"You don't know that."
"I know my father. He had contingencies for contingencies. Sofia's silence didn't kill anyone. Viktor did."
Alessandro speaks quietly, almost to himself. "Oh, Sofia."
"Alex," Luca starts, but Alex cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
Nico moves to Sofia, takes her hand. She's crying silently, tears streaming down her face.
"You heard him," Nico says gently. "It wasn't your fault."
"I still kept the promise. I still…"
"You were a child. He was a monster. That's the truth."
Marco stands, walks toward me with that restrained violence that makes him so dangerous. We're eye to eye now, Don to pakhan, two men who inherited bloody crowns neither of us wanted.
"I don't forgive you," he says clearly. "For what you did to my sister. For what your family has cost mine."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness."
"Then what ARE you asking for?"
I look past him to Sofia, still holding Nico's hand but watching us. Mine. Even standing there surrounded by her brothers' hatred, even after I tore her apart and rebuilt her, even after she ran, she’s still mine. The truth just confirms what my body's known all along.
"I'm asking you to stop blaming Sofia for something that was never her fault. And I'm asking for her. To let her choose. Without guilt."
Marco turns to study his sister. Really looks at her for what seems like the first time since she confessed. Something shifts in his expression. Not quite softness, but recognition maybe. Of the burden she's been carrying. Of the truth I've just revealed.
"Is this what you want?" he asks her directly. "Him?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Even after everything?"
"Because of everything."
The words hit me hard. After what I did to her, the basement, the degradation, the games, she still chooses me. Not because she has to. Not because she has nowhere else to go. But because of everything we've been through.
Marco exhales, something in his shoulders releasing. "You're still my sister. That doesn't change."
"Marco…"
"I need time. We all do. But you're still family."
It's not forgiveness for me. Not acceptance of what I did. But it's acceptance of her choice, and that's more than I dared hope for.
Sofia doesn't move immediately. She stands in the center of the room, tears still wet on her face, looking at each of her brothers in turn. I watch her catalog them—this woman who was trained to notice everything, now memorizing the people she's about to leave.
Nico still has her hand. He squeezes it once, then lifts it to his lips and kisses her knuckles. A gesture so tender it feels like intrusion to witness. He says something low, just for her, and whatever it is makes her breath catch. Then he releases her, steps back, and the loss of contact is visible in the way her fingers curl around empty air.
Dante is next. He doesn't approach her—just raises his hands and signs something. I don't know the words, but I see Sofia's face crumple and rebuild itself in the space of a breath. She signs back, a short phrase, and Dante nods once. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are soft. He touches two fingers to his chest, then extends them toward her. Even I can read that one: love.
Alessandro won't look at her. He's staring at the floor, arms crossed, radiating the particular misery of someone who wants to be angry but can't quite manage it. Sofia crosses to him anyway, stops a foot away.
"Alex."
He shakes his head. Still won't look up.
