Whitney's greatest regret after leaving the island had been walking away without a proper goodbye. She had carried that weight every single day since, and when she heard news of his death, it had broken something open in her. Now, knowing he was alive, she was not going to let herself leave that kind of wound unhealed again.
Vito leaned forward, his head bowed, his hands tightening slowly around her waist. When he spoke, his voice was entirely his own no performance, no careful distance. Just quiet, steady concern. "Take care of yourself. Don't give me a reason to worry."
Whitney's fingers curled into his shirt, trembling. Her tears fell without restraint. "I will," she whispered.
