The End
Aaliyah
The mornings in Milan were softer now. Gone were the days when Aaliyah would wake with her heart in her throat, her mind tangled in paranoia, her body wired with the instinct to run. The tension had loosened its grip on her, not completely—maybe never completely—but enough. Enough that she could wake up to the sound of the city stirring outside their villa, to the golden sunlight filtering through lace-curtained windows, and not feel like she was suffocating.
The villa was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic from the street below. She rolled over, stretching lazily against the sheets, the warmth beside her already faded but lingering just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone. Cruz had been up for hours—Aaliyah knew that without needing to check. Some things never changed.
She sat up slowly, brushing her hair away from her face as she let herself settle into the moment. It was almost strange, this stillness. For so long, her life had been dictated by movement, by urgency. Now, here she was, in a home that was truly hers, where the air didn’t feel borrowed, where she didn’t have to look over her shoulder every time she stepped outside. A year ago, she would have never believed it possible.
She slid out of bed, padding barefoot across the cool wooden floor. The villa had become their sanctuary, a space they had carved out of the chaos—a blend of old and new, of past and present. The walls held remnants of who they had been before, but more importantly, they held glimpses of who they were becoming.
Aaliyah passed the fireplace mantel, where a few small framed photos now sat—something she never would have dared keep before. One of them was from a day at Lake Como, Cruz scowling at the camera because Aaliyah had been relentless in getting her to pose. Another was of them at a small café near the Duomo, Aaliyah laughing, Cruz looking at her with an expression so unguarded it made her breath catch every time she saw it.
It still caught her off guard sometimes, how much Cruz had settled. Maybe not completely—Cruz would always be Cruz, checking the locks, mapping exits before they even sat down at a restaurant. But the way she had begun to relax, to let herself exist in this life they’d built, was something Aaliyah cherished.
She wandered into the kitchen, reaching for the coffee Cruz had undoubtedly brewed before heading out. The scent was rich, filling the space with a comforting warmth. Aaliyah let out a slow breath, savoring the normalcy of it all. This was her life now.
It wasn’t perfect. There were still nights when sleep evaded her, when the past clawed its way into her mind, whispering her father’s voice in her ear, reminding her of everything she had done. Of everything she had lost.
She still felt the weight of guilt some days, a sharp and sudden ache that gripped her chest when she least expected it. She still had moments where she looked in the mirror and wondered if she had become the kind of person she had spent her whole life fearing she would be. But she wasn’t drowning anymore.
She had learned to live with it. To accept the echoes of the past without letting them consume her. And when the grief gripped too tightly, when the shadows of memory felt too suffocating, Cruz was always there.
Cruz, with her steady hands and quiet reassurances. Cruz, who never tried to tell Aaliyah not to feel what she felt, who never tried to erase the weight of it but instead held her through it.
Aaliyah sipped her coffee, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the counter, letting herself be present in this moment, in this home they had made together.
This wasn’t the life she had been born into, but it was the one she had chosen.
--
The morning air was crisp, the scent of orange blossoms drifting lazily through the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the old olive tree in the corner, dappling patterns across the weathered stone floor. The air was still, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hum of a Vespa somewhere beyond the villa walls.
Aaliyah sat at the small iron table, a steaming cup of espresso cradled between her palms. Across from her, Cruz was flipping through the pages of a newspaper, her brow furrowed in thought. Aaliyah doubted she was truly reading it. Cruz was always watching, always listening, even in the quietest moments.
For once, there was nothing to run from. No whispers of danger on the wind. No plans to be made, no coded messages to send. Just this—just them.
Aaliyah had spent years craving freedom, aching for a moment where she could just be. And now that she had it, she realized something else. Freedom wasn’t just the absence of chains. It was having someone to share it with.
She glanced at Cruz, at the way the golden light softened the sharp lines of her face, the way she absentmindedly tapped her fingers against her coffee cup as she read. There was something about her in the morning—her quiet intensity, the ease in which she existed in Aaliyah’s space, the way she made this villa feel like a home instead of just another hiding place.
Aaliyah’s heart swelled with something she hadn’t expected—something deeper than affection, more certain than desire. Love. Devotion. Forever. The realization hit her so suddenly that it stole the breath from her lungs.
She knew. She didn’t need to plan it, didn’t need to wait for some grand, orchestrated moment. It was simple. Easy.
She set her cup down, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain, and without preamble, she spoke.
“Marry me.”
Cruz stilled. The words landed between them, soft but unwavering, cutting through the stillness of the morning. Cruz blinked, her dark eyes locking onto Aaliyah’s. For once, the unshakable, unreadable Cruz Manuelos looked completely, utterly stunned.
Aaliyah almost laughed at the rare sight. Instead, she reached across the table, her fingers wrapping gently around Cruz’s wrist, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse beneath her fingertips. “I want this,” she said, her voice steady. “I want you. For the rest of my life.”
For a beat, Cruz didn’t speak.
