Another drink. The pain in my ribs has nothing on the ache in my chest when I think about her behind that locked door, probably crying, definitely hating me.
I should go to her. Apologize. Explain.
But I don't know how to be vulnerable with her. Don't know how to admit weakness to someone whose strength terrifies me. Don't know how to say "I need you" without it sounding like another cage.
The knock interrupts my third glass of whiskey. I don't answer, hoping whoever it is will take the hint.
Another knock, more insistent.
"Lorenzo?" Vittoria's voice filters through the door. "I know you're in there."
"Go away, Vittoria."
She opens the door anyway, because of course she does. My baby sister never did listen when it mattered.
"Giulia said you told her not to bring you dinner." She steps inside, closing the door behind her. "She's worried."
"I'm fine."
"You're drinking whiskey after donating bone marrow. That's not fine, that's stupid."
I set the glass down harder than necessary. "Did you need something?"
"Maybe I wanted to check on my brother who just saved a kid's life." She moves closer, and I see the concern in her eyes. The same eyes our father had. "What's going on with you and Sophia?"
"Nothing."
"Right. That's why she locked herself in her room and you're sitting here trying to pickle your liver."
"Leave it alone, Vittoria."
She crosses her arms, and suddenly she looks less like my baby sister and more like the woman who keeps our entire digital empire running. "I'm not twelve anymore, Lorenzo. Stop treating me like I can't handle real conversations."
The words sting because she's right. I've spent so long protecting her from the worst parts of our world that I forget she's twenty-three now. She's seen death, betrayal, our father's secret life. She doesn't need my protection from words.
"I told Sophia the marriage is just for her protection." The admission tastes bitter. "She thought it meant something more."
Vittoria's eyebrows rise. "Doesn't it?"
"It can't."
"Why?"
Because I'm poison. Because everyone I touch either dies or wishes they had. Because I've done things that would make her look at me with the same disgust I see in the mirror.
"She's twenty," I say instead. "She's grieving. She doesn't know what she wants."
"Bullshit." Vittoria sits on the arm of my chair, something she used to do when she was little. "You're scared."
"I'm being practical."
"You're being an idiot." She sighs. "Lorenzo, I might not be an expert on relationships, but I know you. You keep diggingthese holes inside yourself, burying everything so deep that you end up alone."
"I'm not alone."
"Really? When's the last time you had a real conversation with anyone? You've pushed everyone away. Even Dante keeps his distance now, and he's been your best friend since you were kids."
She's right about that too. Dante still follows orders, still watches my back, but we don't talk like we used to.
