CHAPTER 77: AMNESIA TWIST

The night had been perfect, too perfect, perhaps. The city skyline glittered beyond the ballroom windows, a reflection of everything they had survived. Their real wedding, their second chance, had finally brought a fragile kind of peace. Aria had danced until her feet ached, laughing against Luca’s chest as the music swirled around them. His hand never left her waist, his eyes never strayed from her face. It felt like a dream neither wanted to end.

But life in their world had a cruel habit of snatching happiness just when it felt safe to believe in it.

Hours later, the car hummed softly along the coastal road. The night air carried a salty chill through the half-open window. Aria rested her head on Luca’s shoulder, still in her gown, shoes abandoned somewhere in the back seat. He was humming under his breath, a rare thing, fingers tracing idle patterns on her hand.

"I still can’t believe it’s real," she murmured. "That we made it here."

Luca smiled faintly. "It’s real, amore. You’re mine. Finally and completely."

She tilted her head toward him, lips brushing his jaw. "And you’re mine, Luciano DeLuca. No contracts. No lies. Just us."

He chuckled low in his chest, his thumb brushing over her wedding ring. "Just us."

The headlights ahead curved around the coastal bend, a stretch of slick black road glistening with rain. And then, in a blink, the world shattered.

A truck roared out from the darkness, its blinding lights swallowing the night whole. Luca’s instincts kicked in, one arm wrapped around Aria, the other wrenching the wheel. Tires screamed. Glass exploded. Metal shrieked as the car spun, tumbling into chaos. Her scream was swallowed by the crash.

Then silence.

When Aria opened her eyes, everything was white. Too white. The sterile brightness of a hospital room, the faint beeping of machines, the ache that pulsed behind her temples like a heartbeat.

She tried to move, but her body protested. Her throat felt dry, her mind fogged. The door creaked open, and a man stepped in, tall, dark suit, eyes storm-gray. Familiar. And yet

"Aria." His voice was soft but roughened with exhaustion. "Thank God you’re awake."

She blinked, confusion twisting through her chest. "Who... who are you?"

Luca froze. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The air between them went razor-thin. "It’s me. Luca."

She frowned, shaking her head slightly. "Luca?" She tried the name on her tongue, but it meant nothing. "I don’t... I don’t know you."

He stepped closer, the tension in his shoulders visible even beneath the expensive suit. "It’s alright. You hit your head in the crash. The doctors said memory loss is... temporary." His voice faltered on the last word, but he forced calm into it. "You’re safe. That’s all that matters."

Aria stared at him. The face before her handsome, carved in grief and guilt, was a stranger. Yet, there was something. A flicker. The way his voice softened when he said her name, the way his gaze lingered like it carried lifetimes. Her heart twisted without reason.

"How bad was it?" she whispered.

He swallowed hard. "You were unconscious for three days."

"Three..." Her voice broke. "And you stayed?"

"I wasn’t leaving," he said simply.

Silence fell again. Luca sat beside her, hands clasped so tightly they trembled. He had faced death a hundred times, but this unraveling of her mind, this distance in her eyes was the one thing he couldn’t fight with guns or power.

She looked down at the ring on her finger. "This ring... it’s beautiful."

He exhaled shakily. "It’s yours. You chose it."

"Did I?" she murmured, twisting it slowly. "Were we?"

"Married," he finished. "You’re my wife."

Her breath caught. "Your wife." The words felt heavy. Unreal. "Then why don’t I remember you?"

His throat tightened. "Because fate’s cruel."

Days passed in slow, aching fragments. Luca refused to leave her side, even when the doctors suggested giving her space. Aria’s memory flickered in fragments, flashes of laughter, warmth, a hint of passion she couldn’t place. But faces blurred, names faded.

He tried not to push. He told her stories instead. About how they met, about her fiery sarcasm and his stubborn pride. About the wedding that had almost ended in a gunfight, and how she’d made him laugh for the first time in years.

Sometimes, she smiled faintly. Sometimes, she cried. But she didn’t remember.

One evening, she turned to him, her voice barely a whisper. "You talk about me like I’m someone else."

Luca’s heart cracked. "You’re still her. The woman I fell in love with."

She shook her head, eyes glistening. "You fell in love with her. Not me. I’m not her anymore."

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back. "Don’t say that. You’re my wife. My.." He stopped himself, fists clenching. "You’re still mine."

She looked away, pain flickering across her face. "Maybe I don’t want to be."

The words hit him like a blade. He turned and walked out before she could see the storm behind his eyes.

Rain fell again that night, it always seemed to, in their story. Luca stood outside the hospital, suit soaked, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. Enzo found him there, silent and motionless.

