"Deal."
"And we talk. When we're angry, when we're scared, when we don't know what to do. We talk instead of just fighting or walking away or shutting down."
"That's harder for me. I'm not good at talking about feelings."
"I know. But you have to try."
"I will. I promise I'll try."
"Tell me about your mother," I say after a moment, the need to really know her welling up.
Her voice goes quiet, small. "She was everything to me. Kind, strong, beautiful. She used to read me stories every night. Made up silly songs while she cooked. Taught me how to be brave even when I was scared."
"And then the Kozlovs killed her." The horror story is not unknown in the mafia world.
"I watched it happen. Hid under the dining room table while they shot her. Heard her scream. Saw the blood spreading across the white carpet." She's shaking now against me. "I was eight years old, and I watched my mother die because of my father's business. Because of this life."
I hold her tighter, wishing I could take that memory away. "I'm sorry."
"It's why I'm so scared of this world. Of violence. Of being trapped in it with no way out." She looks up at me with eyes full of old pain. "My mother never had a choice. She married my father, got pulled into this life, and it killed her. I don't want that to be my story."
"It won't be. I promise you, it won't be."
"You can't promise that. You can't control everything, no matter how much you try."
"No. But I can try. Can do everything in my power to keep you safe. To give our child a better life than we had."
"And I can learn to be more careful. To think before I act. To not put myself in danger just to prove a point or feel normal."
We're both quiet, holding each other in the dark, sharing our pain and our fears.
"What do you want for our baby?" she asks finally. "What kind of life?"
I think about it seriously. "Safe. Loved. Better than what I had. Better than what you had. I want them to know they're valued for who they are, not what they can do for the organization."
"Me too. But how do we do that in this world?"
"I don't know. But we'll figure it out."
"Together?"
"Together."
She yawns, her body relaxing against mine, the tension finally draining away. "I'm exhausted."
"Sleep. I'll stay."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She drifts off in my arms, her breathing evening out into the rhythm of sleep. I lie there awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.
This is new territory for me. Staying the night with someone. Talking about feelings and the past. Making promises about the future that I actually intend to keep.
But with Aurora, it feels right. Feels like something I want to try, even though it terrifies me more than any gun ever has.
Tomorrow we'll probably fight again. We'll clash over something stupid, test these new boundaries we're trying to set. Push against each other because that's who we are.