"Don't."
She doesn't stop. Of course she doesn't stop. She's Vittoria.
"We could post an ad online," she continues, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "'Wanted: Woman who doesn't mind being yelled at constantly and has no problem with wheelchairs. Must enjoy brooding and have excellent tolerance for emotional unavailability. Benefits include living in a mansion and never knowing if today's the day he finally snaps.'"
The anger hits like a match striking. Hot. Immediate.
"Enough."
My voice comes out low.
Vittoria's grin falters. Good.
"Bruno is not a joke," I say, each word precise. Controlled. "He's not some problem for you to solve with your clever little quips. He lost everything. His legs. His position. His fucking future. And you stand there making jokes about advertising for someone to—what? Fix him? Like he's broken furniture?"
Vittoria's face shifts. The teasing light in her eyes dims.
"He's our brother," I continue. "Not a charity case. Not entertainment. So maybe think about that before you open your mouth again."
Silence stretches between us. I can hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. My own pulse pounding in my ears.
Then Vittoria does something unexpected.
She laughs.
Not her usual bright, deflecting laugh. Something softer. Almost sad.
"There he is," she says quietly. "The asshole I know and love."
I blink. "What?"
"You've been so... different lately." She gestures vaguely at me. "Softer. More human. I almost forgot you had teeth." Her smile turns genuine. "It's good to know they're still there."
I don't know what to do with that. So I say nothing.
Vittoria steps closer, and this time when she touches me, it's gentle. Her hand on my arm. Her dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that reminds me too much of our father.
"I'm sorry," she says. "About Bruno. That was cruel. I make jokes when I don't know what else to do, and I..." She swallows. "I don't know how to help him. None of us do. And it's easier to laugh than to admit that."
The anger drains out of me. Leaves something hollow in its place.
"I know."
"But Nico?" She squeezes my arm. "I'm grateful. For what you did. For Kristen and Lily. For making this place feel less like a fortress and more like... I don't know. A home, maybe."
I look away. The window again. The garden where Kristen kneels beside the rabbit hutch, Lily pressed against her side.
"You're still an asshole," Vittoria adds. "Just so we're clear. A grade-A, premium, top-shelf asshole."
"Thank you for that clarification."
"But you're a good man too." Her voice softens. "I forget that sometimes. We all do. Even you, I think."
Something catches in my throat. I don't acknowledge it.
"Go bother someone else," I say. "I have work to do."
Vittoria snorts. "Sure you do." She releases my arm, already heading for the door. "Say hi to your work for me. I'm sure she's very pretty."
