Our eyes meet for half a second before she looks away. The baby sister who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms now can't stand the sight of me.
"Vittoria—"
Her door closes. The click echoes like a gunshot.
"She'll come around."
I spin. Bruno sits in his wheelchair at the end of the hall, watching me.
"Will she?" I move closer, noting how his fingers drum against the armrest. His only tell that the body might be broken but the mind remains sharp.
Bruno’s smile was a scar. It never touched his eyes. "Too many secrets, brother. Always your problem."
"I was protecting?—"
"Yourself." The word cuts. "You were protecting yourself from being the one who shattered their illusions. From being the bearer of bad news. From the mess that follows truth."
Heat floods my jaw where I clench it. "That's not it Bruno."
"Save it." Bruno wheels himself backward with practiced ease. "I don't judge you for it. Secrets are currency in our world. You just spent yours poorly."
He disappears around the corner, leaving me alone in the hallway of my father's house. My grandfather built these walls to protect family. Now they just trap us with our resentments.
"That was harsh, even for Bruno."
Nora stands behind me, arms crossed.
"He's not wrong." I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "I did keep the secret for myself as much as them."
"Maybe." She moves closer, her Boston accent threading through her words. "But that's not what I want to talk about. I wanted to tell you that Sophia's good for you." Direct, like a blade between ribs. "Don't fuck it up."
The words hit precisely where she intended. I straighten, defensive walls slamming up. "It's complicated."
"Falling in love always is in this world." She tilts her head, examining me like a specimen. "Though you're going to deny that's what this is."
"It's not love. It's?—"
"Lorenzo." Something shifts in her expression, softening the sharp edges. "I've been in your shoes and you know it. Pietro too. You don't have to act like it's not happening."
My phone rings, saving me from answering. Dr. Martinez's name flashes on the screen.
"Lorenzo Sartori."
"Mr. Sartori, I have your test results." His voice carries professional excitement. "You're a perfect match. Six out of six HLA markers align. We could schedule the donation as early as next week."
The doctor’s words didn't register at first.A perfect match.Then it hit me. I could save him..
"Mr. Sartori?"
"Schedule it." The words come out steady despite the earthquake in my chest. "As soon as possible."
"Excellent. We'll coordinate with?—"
I end the call. Nora watches me, reading the answer in my face.
"You're a match."
"Yes."
