket of time.

The air, a far cry from the cold, damp chill of Dublin, thrums with a sun-drenched vibrancy. The scent of jasmine mingles with the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from neighborhood bakeries.

Each piazza boasts a dazzling fountain, every palazzo houses priceless sculptures, and every church resonates with the work of artistic masters.

Fountains flow with cool, refreshing water, perfect for escaping the soon-to-be midday sun, while cafes spill out onto the cobblestones, inviting conversation and laughter over steaming cups of morning espresso.

As the symphony of sounds washes over me: the rhythmic clatter of Vespas weaving through traffic, the melodic calls of street vendors hawking fresh fruit...

I think how welcoming Rome is.

People bustle around me, their faces etched with a contagious, vibrant energy. I dodge tourists clutching guidebooks and businessmen barking into their phones, as a group of teens, laughing hysterically over some inside joke, zip past on their skateboards, leaving a trail of youthful chaos in their wake.

It's a mix of history and modernity, a city that hums with life, a stark contrast to the sterile silence of the hospital that awaits me.

But even the prospect of the ER, with its controlled chaos and relentless demands, can't dampen my spirits today.

This is the world that I, Chiara Bellini, a woman reborn, now embrace.

I will carve my own path to freedom – a phoenix rising from the ashes of my past under the fiery Roman sun.

And Liam Cavanaugh will never find us.