I work in silence, my fingers moving as they have for the hundreds of procedures I’ve done, even as my mind struggles to process the surreal reality of Luca Marchetti helping me treat an injured bird.
His hands never waver, never squeeze too tight or loosen.
He keeps up that low, soothing murmur, and the sparrow gradually stops struggling.
“There,” I say finally, securing the last of the splint and leaning back on my haunches. “That should do it. A few weeks in the cage, limited movement, and it should heal.”
“You’re good at this,” Luca observes, transferring the bird back to my hands with the same gentleness he used to hold it. “Fixing broken things, I mean.”
The compliment shouldn’t affect me, but it does. My cheeks warm.
“It’s what I trained for,” I say, placing the sparrow gently into the carrier at my feet. “Helping creatures that can’t help themselves.”
“Is that why you refused Romano’s offer?” The question comes out quiet, curious. “Because you see yourself as someone who heals rather than harms?”
I look up at him sharply, surprised by the insight. “I refused because I’m not a traitor,” I tell him slowly. “I told you that.”
“You did.” His dark eyes search mine, and there’s something in his expression I can’t name. “But I think it’s more than that. I think you need to believe you’re better than your father, that his weakness isn’t inherited. That you can make different choices even when the stakes are impossibly high.”
The observation cuts too close. Way too close. “You don’t know me well enough to psychoanalyze my motivations,” I snap, wrapping my arms around my body.
“Don’t I?” He shifts slightly on the bench, angling toward me, his sharp eyes assessing me. “Two weeks of watching you, Giuliana. Two weeks of seeing how you handle captivity better than most people would manage. You turn down freedom and two million dollars. You spend your supervised garden time treating injured birds instead of planning an escape. You cry in private but maintain your composure when you think anyone’s watching. I know more about who you are than you might think.”
“Y-you’ve been watching me?” The words come out breathless, and I hate how that makes me feel—violated and oddly thrilled in equal measure.
Duh he’s watching me.
I’m his goddamn prisoner after all.
“Of course I’ve been watching you.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “You’re my responsibility. My prisoner. My…” He trails off, seeming to struggle with what word comes next. “It would be foolish not to monitor you.”
“Your what?” I press, needing to hear him finish that sentence, my heart thumping wildly.
But Luca just shakes his head, standing abruptly and putting distance between us. “Why do you treat the birds?” he asks instead. The subject change is so fast it nearly gives me whiplash.
“They’re just birds. Who cares if they live or die? It’s not your problem. But you want to fix them. Why?”
I look down at the sparrow settling into its carrier, considering the question. “Because they’re helpless. Because someone hurt them—accidentally or otherwise—and they can’t fix themselves. Because…” I swallow hard. “Because if I can’t fix anything else in my life right now, at least I can fix them.”
“Even though they’ll just fly away once they’re healed?” His tone is unreadable. “Even though they’ll never know you saved them, never appreciate the sacrifice of your time and skill?”
“Even though.” I meet his eyes, and something electric passes between us. “Healing isn’t about gratitude or reciprocation. It’s about seeing something broken and refusing to walk away just because fixing it is hard.”
Luca is very still, and I watch something complicated move across his features. “Marco used to say something similar,” he says quietly, his voice soft.
My breath catches. “He did?”
He settles back onto the bench but maintains careful distance, as if afraid of getting too close again. “When I was thirteen, my father came home in one of his rages. He beat me badly enough that I couldn’t go to school for a week. Marco was twelve. He found me in our bathroom, trying to clean myself up before anyone else saw.”
I shouldn’t want to hear this story. I shouldn’t care about Luca’s childhood or his pain or anything that makes him more human than a monster. But I can’t make myself stop him.
“He brought me to his house instead of mine,” Luca continues, his voice distant with memory. “And on the way, we found a stray dog that had been hit by a car. Broken leg, bleeding, clearly terrified. The bastard tried to take a chunk out of my leg.” Luca’s lips curve in a heart stopping smile. “Marco insisted we take it to a vet even though we had no money and I was barely conscious myself.”
“What happened?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
“The vet patched up the dog for free when Marco explained our situation. Probably saved its life.” Luca’s expression softens, making him look more human. “Marco told me then that healing was just as important as fighting. That showing mercy to helpless things didn’t make you weak—it made you strong enough to care about something beyond yourself.”
“Those are very wise words from a twelve year old,” I manage, imagining how scared a thirteen-year-old Luca must have been.