Then, something shifted in her. The tension she carried like second nature melted away, leaving something raw, something real in its place. She exhaled softly, almost a laugh, shaking her head with something like disbelief. “You stole my thunder.”
Aaliyah raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Cruz pushed back her chair, standing in one fluid motion. Without another word, she disappeared into the villa. Aaliyah watched her go, blinking in confusion, before she heard the sound of drawers opening, the shuffle of movement inside their bedroom.
When Cruz returned, there was something in her hand. A small, unassuming ring box. Aaliyah’s breath hitched.
Cruz flipped it open, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, beautiful. A delicate band, understated but refined, catching the soft glow of the morning sun.
Aaliyah stared. “You had that—?”
Cruz’s lips quirked. “For a while.”
Something warm and unsteady bloomed in Aaliyah’s chest. “You were ready?”
Cruz stepped closer, reaching for Aaliyah’s hand. “Of course I was,” she murmured, sliding the ring onto her finger with careful precision, as if the weight of this moment deserved nothing less. “I would have asked you first.” Her thumb brushed over Aaliyah’s knuckles, her voice quieter now, steadier. “But this works too.”
Aaliyah swallowed against the knot forming in her throat. There was no hesitation in Cruz’s gaze. No second-guessing. No fear. Cruz had been ready. She had always been ready.
Aaliyah’s heart swelled, the reality of it sinking in like a slow tide. She tightened her fingers around Cruz’s, pulling her closer, until their foreheads nearly touched. “I love you,” she whispered, the words slipping out effortlessly, as natural as breathing.
Cruz’s breath caught, just for a second, before she murmured back, “I love you too.”
Then Aaliyah kissed her, slow and certain, and it wasn’t about urgency or passion. It was about forever.
Cruz
Cruz never thought she would have this. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A partner who knew every sharp edge, every scar, every ugly piece of her—and never pulled away. A love that had survived fire, betrayal, and war, coming out stronger, steadier.
Milan had become their refuge, something she never expected when they first arrived. It wasn’t just another temporary stop on the run. It had settled into something real, something lasting. The villa they shared wasn’t chosen for its vantage points or emergency exits—though Cruz had made sure those were still optimal—but because Aaliyah had loved the way the morning light spilled through the tall windows. Because there was a small balcony where they could sit together at night, a view of the city stretching out beneath them, their world no longer confined to hiding in the shadows.
Cruz had softened in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Not in the way that made her weak, but in the way that made her realize there was more to life than just survival.
She still trained every morning before Aaliyah woke, still kept her weapons in perfect condition, still ensured every security measure in place was airtight. Old habits never truly died. But now, she wasn’t living just to stay ahead of the next threat. She was living for Aaliyah.
The kitchen smelled like fresh espresso as Cruz leaned against the counter, watching Aaliyah from across the room. She was flipping through a book, barefoot, her hair loosely tied up, strands slipping free around her face. There were days Aaliyah still carried ghosts in her eyes, days when the weight of her past pressed heavy against her. But she fought through it. She never let it consume her.
Cruz had seen what grief could do to a person—how it could eat them from the inside out, how it could hollow them into something unrecognizable. Aaliyah had every reason to let it break her. Instead, she met it head-on, day after day, refusing to let it dictate the rest of her life. And Cruz was there for every single one of those days.
She crossed the room, pressing a kiss to the side of Aaliyah’s temple as she passed. Aaliyah hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t lift her eyes from the page, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Cruz didn’t say anything—she didn’t need to. These were the moments she cherished most, the ones she never thought she would get to have. A home, a partner, a quiet sense of belonging. A reason to stay.
--
The morning was quiet, a golden haze settling over the city as the sun stretched across Milan’s rooftops. The terrace of the villa was bathed in soft light, the air crisp but not cold, filled with the scent of blooming citrus from the courtyard below. It was the kind of morning Cruz had learned to savor—peaceful, undisturbed, no shadows lurking just beyond the horizon. A rare moment where she could let her guard down, even if only a fraction.
She sat at the small table, a newspaper in her hands, skimming the headlines without really reading them. Old habits. She had spent years absorbing intel like it was second nature, but these days, the world’s chaos felt like a distant storm, no longer hers to fight.
Across from her, Aaliyah sat with her legs tucked up beneath her, a delicate white cup of espresso cradled between her fingers. She looked effortlessly beautiful, wrapped in one of Cruz’s shirts, the fabric too large on her frame, the collar slipping slightly off her shoulder. Her hair was still slightly mussed from sleep, her lips curled around the rim of her cup as she took a slow sip, her green eyes watching Cruz over the edge.
Cruz glanced up from the paper, catching the way the sunlight hit Aaliyah’s skin, turning the warm tones of her complexion into something almost golden. Aaliyah smiled—small, knowing, like she had caught Cruz staring but didn’t mind.
This was the life they had fought for. This was the life Cruz had planned to solidify.
The ring had been hidden for months now, tucked away in the depths of her gear, kept safe alongside the things she couldn’t afford to lose. She had planned for something grand, something worthy of Aaliyah—a romantic trip to the Amalfi Coast, maybe, or a candlelit evening with the city lights reflecting off the water.
