Not helpful, given the circumstances.
Focus.
At 9:47, my intercom buzzes.
“Mr. Rossi.” Bree’s voice is carefully neutral. “Your brother is here.”
I’m out of my chair before she finishes the sentence.
Dom is standing at reception, looking completely out of place among the sleek modern furniture and the nervous staff pretending not to stare.
He’s wearing an Armani suit, and he’s got that expression I remember from childhood. The one that says he’s about to do something annoyingly noble.
“You didn’t think I’d let you face this alone, did you?” He pulls me into a hug before I can protest.
I let him. Just for a second.
“Your statement was enough,” I tell him as we walk toward my office. “I can handle this.”
“Clearly.” His tone is dry. “That’s why you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“Three days, actually,” I counter.
Dom’s eyes flick to Bree as we pass her desk. She’s back to her laptop, pretending not to watch us. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression tells me he’s cataloging information.
Great.
I hit the panel to turn the smart glass opaque once we’re inside. I don’t need an audience for this conversation.
Dom settles into one of the chairs across from my desk. “You look like hell, little brother.”
I force a smile. “Thanks. Very helpful.”
“I mean it.” He leans forward, elbows on knees. “When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee?”
“Thessaly left food last night.” I don’t mention that Bree was the one who made me eat it. Don’t mention that she stayed at my place, that I watched her sleep for an hour before Dom’s call because I was terrified she’d disappear if I closed my eyes.
Dom studies me for a long moment. “That statement took guts. Dad would be proud.”
“Dad doesn’t even know about it,” I reply.
“He will soon.” Dom’s voice is careful. “Mom saw the news this morning. They’re on their way.”
What?
My parents never watch the news.
Of all the days...
Fuck.
The word must show on my face because Dom holds up a hand. “I tried to talk them out of it. Mom insisted.”
“Of course she did.” I drag a hand over my jaw, feel the raised tissue of my scars. “I never told them. About what I did to you. To Tatiana.”
He smiles patiently. “I know.”
“You could have,” I press. “You had every right to.”
