“That’s right, Cesar,” I snapped, rounding on my older brother. “You didn’t think.”
“Alright, everyone, calm the fuck down,” Emanuelle piped up, trying to ease the tension. “Tomasso is safe and sleeping soundly. Let’s take this downstairs so he’s not disturbed.”
“I agree,” Luca added.
Guilio shoulder-checked me as he stormed downstairs.
I followed them down the hall, my footsteps heavy with the lingering weight of everything unsaid. The house felt different—quieter, tense, as if it held its breath along with us. No one spoke until we reached Cesar’s office, the familiar space now unfamiliar in its silence. Still, the silence raged until Cesar took his seat.
“I want him punished!” Guilio demanded, speaking first. “I’m older. Massimo disrespected me!”
“Respect is earned, asshole,” Aurelio muttered, unperturbed by Guilio’s outburst.
“You be quiet!”
Aurelio smirked, taking a step forward. “You gonna make me like you did with Tomasso, because I can tell you right now, that shit won’t fly with me,brother.”
“Aurelio is right, Guilio,” Emanuelle spoke up. “You can’t force Tomasso to just be better. You weren’t there. You didn’t see...”
“No!” Guilio shouted furiously. “Because I was fighting alongside our father, trying to protect what was ours, while you three failed to protect Tomasso. So you don’t get to lecture me about right and wrong.”
At that, I lunged for Guilio. I didn’t give a damn whether he was my blood or not. I was going to fucking kill him.
“ENOUGH!” Cesar roared, slamming his hand on his desk. “I will not lose another member of this family because the two of you can’t get along. Until further notice, Guilio, I want you to stay away from Tomasso.”
“He’s my brother too!”
Cesar nodded. “Yes, he is, but until Tomasso can look at you and not want to rip your head off, you will stay the fuck away from him. That’s an order.”
Guilio clenched his fists, jaw twitching with barely contained rage. The room fell into a tense silence, every eye watching his next move. Finally, he spat bitterly, “Fine. But don’t expect me to forgive any of you for this.” As he turned and stormed out, the atmosphere remained heavy, each of us silently reckoning with the scars this family feud had opened anew.
Sighing, Cesar leaned forward. “It’s not all Guilio’s fault, Massimo. I could have said no, but Tomasso was smiling. I hadn’t seen him smile in months. I thought today was going to be a good day.”
“I know you want Tomasso back, but you need to let me, Aurelio, and Emanuelle handle him, Cesar. I know you hate it, but Tomasso only responds to us. We were there. We are the only ones who witnessed what happened, the aftermath. Tomasso is so much like Dad, Cesar. He feels everything, but hispride is getting in his way. He loves you, Guilio and Luca, but in Tomasso’s mind, he feels as if he failed you.”
“That’s bullshit,” Cesar snapped, looking up at me. “He was only a little boy. Barely eleven.”
“And you know more than anyone the emotions coursing through Tomasso at that age. We all do, but what happened left a lasting impression on him, and only he can work through it. You need to give him time.”
Cesar let out a weary breath, shoulders sagging as the weight of years pressed down on him. “I just want my brothers together again,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with fatigue and longing. The pain etched on his face mirrored the ache in my own chest, a silent acknowledgment of how fractured we’d become.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The room seemed smaller, bound by the ghosts of old wounds and the hope that, somehow, we could mend them—if only we learned how to reach each other again.
Sighing eventually, Cesar nodded. “Alright, Massimo. You, Aurelio and Emanuelle will take the lead concerning Tomasso. But I want weekly updates. In the meantime, why are you not following Ms. Scott?”
I smiled then and simply said, “Because I had her arrested.”
Chapter Thirteen
Miranda
The steel door creaked open as someone yelled, “Savannah Scott!”
Jumping to my feet, I raised my arm in the air and replied, “That’s me,” as several women in the holding cell with me snickered. Ignoring them, I hurried forward and asked, “Is it time for my phone call?”
“No,” the policewoman simply said.
Confused, I hesitated for a moment before following her out of the cell. The fluorescent-lit hallway felt colder than the holding room, and every step echoed with uncertainty. “Am I being charged with something?” I asked, glancing at the officers standing nearby.