"She’ll remember," Enzo said quietly.

Luca didn’t respond.

"You can’t lose hope now."

Luca’s jaw tightened. "Hope doesn’t bring memories back."

"Then fight for her," Enzo said simply. "Like you always have."

He looked at the cigarette, then crushed it under his heel. "I don’t know how to fight this."

"Start by reminding her why she loved you," Enzo said. "Because God knows the rest of us can’t figure out why she ever did."

Luca almost smiled at that almost.

The next morning, he brought her home.

The mansion looked different through her eyes, vast, cold, intimidating. She trailed her fingers over the polished banister, the framed paintings, the gleaming chandelier.

"Did I really live here?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "You made it a home."

She turned to him, brow furrowed. "Then why does it feel like a cage?"

Luca didn’t answer. He led her upstairs instead to their room.

The moment she stepped inside, her breath hitched. The faint scent of jasmine, the silk sheets, the piano by the window. Her gaze landed on a photograph on the nightstand her and Luca, forehead to forehead, laughing.

"I look happy," she whispered.

"You were," he said quietly. "You still can be."

She traced the glass of the frame, her fingers trembling. "Tell me what you loved about her."

He hesitated, then stepped closer. "I loved that she challenged me. That she never bowed to anyone, not even me. I loved that she saw through my walls when no one else dared to try. And I loved..." His voice cracked. "I loved that she made me believe I could be better."

Her eyes glistened. "And what did she love about you?"

He smiled faintly. "She said I made her feel safe. Even when she wanted to hate me."

Something in her chest shifted, a pang, a flicker of warmth she couldn’t explain. She looked up at him, their eyes locking. For a heartbeat, the world felt familiar again.

Then, without thinking, she whispered, "Luca."

He froze. "Say it again."

"Luca," she breathed, softer this time. "I remember... your name."

He exhaled sharply, emotion flooding his face. He reached for her hand, his voice shaking. "That’s enough. We’ll start there."

She let him pull her close, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heart, steady, strong, stirred something deep within her.

Maybe she didn’t remember their story yet. But her heart did.

And as the rain fell against the windows, Aria closed her eyes, a whisper escaping her lips, a promise to herself, to the man who refused to give up on her.

If love had found her once in the dark, maybe it could find her again.

Weeks blurred into a tentative routine. Luca filled the days with small gestures, cooking her favorite meals from recipes he claimed she had taught him, playing soft melodies on the piano that echoed through the halls. He showed her hidden corners of the mansion, the garden where she had planted roses that bloomed defiantly even in winter, the library stacked with books she supposedly devoured. Each revelation sparked a tiny spark, a vague sense of déjà vu that made her pause and wonder.

One afternoon, while sorting through a drawer in the study, Aria found a leather-bound journal. Its pages were filled with her handwriting, entries detailing stolen moments with Luca, arguments that ended in passionate reconciliations, dreams of a future free from shadows. She read aloud a passage about their first kiss under a stormy sky, and Luca watched from the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"That was the night everything changed," he said softly. "You kissed me first."

She closed the journal, her cheeks warming. "It feels like reading about strangers. But... it doesn’t feel wrong."

Encouraged, Luca took her to the coast, to the exact spot where they had scattered ashes of old grudges years ago. The waves crashed relentlessly, mirroring the turmoil inside her. He didn’t speak much, just held her hand as they walked the shore. Suddenly, a memory surfaced unbidden: the taste of salt on his lips, the way he had whispered promises against the wind.

"I think... I remember this place," she said, stopping abruptly. "We came here after something bad happened. You were hurt."

His eyes widened. "Yes. A betrayal. You saved me."

Tears welled as fragments knit together. That night, in their room, she reached for him tentatively, her fingers tracing the scar on his shoulder she now recalled bandaging. "I’m starting to see you," she murmured.

Luca pulled her into his arms, relief and love mingling in his embrace. "Take your time, amore. I’m not going anywhere."

Bit by bit, the amnesia retreated. Not in a flood, but in gentle waves. She remembered their vows, the way he had looked at her like she was his salvation. She remembered choosing him, flaws and all.

One morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains as Aria woke to find Luca watching her, a soft smile on his face. "Good morning, wife."

She grinned, the word finally fitting. "Good morning, husband. I remember everything."

He kissed her then, deeply, as if sealing the past and future in one breath. Their love, tested by loss and reborn in patience, was stronger now, unbreakable.

In the quiet aftermath, Aria knew fate had been cruel, but it had also given them a second chance to fall in love all over again. And this time, she would hold on tighter.