“Please don’t tease me.” She whipped around and jabbed a finger at each of her brothers in turn. “This is hard and painful, and I don’t need you guys making it more difficult.”
Dante . . . crumpled. His shoulders sagged and his eyes went so soft. He moved quickly and wrapped Chiara in an enormous, suffocating hug, his large body completely engulfing her.
“Chiara, sweetheart.” His voice gruff. “I know we tease, but we love you. Trust us with this.”
Tentatively, Chiara relaxed, finally hugging Dante back. He led her to the couch, sitting her down.
“Tell us,” he said. “Obviously Dad’s death wasn’t as straightforward as we thought.”
“Yeah.” Branwell joined them on the couch. “We knew you were in the villa at the time, but we all thought you were asleep or something when lightning hit the tower.”
Chiara shook her head, hiccupping. “N-no . . . I s-saw it.”
Absolute silence.
“I s-saw Babbo die.” She broke down after that.
The brothers instantly gathered around her on the couch, holding and sustaining each other.
Through sobs and hiccups, Chiara told the story of their father’s death from her perspective. Of the jagged lightning. Of her horror as Cesare stared straight at her . . . and still went ahead with his plan, calling lightning down from the sky.
All four D’Angelo siblings were on the couch, cuddled together at this point. Chiara’s crying had subsided, but each of the brothers wiped the occasional tear away.
“Damn, Chiara.” Dante ran a hand over the back of his neck.
Another long pause.
“Why did you never tell us, sis?” Tennyson whispered into the silence.
“You didn’t know?” she asked him.
“I knew you hurt, but I didn’t know why. Of course, our father had died, so I didn’t assume your emotions were more than that. Why not talk about it?”
She sniffed again, swiping at her cheeks. “I guess I felt like it was my fault. If I had been more—more lovable, more loved—Babbo wouldn’t have left us.”
“Oh, Chiara.”
“I failed us all,” she continued. “I couldn’t bear you being angry or upset at me for not stopping him.”
Tennyson pulled his sister closer to his chest. “Babbo had his own demons, Chiara. Never blame yourself for his actions. I know not one of us ever would.”
Her lip quivered and she buried her face in his chest.
Branwell leaned back and scrubbed both gloved hands over his face. “Wow. Did not expect us to land in this dark place today.”
Tennyson snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
“What? You saw this?”
Tennyson half-shrugged. “I sensed that something emotionally heavy was going to go down . . . so, yeah.”
“Why not warn us?” Dante asked.
“He never warns us,” Branwell grunted.
“Stop, you guys.” Chiara pushed Dante’s shoulder. “Tenn doesn’t have to tell us everything.”
“Says the woman who has been keepingmajorsecrets,” Dante said.
