He doesn’t pry for details or try to give me advice.
He doesn’t even try to console me.
He knows better than to waste his energy on something so futile.
Instead, he releases a heavy breath and combs his fingers through his dark locks. “If Kenji’s still alive—and he saw you with Stephanie—it’s safer for her and her son if you bring her here until we finish this fight.”
I shake my head before he’s even done. “She made it clear she doesn’t want my protection. She can’t trust it. And honestly, how could I blame her? After what happened, I’m not sure I trust it either.”
“Gio, you did everything you could to get her back. What happened—none of us saw it coming. We were in the middle of peace negotiations when the Bernardis took her?—”
I shake my head forcefully, cutting off Miko’s objection as a fresh wave of guilt and self-loathing rises up inside me.
I’ve been so distracted lately, caught up in chasing Stephanie, that I never even told my brothers about her recurring nightmare—or the implications of it. “Don Augusta gave that order,” I say. “He never said a word about it. And like an idiot, I trusted him.”
Miko’s expression hardens, but not at me—at something older, deeper. “Our father was not the man we thought he was. We knew he could be cold. Cruel. We thought it was to make us stronger, to prepare us for the world we live in.”
He leans forward, voice low but fierce. “But he did it to control us, to manipulate us. He did it to me when he hid the truth about my birthright as the Bratva heir. And he did it to you when he took Stephanie and let you believe you failed her.”
The words hit like a slow punch.
“This wasn’t your fault, Gio,” Miko says. “It was the machinations of a sick, power-hungry man who’s now rotting in the ground—and the world’s better for it. You can give up the inheritance, Gio. That’s your choice. But don’t give up on Stephanie. Not when she means so much to you.”
I take a deep, steadying breath, momentarily stunned by the conviction in my brother’s voice.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so vehemently support the concept of love. “You’ve… come a long way, Miko. Anika’s good for you. I can see it. And I appreciate what you’re saying. But I can’t force myself into Stephanie’s life if she’s telling me to stay out of it. She needs space. If that’s the only thing I can give her right now, then that’s what I’ll do.”
He watches me for a long moment, like he’s measuring whether to push harder.
Then he nods once, slowly, and gets up, leaving me alone with my cold coffee.
30
STEPHANIE
The whistle blows, and the kids scatter like marbles, chasing the ball, but Jackson just… jogs.
My son is usually all speed and energy, charging toward the goal like his life depends on it, but lately, he’s been hanging back, almost letting the game pass him by.
His cleats barely kick up dirt. His eyes don’t light up when someone passes him the ball, and he hardly seems to notice when someone steals it from right under his nose.
I stand on the sidelines with my arms wrapped defensively around my waist, telling myself not to panic.
Kids have off days, right?
But this isn’t just one day.
This has been creeping in, day by day, until it’s turned into weeks.
When the game ends, Jackson barely waves at me. He trudges over, cheeks pink from the sun but not from excitement.
“Good game, Jay,” I say, ruffling his hair.
He shrugs. “We lost.”
“You still played well.”
Another shrug. “Can we just go?”