She had imagined Aaliyah’s expression, the way her eyes would widen in surprise before softening into something radiant. She had pictured the weight of the moment, how it would feel to finally say the words out loud, to promise her life to someone who had already taken every unguarded piece of her.
Cruz had been waiting for the right time.
And then Aaliyah beat her to it. “Marry me.”
Cruz blinked, the words slamming into her with the force of a gunshot.
She lowered the newspaper slowly, tilting her head as she studied Aaliyah, waiting for some kind of smirk, some playful follow-up—but there was none. Aaliyah just watched her, calm, steady, like she wasn’t even slightly uncertain. Like she had made up her mind a long time ago.
Cruz felt her breath hitch, a tightness settling in her chest.
Aaliyah took another sip of espresso, her expression impossibly serene, before setting the cup down with a quiet clink. “I want this,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. “I want you. For the rest of my life.”
Cruz’s heart was pounding. Not from fear. Not from hesitation. Just from the sheer certainty of it.
Aaliyah wanted her. Wanted this. No running, no uncertainty, no waiting for the world to be safe enough.
Cruz let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “You just stole my thunder.” She huffed a quiet laugh.
Cruz let her eyes trace over Aaliyah’s face, taking in every detail—the way her lips curved in quiet amusement, the way the wind teased the ends of her hair, the way she looked at Cruz like she already knew the answer.
Of course she did. Because there had never been any question.
Without a word, Cruz pushed back her chair and stood, disappearing into the villa. She could feel Aaliyah’s gaze following her, confusion flickering over her features, but Cruz didn’t stop. She moved through their home with sharp precision, her steps instinctual, leading her straight to the closet in their bedroom.
She crouched down, fingers slipping into the depths of her gear bag, past extra ammunition and a knife she no longer needed to keep on her person, until they brushed against something small, something precious.
She pulled out the velvet box and exhaled, her grip tightening around it for a brief second.
It was simple, nothing extravagant—just a band of gold set with a single diamond, understated but elegant. Cruz had chosen it carefully, wanting something that suited Aaliyah’s taste. She had memorized the way Aaliyah admired jewelry that was timeless rather than ostentatious, something meant to be worn rather than displayed.
She straightened and made her way back to the terrace, finding Aaliyah exactly as she left her, only now with a slight furrow of curiosity in her brow.
Cruz didn’t say anything at first. She just stepped forward, gently taking Aaliyah’s left hand, her thumb tracing over her knuckles before she slid the ring onto her finger.
Aaliyah laughed, soft and breathless, tilting her hand to admire the way the ring caught the light. “You were planning this?”
“Of course I was.” Cruz smirked, shaking her head. “I was gonna take you somewhere ridiculous. Make it all… perfect.”
Aaliyah laced their fingers together, squeezing gently. “This is perfect.”
And, God, it was. Cruz felt something deep inside her settle, like a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying had been lifted.
Aaliyah was hers. And she was Aaliyah’s.
--
Milan stretched out before them, golden streetlights reflecting off the old stone buildings, casting long shadows against the pavement. The night air was warm, a gentle breeze rolling over the terrace, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine from the courtyard below.
Cruz sat with her back against the cushioned bench, her arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers idly tracing patterns against Aaliyah’s shoulder. Aaliyah leaned into her side, curled beneath the soft glow of the overhead lanterns, one leg tucked beneath her as she gazed out over the skyline.
It still felt surreal sometimes—the peace, the quiet. The knowledge that no one was hunting them anymore. No more looking over their shoulders, no more coded messages or safehouses or midnight escapes. Just this. A rooftop, a warm night, and Aaliyah pressed close to her side, wearing the ring Cruz had slipped onto her finger just a few nights ago.
Cruz glanced down, watching the way the diamond caught the soft light, reflecting it back in shards of gold and silver. It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t some oversized declaration of wealth. Just elegant, timeless, and sturdy—like the woman who wore it. She ran her thumb over Aaliyah’s knuckles, grounding herself in the weight of the moment.
“You keep staring at it,” Aaliyah murmured, amusement threading through her voice.
Cruz smirked, tilting her head to press a slow, lingering kiss to Aaliyah’s temple. “Just making sure it’s real.”
Aaliyah laughed softly, her fingers lacing through Cruz’s. “It’s real.”
There was a certainty in her voice that made Cruz’s chest tighten. They had spent so much time running, so much time fighting against forces bigger than themselves. It was still a foreign feeling, to be here, to be still, to not have to plan for an escape. Even now, some deep, embedded part of Cruz remained on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But then Aaliyah turned her head, met her gaze in the dim light, and smiled—soft and unguarded. And Cruz thought, this is real. That this was home.
Not the city. Not the villa. Aaliyah.
Cruz exhaled, running a hand over her face before shifting, pressing their foreheads together. “We really did it, huh?”
Aaliyah’s fingers tightened around hers. “We made it.”