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The prison was cold. The lights were dim. ____ could here the sound of her steps on the stone floor as she followed close to the guard - afraid.

Afraid of the people in the cells, the ones calling names after her -- all of them criminals.

Murderers.

Just like him.

He was in one of those cells, rotting away just like the rest of them

A murderer, just like the rest of them

___ felt sick just thinking about it.

Murderer.

How he; the man she loved - the man she married - could have done the things he had done... She could hardly even imagine it.

Hardly.

But that's the keyword. She could imagine him doing it.

He did it.

She knew he did.

And that's what hurt her. He knew that she knew. He knew that everybody knew. And he knew that if he were to survive... He needed to confess.

But he refused.

He even refused her.

And that's what hurt the most.

He loved her, did he not? He knew the consequences of his crimes... They'd kill him. But ___, she'd managed to struck a deal to save him.

Because she loved him.

And there's nothing she wouldn't do to save him. Except for murder.

She'd never take another person's life. Ever.

Which, in itself, is quite weird - seeing as she fell in love with a murderer.

The guard finally stopped. They were at some kind of conference room, a table with two chairs opposite of eachother.

A glass wall keeping each person on their own side.

He wasn't there yet. She was all alone for now. And so she sat down, waiting for him to arrive.

Her love.

It felt like years. Just sitting there in silence. The guard had left her, told her something about what she would do if something happened. Something about an alarm. Something about the phone and about how there were no recording devices in this room.

___ only listened with half an ear.

And just when she were about to give up and go home, thinking that he wasn't going to show up this time either... This last time.

There he was.

Her Love.

Standing at the door, just looking at her as his restraints were taken off and the door closed and locked behind him.

He massaged his wrists for a moment, still locking eye with her.

His eyes telling a story of guilt, apathy and suspicion.

He didn't trust her.

Of course he didn't. He knew why she was there. He knew it was to try and get him to confess, and he knew that he wasn't going to let that happen.

Because she loved him, apparently. But he wasn't so sure.

He would never confess.

That he was sure of.

She took the phone out of it's holder while motioning for him to sit down.

Reluctantly he walked up to the table, scanning her form.

She looked ill, dark bags under her eyes - indicating her lack of sleep. But most of all, she looked lonely.

Another wave of guilt showered over him. He hated seeing her like that.

So sad, and vulnerable.

He wanted her to be happy.

But he could never give her that.

Sighing - pulling himself together again - he sat down. Locking his magenta eyes with her (e/c) coloured ones befor slowly reaching out, picking up the phone.

Holding it in his hand for a second, not yet putting it to his ear - still holding her gaze - he took a deep breath.

"Ciao, ___."

___ felt her breath hitch as she heard his voice. How long ago was it that they spoke, again? The night of his arrest?

She started to feel sick again, but she couldn't show him that. She tried to fake a smile, but it only came out as a frown.

"What are you even thinking... Luci?" She spoke, layering each and every word with sorrow and accusation.

Luciano could hear his heart beating in his chest as she spoke. It seemed to beat with the rythm of her words - uneven and uncertain.

He didn't reply. He didn't know how to reply to that.

Because he didn't know what he was thinking.

He just knew that he would never confess - because he would never want her to know what he'd done.

But she did know.

He knew that.

But that didn't matter to him.

"Luci?" She spoke again, a certain amount of desperation on her voice as her half hour was quickly running out. "Please."

But he just sat there quiet. Looking deep into her eyes. Sadness washed over her face, mirroring the look on his.

She realized that there was nothing she could do.

And that just crushed her heart.

They sat there, for what felt like an eternity, looking into eachother's eyes. Into eachother's hearts.

And that was enough.

___ started to wonder how she ever came to love a man like him. A man who was capable of taking other's life in cold blood. A man who wasn't afraid of dying, just to keep his 'innocence'.

But he hadn't kept it.

It was painfully obvious he'd done it. But he didn't care.

If he were in any other situation, he'd confessed in a heartbeat. But he couldn't do that now.

He couldn't tell her he was a murderer.

He just couldn't do it.

Whatever force it was that kept him from doing it - love, he imagined - he didn't care.

He was more than happy to die for this cause.

To die for her. Because she deserved so much better than him.

She deserved someone who could actually be there for her.

Not someone she could only visit every now and then behind a wall of glass.

Through a phone call.

She deserved so much more.

And that's why he was so determined to keep silent.

If he was gone, she could move on.

She could be happy again.

Without him.

And if that's not worth dying for, then he didn't know what was.

He wanted to look at the time, desperate to know how long they had, but he didn't want to break her gaze.

He didn't want to waste a single second of their time together.

He had so much that he wanted to say, that he wanted to ask.

But the words just didn't seem to come out.

So they just sat there, phone at their ear - listening to eachother breathing.

And that was almost all they needed.

Proof that they were alive.

And to him, it was a painful but welcome reminder that even when his breath stopped... Hers would go on.

She would continue breathing for a long time.

Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock

Time seemed to go faster than usual. But on the same time it felt like thay'd been sitting there for an eternity.

Sensing that time was about to run out - he opened his mouth to speak.

Sitting like that for a few seconds, desperetaly trying to figure out what to say to her. ___ sat in suspence - watching, waiting.

Time seemed to run in slow motion.

All those words that wanted to escape him. All those things he wanted to say, to tell her seemed to disapear. He couldn't think of anything to say as he heard the guard slowly unlock the door again.

A look of pure terror made it's way onto ___'s face.

She wasn't ready yet.

Luciano leaned in closer to the glass, dropping the phone - pushing his face almost against the window as he spoke.

___ couldn't even make out the words he was saying - she couldn't hear them. She leaned in closer to the glass to, putting her hand to the glass.

He put his hand over hers, and she swore she could feel the warmth of his hand, and the heat of his breath as he spoke once again.

And this time she heard what he said.

This time his voice wasn't changed by static. This time his voice was his own.

The same voice that she'd heard so many times before all this. The same voice that used to tell her that he loved her.

The same voice that could put happiness into her heart by just talking.

"Listen, amore..." It said, and ___ almost started crying at his words. "... Mi dispiace."

And just as he'd said that, the guard came crashing in, forcefully dragged Luciano out of his seat and put the restraints back on. And then the guard started dragging him away from her.

Away to his execution.

Luciano struggled, desperetaly yelling something to her - but ___ couldn't hear it.

Springing up from her seat, nearly throwing herself at the glass - pushing herself against it in a last attempt to hear what he was trying to tell her a faint voice was suddenly heard.

A somehow gentle voice - altought layered with desperation and fear - that made her weak in the legs and she slowly slid down to the floor, tears flowing out of her eyes and with a bittersweet smile forming on her lips.

And as Luciano was dragged outside never to be seen by her again, leaving only a handprint on the glass as a last reminder of this: their final conversation - he smiled too.

Because the messenge had been receaved. Because she heard what he so desperetaly wanted her to know.

'Ti amo.'